I’m reposting these two WNIJ posts as tributes to our feral cat, Gray. We said goodbye to him today.
It’s magical when feral cats show up at the farm. We bless them because we’ve had rats so fat and tame I could grab one as she ran up the rafters.
This year two gray and white cats arrived. They acted like a bonded pair. We named them Fluffy and Slick. None of our neighbors claimed them. We set out food, the expensive kind. Soon Mama cat sat with our kitchen window in her line of sight, signaling it was time to fill her dish. Or if her dish was full, she’d sit by the door as if to say, can you hurry up? At night Fluffy lounges in the yard, waiting.
One day Bruce saw Mama trotting across the yard with a vole in her mouth. She ducked into the shed. “They do that when they have kittens,” he said.
“Oh boy,” I thought. “What are we going to do with kittens? No way do I want a cat colony.”
Well, four kittens showed up–two gray and whites, a solid gray and a tabby.
Drat we should have trapped the parents and had them fixed. But it’s hard to know if drop ins will stick around. And it has been joyous to watch the kittens play, even though they scatter when they see us.
I’m grateful to TAILS, our local spray and neuter clinic, for setting up an appointment and for saying just call us if you can’t trap her. Anyone need a barn cat or two?
I’m Katie Andraski and that’s my perspective.
If you want to hear me read this, click here
Leaving My Heart in the Wild Every Night
When we fixed our barn cats, Kevin, my horse vet, said that you spend money on those barn cats and they’ll be gone before you know it, but we could not afford more kitties, so off to Tails they went. Brave and Girl Cat ended up ghosting us, the loss a thud in my gut because I never knew what happened.
Tyger and Gray have grown into sleek, striped cats with scraggly, poufy tails and shiny coats. We take pleasure in watching them watching us from the barn. Mama cat watches from the shed. Sometimes they’ll lounge like young men at the beach. They climb the rafters like trees.
One night I woke at 2 am and saw Gray, sleeping next to our front door. Even though they were born here, there’s no curling around our legs or reaching for our hands to stroke the sides of their faces. The closest I get is a quiet mew, which means, “Leave now, so I can eat.”
When I wake, I wonder if they made it through the night. Coyotes have howled behind the barn, so close I shouted at them, like I was banishing dogs, my heart thumping. Eagles have perched high in our poplar tree. So much danger. I can’t protect three beloved barn cats. I can only trust they know to stay hidden when the predators come. Every morning, I ask Bruce have you seen the cats today?
Think about it. This isn’t just about barn cats, is it?
I’m Katie Andraski and that’s my perspective.
If you’d like to hear my radio version click here.
The coyotes sounded like a machine grinding wood. And like crying puppies. And like the cartoon sound of wolves howling at the moonlight. They were too close in the field west of us. I shouted. Hey! And they were quiet. As I’ve said before I fear for our feral kitties. But it wasn’t the coyotes. I’ve seen the cats head that way late. But Gray started calling from the paddock. I called him to me. He followed at a distance while we walked the dogs and then went into the barn.
The next day Gray crouched, sprang to chase a squirrel. He caught him, they tangled and the squirrel sprang away. Bruce said, “He doesn’t want to mess with a squirrel.” Later I watched Gray sitting in our south hayfield, hunting.
The brothers—Tyger and Gray—disappear and then they come back. They call plaintively when the other one is missing. They curl around each other, purring. We dump cat food in their bowl.
But yesterday we saw cat vomit with tell-tale green specks in it. Rat poison. It’s the season where mice come inside. So some neighbor put out poison. Bruce cleaned it up. We were glad he saw it because Omalola could easily have scarfed it down.
Last night I heard a faint mew. And should have asked Bruce to check out the loft. That should-have burns. This morning Bruce saw the cat’s food had not been eaten. He put the ladder up and found Gray dying, his beautiful green eyes wide, his breath faint. Then he was gone. Bruce said he’d never been petted until now. He wondered if he’d ever purred. I said, yes, yes when he was with Tyger eating.
We’ve seen Mama cat but not Tyger. We wonder if he’s gone too. But oh the plaintive calling, if he comes back.
And so much delight watching these wild cats enjoy each other, call to each other, scold me, climb up the rafters in the barn, gone. Kevin Sugdon was right. They broke our hearts.
And I wonder how many hawks, owls, eagles, buzzards that may be poisoned,
From Every Moment Holy a prayer: God, We know that the final working of your redemption will be far reaching, encompassing all things in heaven and on earth, so that no good thing will be lost forever, so that even our sorrow at the of this beloved creature will somehow, someday, be met and filled, and in joy made forever complete.
Comfort us in this meantime, O Lord, for the ache of these days is real.
And here is a link to a Mary Oliver poem that someone offered over at the House of Beasts and Vines.
