After some very Jane Goodall-ish styled observations while placing myself in harm’s way much as Tim Treadwell did, I have carefully documented a typical day in the life of a semi-feral Manx cat (otherwise known by his Latin name Takus Whateveroppurtunuspresentethitselfeth):
5:50 a.m. Stagger home after a wild night of storming mouse villages and snorting catnip. 6:00 a.m. Yowl loudly at the door of the weird structu…re that the human servants occupy until they reward your music with raw venison and chicken soup. Snarl if it’s not on your menu and you wanted salmon instead.
6:10 a.m. Dodge buckets of water thrown by the angry female servant. She’s the most unpredictable and violent of the three servants.
6:30 a.m. Cunningly conceal yourself under the servants vehicle while plotting an assassination attempt on, well, anyone.
7:00 a.m. Forget why you were under the vehicle and position yourself strategically on top of the shed while showing a hawk who actually owns the skies.
7:15 a.m. Accidently fall asleep in the sun and roll off the shed. Pretend you meant to. 7:45 a.m. Have a staring contest with the smallest of the servants through the window of the human quarters to remind him who is boss.
8:00 a.m. Sleep until dark.
8:30 p.m. Lick various unmentionable body parts unreachable by most other mammals in order to prepare for the wild night ahead.
9:00 p.m. Parade around the yard with the hapless, yet still kicking body of a small rodent. Leave the rodent by the servants door to remind them of what you are capable of. Proceed to the night’s festivities just in time to be fashionably late, yet impeccably groomed.
5:50 a.m. Repeat.