The Wild One

*Sigh*

For the last two years I've been helping out a particular feral cat that showed up at our trash can, regularly. I figured it was easier to feed him than to watch him tear up the trash every morning- and with that- my conscience. He is a beautiful, tawny colored tabby with intense green eyes and a nick in his ear from a long-ago cat fight, I assume.

For the first year, he was untouchable. I would see him out on the front porch, grab some food and take it out for him, while he beat a hasty retreat to the security of the middle-yard until I went back into the house. For awhile, I was able to get him close to the porch while I stood there waiting. Then I upped the ante. I broke out the canned cat food, and after that, he couldn't just wait. He had to have that food- and our trust grew.

But then he disappeared.

We had gone on vacation in the summer, and I arranged with a neighbor to leave him his daily ration of food until we returned. But he didn't eat anything. I thought the worst- he'd been hit by a car, or eaten by a coyote- whatever, he was gone.

And then, a few months later, in November, he reappeared. I was opening the door to take the trash out, and there he was. Once again, beating a hasty retreat- but when I called to him, he stopped, turned around, and waited.

Three weeks later, I was able to pet him for the first time, and as he came to trust us more, I was able to put him in the old dog kennel I had in the garage during the nights when it was so cold. Last winter, he didn't suffer frost-bite on his feet, and he actually put on weight. He came into the house for long periods during the quiet of the day- and he would nap on my desk, the first time I had ever seen actually relax. We decided to call him "Boo" after Boo Radley from To Kill A Mockingbird because it just seemed to fit.

Summer came, and I had moved Boo into the outdoor, covered kennel we have on the side of our house. There he had shelter, a place to potty, clean water and his daily ration of food. When we returned from this summer's vacation though, he was changed. He seemed angry, and I didn't know what to do. He is a feral cat, and I wondered if being kept inside something was bothering him. I let him out, and he stayed out for days at a time. He looked a shambles, he dropped weight, and once again, he wouldn't allow me to pet him- and when I tried, he would lash out. I felt guilty, and I also began wondering if male cats have some kind of weird hormonal shift in the summer that makes them anti-social and mean. Chop those suckers off- is the obvious answer- but be careful trying to get him to the vet is the caveat. I'd like to keep my arms, thank you.

Its getting cool again. And for the last couple weeks, Boo has gentled down again. He has begun sleeping once more on the porch furniture, and purring for his daily can- and accepting pets. He was beginning to look better than he had all summer, and then he came home this evening looking like he had fought five rounds too many in a boxing match. In short, he got his butt kicked, and so, that was it. Back into the kennel he went- slight protestations aside.

I don't know. It's hard to know what to do for these guys. Apparently my house has an aura recognizable to cats in need of assistance- two of my neighbors have confirmed that our house was the stray-cat house long before we ever moved here.

Anyway, Boo is safe for now.