Peralta Community College District’s (PCCD) nightlife is thriving, particularly in the district office parking lot.
On the last day of September, my partner Stevie and I board the southbound 18 bus with pocket sudokus in our hands and a mission in our hearts. It’s still warm outside, despite the encroaching sunset.
This particular evening we are looking for evidence of life. We make the journey from the Lake Merritt stop to the district offices.
As we crest the final hill, descending on the district offices, one of the fabled lot cats materialize before us. The proof we need. They stop in their tracks, change directions, and skedaddle back across the front lawn back towards the offices.
We follow behind slowly, not to further startle our gracious host.
They disappear into a vent underneath the buildings. Unfortunately, being human sized, we cannot follow. We make our way around the parking lot.
Food bowls confirm my tips that these cats have developed an allyship with the other apex predators living in the area.
Despite the initial sighting, we don’t have much luck for the first hour. We spend some time near the water and meet a flock of geese, but they decline our invitation to photographs.
My partner spots evidence of fowl play — possibly evidence of the night hunters.
Defeat threatening on the horizon, we decide to take another lap. We’ve come to see the beasts and we shall not be deterred.
The cats know this metaphysically, I think. That’s when they make their grand entrance.
On our third circle around the offices, we catch motion. Hope on four legs!
We follow them towards the back of the lot, where the previously quiet area now teems with activity.
The cat observes us from a distance. We take respectfully out-of-focus pictures to protect their identity.
Another pair of eyes regards us from behind the fence, where the food bowls are.
This cat is comfortable being identified, especially after I disclose that we are here from the district’s only student-run news publication.
That’s when they introduce us to more of their community. Stevie and I realize we are far outnumbered.
Two small raccoons scurry up a tree, but not before pausing to see what we’re up to.
The raccoons provide no comment when I ask about their neighbors. We admire them from afar and get moving soon after this.
After introducing myself to PCCD’s nocturnal community, it’s time for all of us to get some dinner. We leave the geese, the raccoons, and the cats to graze, scavenge, and hunt. Our plan is to do none of these, opting to make something in the dutch oven.
The cat colony reminds us, in their quiet observance, that diverse communities are strong communities. Each individual’s strength is an opportunity to cover for another’s weakness. With great opposable thumbs comes great responsibility.
