As workers installed a new

sign, finished painting and laid the last of the turf in preparation for the

' home-opener, things have remained business as usual for some of the park's "staff."

Well, more or less.

Somewhere between 12 and 19 furtive felines comprising the field's feral cat colony have had to adjust to a new location for their feeding station when the park was converted into a soccer stadium.

It's nearly impossible to estimate exactly how many there are, since the cats elude humans almost entirely. The main proof of their existence lies in the daily disappearance of their food.

How they got there

"We kind of inherited them," says Ken Puckett, senior vice president of operations of Jeld Wen Field and the Portland Timbers. A group of about 19 were living there when he arrived in 2000. He estimates the colony has been there at least 25 years.

The original colony was likely founded by neighborhood cats who decided the park was a sanctuary, suspects Karen Kraus, executive director of the

of Oregon. They were probably drawn to the people and the food they left – not to mention the prey the food attracted.

A local woman was leaving food for the cat colony, but Puckett was concerned about unwanted dinner guests.

"I said, 'I like the cats, but we have to do this a little better,'" he says.

He was also worried about how to protect the cats during the park's previous renovation in 2001.

So he went to Kraus for help.

Establishing – and re-establishing – their turf

The cat coalition assisted with trapping the cats, providing temporary housing and medications for the ones that were sick. All the cats were spayed and neutered.

Kraus' group found another feral cat colony that needed to be relocated and added them to the mix. She and her husband built the feeding station, which supports a stand-up water bottle and dry kibble dispensers.

When the 2001 renovation was complete, the cats were brought back to the park. The grounds crew set up the feeding station in "Feral Cat Alley" beneath the Fred Meyer Family Deck, near the home bullpen viewing area. They even built a ramp to ADA standards so the older cats could reach their food.

That feeding station was within public view and one of the most popular aspects of the stadium tour.

During Portland Beavers games, ticket sellers carrying cardboard cat-shaped cutouts would "race" each other against the left-field wall.

The cats became such a part of park lore that

devotes a short chapter to them in his literary walking tour of Portland, "Fugitives and Refugees."

But when construction for the soccer field began, the maintenance crew had to move the feeding station so the cats would be safe. They inched the station gradually so the cats could track it, about 10 feet at a time, back to the dirt area underneath the stadium.

In the meantime, the cats kept doing their jobs.

Residential rodent control

The cats certainly earn their keep: Not one of the 80-some traps placed sporadically through the stadium has ever snagged a rat, Puckett says.

"Organic farms use cats as organic rodent control, but it's unique for a stadium and unique for a city," Kraus says.

The only other stadium that Puckett knows of that "employs" a feral cat colony is the old football stadium in Philadelphia.

Not looking for new members

Please be sure of one thing: The colony isn't going to become a new "family" for your pet. Don't abandon it at the park and expect the colony to lay out a welcome mat for your pet cat. Fluffy won't last.

"It's not a place for new cats," Kraus says. "Pet cats aren't just going to join a colony."

Like a pack of dogs, they have a pecking order and compete for food, Puckett says. These feral felines are practically tough enough to stand up to Timbers mascot

.

Puckett's 140-pound

won't mess with them.

"It's almost like having bobcats," he says. "They're wild."

Rare sightings

The cats' ghostlike presence makes them almost mythical.

"They mostly come out at night," Puckett says. "A lot of times, they're a blur."

The cats live under the stadium and what staff calls the "back of the house," where you'll find locker rooms, storage areas and the feeding station. They run along a huge back wall "highway" of pipes.

"They don't let you pet 'em, but they know where the food source is," says housekeeping supervisor Becky Jones. "I see paw prints on my desk."

The staff favorite was a large black cat with a patch of white on his chest, whom they named Sylvester for his resemblance to the cartoon cat.

He was one of the only colony members who appeared regularly. He liked to watch the night crew working.

"Most of them you never see," Puckett says. "You just see their eyes looking at you from the dark of the dirt."

Sylvester loved to come out in the morning when the turf was warm, before the team began practice, and lay out in the sun.

Sadly, Sylvester won't be among the thousands of people – and dozen or so cats – at Thursday's soldout Timbers game. He passed away just a few weeks ago, likely from old age. Puckett estimates he was about 13 or 14.

"He had a great life, he got taken care of. This was his kingdom," Puckett says. "We'll miss looking out the window in the morning and seeing him on the turf."

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