PORT ANGELES – The sun hasn’t risen over the horizon and the temperature barely has climbed above freezing when Catherine Burke’s little SUV rolls into the alley between First and Front streets.
In the frosty darkness, Burke places dishes of cat food and water at strategic locations, calling her “kitties” to come to breakfast.
She’s already bribed with slices of bread the raccoon that waddled up to her, insisting on its share like some masked Mafia thug demanding his vigorish.
“I’ve got trouble this morning,” Burke says.
“There’s a raccoon down here. He’ll just eat all the cats’ food.”
She’s lucky to confront only one raccoon Sunday morning. Some days there are six.
With the raccoon bought off, Burke continues putting out the portions of canned and dry cat food – just as she’s done since 1993.
“They’ve got a regular little community down here,” she says of the four cats who rely on her largesse.
“I’ve been doing this at 7 a.m. for 14 years.”
