Feral Cats & Life Lessons

Lots of people talk to animals…
Not many listen, though… That’s the problem.

Benjamin Hoff, The Tao of Pooh

Life’s lessons appear in different forms. Nature is a prime example. 

In A New Earth, Eckhart Tolle talks about watching two ducks in a pond have a disagreement, shake-it off and then swim away like nothing happened. Unlike humans they don’t hold grudges! As I watched him tell the story to Oprah, I wished for my own experience to watch wildlife and receive life lessons.

That wish has now manifested into a menagerie in my backyard. 

It began last summer, when a local bird lover moved away and so I installed a birdfeeder to pick up the slack. The orphaned birds soon discovered it and our yard was filled with song.

A black cat appeared soon after, staking-out the feeder from underneath the patio bench. She became a daily fixture, watching the birds from a rotation of hidden spots, patrolling the yard, and materializing whenever I came outside. A mutual interest existed between us. 

I often shared pictures with my daughter Lacy, a feral cat expert in Des Moines, and her daughter Gemma, a similar cat enthusiast.

Gemma named the black cat “Anubis,” after the Greek god who oversaw souls in the afterlife (she has a flair for dramatic nomenclatures). 

One day Anubis was joined by a look-alike cat. The two of them sat together, watching the feeder activity. This new, occasional cat was named “Midnight” (also by Gemma). 

I began setting out food for Anubis each morning and afternoon. The bowl always appeared empty, so I’d add more and more. My daughter said it sounded like more than one cat was feeding. And she noted that possums and racoons were also fans of cat food. 

Right on cue, the possum appeared. I walked into our open garage and there he was. Next to a spilled bag of cat food, looking straight at me. We both froze. What they say about possums is true. He stayed motionless for hours and disappeared sometime before dawn. 

On a frosty November morning, Anubis came-up and looked at me through the sunroom window. With ice on her fur and eyes locked on mine, she conveyed a “please help”-vibration. 

I felt her pain and found an insulated cat house at the local hardware store. The heated variety with a warming pad on the bottom. Anubis discovered it right away. She curled-up inside, and contentedly peered out at me through the clear flap door. 

Winter arrived and I added hay bales to protect her from the blustery wind and snow. This new compound became “Fort Pharoah.”

One night extra large sounds came from the area. I went outside to see a raccoon, glancing back at me as it ambled away with leftover food. It should not have surprised me but it did. 

The recent polar vortex brought a long string of sub-zero nights. The once occasional, now regular cat Midnight attempted to join Anubis in her heated house. There was a kerfuffle. Anubis stayed and Midnight wandered out into the frigid darkness. So I drove to the store for a second heated cat house. The thought of him freezing was just too much. 

This wildlife experience has revealed life lessons. Not the complicated kind but more a collection of simple truths.

I am the “food lady.” 

When I give love, I receive it right back in untold ways.

I answered their wants, and they answered mine. 

Each of us is free. We don’t own or control one another. 

All creatures deserve love as they all come from the same creator. 

We come from love. We are love. And we love.

My favorite part of these winter days is going out on freezing cold mornings. As I crack open a can of food, the cats peer at me through their frosted flap-doors. I chat them up while filling their bowl. Midnight jumps out and sits by my feet, meowing a long story of some sort. And I wish them a happy and safe day before going back inside, leaving them with a “Love you, guys!”

And in that moment, I feel all the love come rushing back to me.

So let’s be kind to our wild friends and to each other. Because we’re all still wild at heart.