If you live in the country, and you have a barn, sooner or later you’ll have a cat. Where it comes from is a mystery, but you can make some assumptions. If it’s friendly, it’s either lost or abandoned. If it runs like lightning at the sight of humanity, it’s feral.
The area I live in teems with excess kitties. It’s rural, a mix of woodlots, ravines, reclaimed gravel pits, and farm fields, with a few farmhouses, occasional houses on sold-off bits of farms (more of this every year), and a smattering of weekend cottages and all-year dwellings on lots unsuitable for agriculture. The unpaved roads have plenty of quiet spots where, unwitnessed, the door of a car can open for a confused cat to be ejected.
My neighbors’ house, close to the road and set at the top of a slight hill, is a beacon for abandoned cats. In the past ten years my neighbors have adopted at least six felines that turned up at their door. Last year they made a heroic effort with Oscar, an un-fixed tom that scent-sprayed everywhere. Oscar loved people, but after he rubbed up against you, your clothing had to go into the wash immediately. My neighbors confined smelly Oscar to a room in their basement during the coldest days of winter. Both they and Oscar were very glad when warm weather arrived and Oscar could go outside again. He was so pleased to escape from prison, he hasn’t been seen since.
Here in my valley, most of the stray cats that I see are skulkers, visible when I look out my window, but slipping away into the undergrowth when I emerge from the house. In summer, they hunt mice and voles in the long grass and the dry ditches. In winter, they are attracted by our bird feeders, while our old, ramshackle barn provides shelter as well as a supply of rodents.
Two winters ago, I was horrified to see a cat eating scraps that I had set out on the bird table for crows and raccoons. On such a cold day that I would not have allowed either of my pampered resident felines to put a nose out the door, there it was, a smart-looking black cat with a white bib, huddled against the wind and choking down stale, dry cat food, stale bread, and shelled peanuts as fast as it could.
I put on my coat and went out to rescue the poor thing, but as soon as he saw me, he ran off. The next morning, he was on the bird table again. I began leaving dishes of cat food in a spot distant from the bird table, and although he would eat my offerings, after several weeks he still didn’t trust me to approach closer than 10 ft. Then he stopped visiting. I phoned my neighbors and learned that they were feeding him, and had named him Tux. However, they could not get near him either. Tux hung around until spring, and then his visits got fewer and fewer, until he was seen no more.
This winter, another feral cat has appeared. It is a fierce-looking tabby with pale green eyes, huge paws, and such long, bushy hair that it resembles a raccoon. With all that fur, it’s impossible to tell what sex it is, and I’m hoping it isn’t going to have kittens in the barn. Hairy, as I have named it, has survived temperatures as low as -33C/-25F and can be seen most days, in all weathers, patrolling the neighborhood in search of anything edible. As soon as it sees me, even if I’m carrying food, Hairy runs away at high speed. I don’t think I or my neighbors will be able to help this one.
Post a new thread about this blog entry:
