I expected the early mornings, the hard work, the hot sun, and the dry air, but the stray cats wandering around the kibbutz caught me off guard. Even in the small corner of the kibbutz that we occupy, there are at least a half dozen stray cats that visit us regularly. Most are timid, but one in particular is far more assertive than the rest. This cat, whom some students have dubbed “Oscar”, has a tendency to approach us directly. He (or she; for the sake of this blog I will assume that Oscar is male) often follows people around, begs for food, and lounges in crowded places. His utter disregard for any threat we might pose to him is remarkable.

I am always watching.

Oscar’s boldness can be amusing, but it also causes problems. Anyone who has ever fed him knows that he pursues relentlessly. He often settles in unoccupied lawn chairs and stares balefully at any human who approaches. At other times, he will jump up next to people who are sitting and join them, leaning up close and absentmindedly extending his claws like switchblades. He usually won’t scratch unless provoked, but Oscar’s definition of “provocation” has proven flexible.

Even when he’s just lying around on a porch, there’s something about Oscar that I find disconcerting. Maybe it’s his missing ear, or his growing reputation, or his ability to disappear suddenly. Maybe it’s just that brooding, calculating look that he has, his bright eyes a mosaic of chaos and contempt. When looks me in the eye, I can imagine him thinking, “I have an idea, and you won’t like it”. My cat allergy does little to improve the situation.

Regardless, I’m beginning to get used to Oscar and the other cats. I don’t trust them, but I give them the grudging acceptance that one might have for a somewhat unpleasant neighbor. In a community as small as Kibbutz Kefar Szold, animal control is practically nonexistent. Besides, it’s possible that the strays serve an important ecological function on the kibbutz, and I prefer a few ill-tempered cats to a vermin problem.