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June 09, 2006
Peter is going to kill me for this. . .
I gave some food to the Old Kitty.
I've been trying to get to know this decrepit old alley cat ever since we bought our house three years ago. He looked impossibly old and feeble the first time I set eyes on him, all scrawny and crusty and covered in matted tufts of fur that stuck out at all angles (think Bill the Cat only gray and white). He's got a bum hip that hitches at a weird angle when he walks, and his legs are so stiff that in order to get low enough to creep under our back gate (which has about six inches clearance) he has to lay his hips down on their side and drag himself through. It's amazing to me that this cat can survive in the wild, winter after winter, and each spring when I spot him for the first time I rejoice that he survived the cold months.
The first summer we lived here, Old Kitty would often sleep the afternoons away in our backyard, slowly moving across the back corner as the sun crept in and the shade from the cedar tree dwindled to nothing; when all the shade was gone he would haul himself up and set off to find a shadier spot on someone else's property. I would stand at the back door with my mug in my hand and watch him sleep, wishing I could get near enough to touch him, pick him up, maybe take him to the vet. But he was wary of me and would never let me get closer than a few metres; eventually I gave up trying to get close to him, worrying that I would frighten him away from our property altogether. Then I cut the cedar down and he stopped coming by so often.
That first winter there was a litter of four kittens living in the bushes at the back of my neighbour's lot, and I thought that the Old Kitty was their mother, because I would see him (her?) out there playing with them, watching over them, and even rubbing his (her) nose on theirs. I've since come to believe (although I haven't been able to have a really good look) that Old Kitty is a boy, but can't quite figure out why a wild tom cat would behave that way towards a bunch of kittens. That spring Old Kitty would often be found curled up with one of those kittens, a tiny brown and orange speckled female I'd named Greek, atop some mattress fabric I'd left out on our back deck (um, an art project gone to seed, don't ask). When those kittens disappeared from the neighbourhood, Old Kitty stopped hanging around our place for good, and since then I've only seen him rarely.
I can't explain why I feel such tenderness and longing for this nasty, flea-bitten old mess of an animal. Maybe because he's the only one of the many alley cats around here that could ever come near my own cats without them freaking out: I even caught Fat Boy and Old Kitty nearly touching noses at the bottom of the front porch steps once. But it's probably just because he's so ugly, and because I can't even imagine him being able to move his old bones quickly enough to kill a rat, but he must somehow. As Pete often reminds me, he's probably not even all that old, likely far younger than my fat healthy 13 year old indoor cats. I know he can take care of himself, and has done so for quite some time, but every time I see him he seems a little scruffier, his joints a little creakier, and I just wish that I could help him out a little.
This afternoon, as I went into the kitchen to make some more tea, I saw him there on my deck, lying down right outside the screen door. For the first time, he didn't start up in alarm as I approached the door, and when I sat down just inside the screen and spoke to him, he didn't run away. So I gave him a little dish of the food that Benny isn't allowed to eat anymore (because it isn't geriatric diet food), and some water. He didn't flinch when I put my hand just a few centimetres away from him to set down the water, and I didn't press my luck by trying to touch him. He ate what he wanted, looked up at me, and then slowly tottered down the steps and dragged himself under the gate.
I don't know what I'll do if he comes back expecting to find more food. I know we can't keep feeding him, there are too many rats in these alleys to leave food outside, and I know I'll have to throw out the food he left behind pretty soon. I know that it was a mistake to give it to him in the first place. He's certainly not ready to be turned into a house cat, even if Benny would put up with him in her house (there's no squid-jigging way, I know that). But I really, really want him to be my kitty.
Posted by jodi at June 9, 2006 04:33 PM | categories: crazy cat lady
Comments
Maybe start weaning him off of your help around mid-summer? Then, when you're gone, he can still fend for himself, but has some time to bulk up.
I think he's a beautiful, tattered old guy.
Posted by: Sandy at June 9, 2006 05:23 PM
Well, no question about it: He WILL come back expecting more food, and he is clearly warming up to you. As for your feelings toward him, they are real and there must be a reason. I would trust them and follow your heart.
Posted by: Norma at June 9, 2006 07:18 PM
I am guilty of doing the same thing. I have this ramshackle garage that is open to the elements and seems to be the homeless shelter for local strays and outside katz alike. I try to refrain from feeding them too often, but I simply cannot resist 100% of the time. But then again, I also have strong urges to pick up and bring home any cat I see in my adventures, stray or pampered puss...Yes, I am a crazy cat lady in the making.
Posted by: Christie at June 9, 2006 08:32 PM
GAH!
Must. not. care. about. cat.
dammit. I need to dislike cats (I'm allergic, it's a survival thing), but you made me care about Old Kitty. Did you write that ikea ad about the Old Lamp too?
Posted by: Steph VW at June 9, 2006 11:07 PM
awww... he looks like such a good old boy.
Posted by: anna at June 10, 2006 02:58 AM
Ohhhhhh, I hate to say it, but once you feed him, he's yours! :)
I always have a soft spot for the old decrepit ones.
Posted by: chris at June 10, 2006 09:08 AM
one...step...closer...to...crazy...cat...lady...
Let's be careful out there!
Posted by: NWJR at June 10, 2006 10:39 AM
He is kinda cute, in a messed-up, old-kitty sorta way!
Posted by: Kathode Ray Tube at June 10, 2006 11:45 AM
My MIL HATES cats with a deadly loathing but......sometimes puts "something out" for a kitty cat local to her whose "owners don't care and don't deserve it" She's a tough nut to crack so this "Kitty Love" is a force to be reckoned with I guess!!!!!!
Sal x
Posted by: sally at June 10, 2006 02:20 PM
Maybe he already thinks of you as his person.
Posted by: Julia at June 10, 2006 04:03 PM
You have such a good heart. Something tells me that Old Kitty is going to find himself living the good life in Georgia in a few months...
Posted by: Jen at June 10, 2006 09:49 PM
One thing you could do to mitigate your ambivalence about the sweet old cat is look into any feral cat agencies or places you could neuter the cat for free. That way you can continue to love up the cat and feel comfortable that he isn't making new little kittens that will have tough lives.
Posted by: amanda at June 10, 2006 10:44 PM
Look at that sweet old face! How could it not soften you?
Posted by: Gina at June 12, 2006 09:26 AM
I love ugly, sad old (?) cats, too. I love this story about Old Kitty's affection for the kittens. But yeah, you probably don't want to start feeding him -- maybe just water, so he can come over sometimes?
Posted by: alison at June 12, 2006 01:03 PM
Awwww, your post brought tears to my eyes. I had a neighborhood scruffy that came around sometimes like your ol fella but I haven't seen mine in about 4 months. I'm pretty sure he is gone... Anyway, hopefully you can work up to being friends and eventually get him to trust you enough to take him to the vet.
Posted by: Kindred Spirit at June 12, 2006 10:57 PM
I totally would have done the same thing.
Posted by: claudia at June 13, 2006 03:45 PM
Last summer we and our neighbours were feeding a stray cat that showed up in our yards. Now, he is lying on the couch next to me, though earlier he was crying at the door. We can't let him outside because he tested positive for feline leukemia. Poor Jimmy.
Posted by: Megan at June 13, 2006 07:22 PM
He's just getting through his life. I like to think that if I came to your back door, not looking my finest, that you might give me a cup of coffee. I'd give you some supper, too. It is his refusal to ask for help that brings out the great humanity in you. He'll get by without you, but you are thankful for his undomesticated presence. I don't recomment changing him. Right now you're just living parallel lives.
You're doing it for all of us.
Posted by: Angie at June 18, 2006 05:41 PM