Yeah, every crooked alley is a cat mausoleum with its own hierarchy and graffiti on the walls. I’ve already charted three distinct colonies—one for the street-smart alley cats, another for the high‑rise rooftop rebels, and a hidden sub‑basement den that’s basically a museum of scratched‑up door panels. The real twist? Each group leaves “feline fossils” like abandoned food wrappers and yarn strands that tell us about their migration patterns, food webs, and even the political alliances between different streets. If you want to map it, grab a notebook, a cheap camera, and maybe a bowl of tuna—you’ll see the city’s pulse through their paws.