Door

For the first time in (I think) almost ten years, the garage is off-limits to stray cats, wandering wildlife, and anything else that would have been small enough to fit through a pet door.

When we first bought this house, our hillbilly neighbors across the street (we used to refer to them as "The Bumpases," a reference that will be familiar to anyone who has ever read Jean Shepherd) had somehow accumulated a large number of outdoor cats. They were reasonably well cared for, but friendly and affectionate, and would wander over from time to time.

The Bumpases were evicted about a year later, and we agreed, reluctantly, to care for the half-dozen or so cats they couldn't bring with them. We couldn't take them in, or place them (they had become accustomed to living outdoors) but we fed them regularly, and they lived in the garage during the cold winter months. I installed a pet door so they could come and go.

Of course, in feeding the cats, I was also feeding the raccoons, who were quite fond of dry cat food. And when they discovered the cats were occasionally fed in the garage, they would come and go, as well. (I would occasionally see the backside of one trying to fit itself through the pet door.) I like the raccoons, I really do — I find them irresistibly adorable, watching them grow larger and larger in the months before winter. But they tend to be curious, and they're often a bit destructive. It became impossible to store birdseed or cat food in the garage.

Most of the outdoor cats died over the past two or three years, the last just a few months ago. They lived longer than most, I think.

Yesterday, I found the perfect piece of scrap wood and closed off the pet door.