The Newest Member

Phil has agreed to work on straightening a neighbor’s barn while he is away for the winter. It is a huge, red barn full of hay…and being full of hay also means there might be varmints lurking in the shadows. After finding some “droppings” from some raccoons, he decided that before much work could go on, he needed to get rid of the animals.

He set a live trap using some canned salmon we had on hand (yes, I know, Northwesterners with canned salmon do not mix- I told him that when he bought it 8 months ago!) and waited. He hadn’t been out to check the traps for some time, being busy with deadlines and holiday stuff, but one afternoon something told him he should stop and check that trap.

As soon as he stepped out of the truck he could hear yowling and sure enough, he found a furry orange cat in the trap. With background knowledge of “barn cats” he put on gloves and stepped to the side- bracing himself as he opened the cage door, expecting the cat to bolt out of site. But instead, the cat started purring and dancing around his legs in thanks.

Throughout his time working on the barn that day, this cat followed like a good puppy dog. When Phil hopped in the truck to come home, the cat hopped in too. Instead of shooing him out, Phil took pity on Cat, and brought him home to feed him.

From that point on, Cat has decided to adopt our family. Instead of running and hiding when he followed Phil into the house, he greeted me like an old friend. Ryan, when I finally decided Cat was safe, at first carefully petted him. Later that evening, he was driving cars on Cat’s head, dancing a jig in front of cat calling “Kiddie!! Kiddie!” Cat did not blink an eye.

We always talked, that if we were to get a cat, it would have to be quite good with children, old and house trained, and not a “scratcher”. I never believed we would find a cat so very sweet- and here one was, out in a barn.

Upon talking to the neighbor by phone, he explained Cat had been abandoned last summer about four miles from his house, and then dropped off by a neighbor when Cat was too friendly with an aging mom and they worried about him tripping her. So, though I had my doubts about where Phil really took this cat from, the story seems to be legit, and we seem to have been adopted by the furry guy.

We decided to name him MorrisII, because he looks strikingly similar to the cat my grandpa had as I was growing up. For all practical purposes, however, he is called Cat, or Kitty, because that is the way Ryan excitedly greets him.

So, we have a new member to the family, and you would think by looking at that cat and Phil that we have had him since he was a small kitten, when Phil bottle-fed him night and day at two-hour intervals. Cat sits on his lap, purrs, snuggles, and generally eats up whatever attention and gourmet food Phil can round up for him. Ryan hops down the stairs each morning, pulling on my hand, calling for Kitty before we are even halfway down. He pours Kitty’s food and asks me to get him water and follows this with a kiss on Kitty’s head. Truly, I have no idea why Cat feels so comfortable here.

Update: (Two weeks after I had originally written the above post)
Three nights ago I let Cat outside. Four hours later Phil asked where Cat might be, and I explained that nature must have been calling. My husband called for him to come inside…to no avail. Then I tried. Again, Cat did not respond. We waited an hour, and then Phil went outside, walking to the machine shed and back, calling for the cat. Still, he did not respond. We went to bed that night, mostly thinking he must be out roaming.

When he didn’t show up the next morning, we started to get worried. Neither of us said anything out loud, but we could read each-other’s looks. We had been told not to get too attached to cats out here. Too many predators. Too easy to get lost. We have already lost a few “barn cats” to the raccoons.

To add to the heartache, Ryan, about four times a day would run to the back door calling “Kitty! Kitty!” and we would open it, call out his name, and wait for….nothing. I would tell Ryan Kitty was busy, and we would close the door.

It’s amazing the emptiness I felt looking at the cat’s dish, or eyeing the huge bag of cat food that would now sit there as a constant reminder that we, once, had a pretty neat cat. I grew up with cats, and I know how finicky they can be. I know that most cats don’t like to be pet on their stomach, they claw if their tails are pulled, they run if you try to pick them up and they aren’t in the mood. This cat, this cat was surprisingly pliable. He warmed my side of the bed, he went potty outside, he spent the majority of the day sleeping, and Ryan could be a Two-year old to him and he didn’t bat an eye. We would not find a cat like this again.

Update:
Then last night, we were playing cribbage late in the evening. I heard a faint sound outside, and chalked it up to the wind, or possible wishful thinking. Cat was gone—eaten or run off.

Half an hour later, Phil, out of habit and his own wishful thinking, went out again to call for cat. And from the other room I heard “Welcome home! You are never allowed outside again!” coming from the kitchen. I can’t really explain the surprise or excitement we felt at seeing the little furball again. And that bit about going outside only lasted the evening, because I really don’t want to have a catbox in the house…