How life has changed

'Q'

(9/2020) It’s just begun to rain. It’s not so heavy that I need to seek out shelter yet. Instead, I think I’m going to lie under the big leafy shrub and reflect upon how much my life has changed over the past three years.

Lets start with the simple fact that today I have the option of lying under the shrub in the rain, knowing all too well that if the rain drops make it down to me, I can always run into the barn and settle down to enjoy the rain from the comfort of my blanket on the tack room counter and maybe grab a mouth full of food on the way.

Had I still been feral, I’d be scampering right now to find any place out of the rain and forget finding food! If I was really hungry, which I always seemed to be back then, I’d have to deal with getting drenched in hopes of finding something to eat.

Sleep listening to the rain?

That was a luxury unknown to me for the untold number of years I was a feral Tom Cat. Sure, being a Tom Cat had its benefits. The whole world was your home. The downside however was everyone was always trying to take my home away from me. I was constantly in fights. I could never let my guard down. I never had any downtime. If I wasn’t patrolling my territory, I was hunting for food. I slept when I could, but I never slept deeply, or for long. I was always tired.

Now I have the luxury of sleeping as long as I want on a nice blanket. In the summer, my people put my blanket on the windowsill so I can enjoy the cool night breezes. In the winter, they plug it in - and I have to tell you nothing is better on a cold winter day than a heated blanket!

As for food, well let’s just say I’ve gone from eating anything and everything I could, no matter how bad it tasted, to being a bit of a snob! I really like the dry crunchy food in the bowl next to my blanket – as hard as I try to empty it (a habit developed from my feral days of never leaving anything go to waste), it never seems to empty!

Every morning and every night the people come in and fill another bowl with food out of a can. I still remember the first time they did it. The food tasted great! Then the next day, they filled it with something that tasted different. But I didn’t care; for the first time in my life, my food was being brought to me. I didn’t have to worry about going out and finding it.

As time went on, I began to sense the differences in the taste and one I really liked. I would scoff that down in front of them, but I would turn my nose up and walk away at the sight of the others. I thought they might get mad, but it had the opposite effect! Soon that was all they brought me! Apparently, getting finicky has its rewards.

I still recall my last few days being feral. I was sick and had lots of cuts and sores from fighting. In those days, I simply had to tough it out. I would go for days without eating as my wounds healed. Not anymore.

When they trapped me – yes, as smart as I thought I was, I fell for the stupid trap trick - they took me to the vet. When I woke up, I felt better, and in a couple days I felt better than I could ever recall.

Now, when I’m sick, I let the vet, who is a nice man, look me over. It was hard at first to trust him, but I’ve gotten used to him.

For the past month, my teeth have been hurting, which really cramps my eating style. As a result, my nice ‘rounded’ figure has sort of gone back to my feral lean look. The vet came and looked at me while I was sleeping on my blanket. As my person was with him, I let him look into my mouth and heard him say I had a broken tooth.

I soon found myself back in that scary vet office, but before I could freak out, I found myself dreaming about running after a mouse in a big open field. When I woke up, my teeth felt great! I heard them tell my people I didn’t have a broken tooth, but my teeth needed to be cleaned. When I got home, I got a double helping of my favorite can food and went to sleep.

My ears however felt funny, and I couldn’t make out what Will (my barn mate) was saying; he sounded like he had his mouth full of food. Apparently I had something growing in my ear, which is why I’ve been scratching them for the past few months. The vet put something in it while I was dreaming, so now they don’t inch anymore and my hearing is slowly coming back.

Had I still been a feral, my teeth would still hurt and my ears would still itch. And those things would haunt me until I died.

But those concerns pale in comparison to the never-ending need to always look over my shoulder for other cats looking for a fight. Trust me, when you have to sleep with one eye open, your sleep is never long or deep.

Now my routine has changed. Instead of being up all night, I’m up all day. Yes, I have a smaller territory that I share with Will which we take shift patrolling, but at night, Will and I get locked into the tack room where no-one can come after us. As a result, I can close both eyes when I sleep, and I can sleep as long as I want. When I finally get up, I’m refreshed and ready not simply to face a new day, but to ‘enjoy’ a new day.

Enjoy. Now that’s a word I never got to use in my feral days. In those days it was all about survival. But today, it’s all about enjoyment.

When I was feral, grooming myself was a luxury I didn’t have much time for; to say I was scruffy would be an understatement at best. My coat was always rough, that I think people threw things are me to make me run away because they were scared I had some type of disease.

Now I have the time to make myself presentable. Even I have to admit I look good now! My coat is shinny and smooth, so smooth everyone wants to pet me and pick me up. I’m ok with the first, the latter I could do without, with the exception of my people of course.

Sometimes, late at night, especially on stormy rainy nights, Will and I talk about our past lives. When I ask Will if he misses bring a free cat, he always stops what he is doing – which is usually trying to ignore me – and heads to the food bowl. After he swallows a few mouthfuls, he takes a long drink of water and sits down to groom himself, all the while putting on the appearance of thinking long and hard.

Eventually Will finally answers.

"Why would I want to return to that life? If I were to dream up the life every cat would want, it would never even come close to what we have here. We have the best of all worlds. WE have the same beds every night, our stomachs are always full, every sunray is ours to bask in or play with and we haven’t a care in the world. This is paradise."

Of course, Will is right. I have the opportunity to enjoy the rest of my life because two people took the time to notice me and chose to help me when I was sick. They could have chased me away like everyone else did, but they didn’t. And now I have a home I can call my own.

I’m returning that favor by making sure they know I appreciate it. When I was feral, I would always run at the sight of a human. Now, I follow them everywhere. When the opportunity permits, I lie in their path and roll on my side. They always stop and give me a good long scratch.

At first, I would only do it once or twice a day. Now, no matter how many times I do it, they always stop and scratch me. Humans are such funny creatures. They never seem to get enough of a good thing.

When they sit down, I sit with them and simply purr. It seems to make them happy. So I make an effort to always purr for them. After all, they have made me happy, so I’m going to make them happy.

I would be wrong to end this story without mentioning that there are a lot of cats like Wiil and I waiting in shelters to find their own home. While being in a shelter is better than being feral, it’s not as good as having a home to call your own.

So if you have it in your heart to share your home with a shelter pet, please do. There is an old saying: "No one is more appreciative of a second opportunity than a shelter pet."

Give one a chance; you’ll never regret it.