I had never been a cat person. And by that, I mean I plain didn’t like them. I never saw the attraction. They were aloof, unfriendly, standoffish, anti-social—you name it and that’s the way I felt, especially toward feral cats. Then something happened. First, my wife found a poor cat who had been abused and abandoned. She brought it home and we had it fixed up, then kept it. The cat turned out to be magnificent, and it clouded my previous judgment on cats, feral cats included. You can read about him in this post.
Then, about five years ago, one of the feral cats from the surrounding woods wandered onto our property. My wife was the fist one to spot her, and after the second or third visit, she said: “I think she’s pregnant.”
As I might have guessed, her words turned into prophecy, and a few weeks later, we were blessed with five feral cats. When I say feral, I mean it; the mother cat would not let us come close to her or her babies, and if we tried, she picked them up by the scruff of the neck and hid them.
It took almost six months for my wife to gain enough trust to even pet them, and they only let her for a few seconds, and they only let her. I still can’t pick them up. They have remained feral cats in attitude despite living a sheltered life here on the sanctuary. Occasionally, if my wife is holding one, they’ll let me pet them, but only for a second—and this is after five years.
Feral cats or not, though, they have been seduced to the lazy side of life. During hot afternoons, I can usually find them loafing on an outside table, or asleep in the shade of a tree. Above is a picture of Hiss lounging on the metal table we keep out front and below that is Hiss prowling the front yard.
So after five years and them having nothing to do with me, why is it my opinion of the feral cats has changed? I don’t know, but it has. They have done so many funny things, and their personality is unique. They make me laugh. And it’s difficult to not love something that makes you laugh.