My son called me one day and asked me pleadingly if I would take an outside cat. “Are you sure she’s an outside cat?” “Yes, mom” he said “I know your house has three indoor cats already and no room for another cat.” I wanted to know where she came from and he informed me that his new girlfriend’s old roommate had to give up his cat because his new girl friend was not a cat person. What? A man who raised a cat from a kitten would give up an eight-year-old cat for a woman? What sort of man was this who would turn a cat over to a shelter for some woman? I pity a woman who would get involved with a man like that. He would not hesitate to give her up in a blink of an eye if she became inconvenient for him, I thought.
“Of course, I’ll take her,” I told my son. He was moving away and could not bring her and besides, between him and his new girl friend they also had three indoor cats. The shelter was not an option. I have a carport and a nice back yard. She would fit right in with my feral girl cats and what’s one more little mouth to feed? So, my son and his new girl friend came over and brought the little tuxedo cat. She was adorable. The girl friend put her into my arms and she purred and put her head under my chin and just like that she became my cat. She made herself at home in my carport, explored my back yard, and that was that. Once she had settled territorial disputes with the other cats in the neighborhood, mostly to assert herself, even with the resident cats some of whom were bigger than her, order was established and she had truly arrived in her new domicile.
When I come home at night she is already waiting for me to open the car door so she can jump into my lap for a few minutes of cuddling and telling me about her day. Her meow sounds like “hello” and the rest of the conversation is loud and constant purring. As the day’s tension slowly drains from my being, I am so grateful for this little cat’s love and attention. But, when three furry heads appear in the window I feel a little guilty for neglecting my inside kitties. Invariably, once I have fed them, they all rush to the open back screen door to make sure LittleGirl gets fed, too.
But then, one night, winter hit. We live in California, but this is Northern California and it can get quite blustery (as low as 35 degrees!). Now, I love a rainy day and the sound of the wind howling outside when I’m snug indoors with the tea kettle whistling is a lovely thing, but not when I have a little cat outside. After a severe rainstorm, I began to worry about her. I made her a house out of an old pet carrier which had a broken front gate and lined it with blankets, covered it with an old rug and placed it on top of a shelf which had previously held the open basket where she sleeps. I moved her basket to a near-by spot and covered half of it with a blanket, lined it with a pillow to keep out the draft, and hoped for the best. The house was not slept in, but the basket was. I kept hoping she would find the house I made her more suitable, but it remained pristine.
I worried so much about the little cat I called my son who offered to move her into his garage for the winter. She is an outdoor cat and refuses to be cooped up indoors, he assured me. I worried more about moving her to a strange environment in a new neighborhood than being out in the cold, so I was hesitant to make that decision. I knew I would miss her but I also felt selfish to expose her to the cold just because I would miss her. But then, the cold snap passed and the weather went back to normal. Average 60 degrees and sunny in the daytime and 40 at night. No rain, no wind.
And then, one morning the neighbor across the way, whose male indoor-outdoor cat had suffered occasional abuse from LittleGirl, assured me she had seen LittleGirl in her own carport. My neighbor had prepared a secluded area near the back door for her own cat but LittleGirl had been spending her nights there, sleeping curled up among the rugs and blankets, warm and secure, out of the wind, only to emerge in the morning to come home for breakfast. My son assures me LittleGirl came from feral stock and will survive the winter just fine. And she finally did begin sleeping in the cozy house I made for her. Whew! Now I can finally look forward to the rain pounding on my window and the wind howling around my house without guilt and without worrying about my little outside cat.
It's always something...
Monica Ackerman lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her cats. She's written several stories chronicling her journey from cat hater to champion of ferals and shelter animals, proving you can indeed “teach an old dog new tricks.” She is working on two books which are not about cats and a children's book that is. She can be reached at Email and feedback is welcome.
