The cat you see as you enter my blog, is Chester. This is my all-time favorite cat. There was never a cat like him before or since. He adopted me when I moved to Peterborough in 1996. He actually moved in in 97 and lived with me until 2008 when died from intestinal cancer.
When I say he adopted me, it's true. I had two cats Placi (from Brooklyn) and Melody (from Toronto) who had moved to Peterborough with me. We were contented and happy that first winter when a grey striped tiger with a white face and bib started to hang around and watch us. It was really eerie because this cat was outside peering in my windows. When I moved from room to room in my house, I would look at each window and there he would be on a tree branch, on a window sill or on a chair back, just looking in. He moved around outside the house following me inside.
He looked to be in good shape so I assumed he belonged to a neighbour. It was a couple of months later that I realized he was roughing it. Nobody was caring for him because he was much thinner and had started eating the bread under the bird feeders. So I began putting food out for my silent watcher. He would only eat if I went back inside and if I came back out he ran away. For a cat that was studying me so carefully, he was very cautious and wouldn't approach me. So we continued through the winter and into the spring of 1997. By April he would allow me to stay while he ate. Then he would rub my legs when I emerged with his food, but I couldn't touch him. I was fascinated by this careful but devoted cat.
I had begun the spring yard work so I was outside a great deal. Wherever I was working, he was about ten feet away watching. It was clear now that he was a stray and very wary of human beings. He completely disappeared when another person came into the yard. By June the weather had warmed up and I was enjoying the early summer sun on a recliner behind the house. I was dozing off when I spotted Chester (I had named him by then) making a beeline across the lawn toward me. To my utter astonishment, he jumped up on my knee and started a tentative purr. I didn't move a muscle while he turned a couple of times, lay down and went to sleep. I don't know how long we stayed like that - it could have been an hour. I had become stiff from not daring to move. If your not a cat person, you'll think I was mad. If you are a cat person you'll understand because you have done it also - been so still in order to not disturb a special cat. The cat that has honoured you with it's trust.
It didn't take too long after that before he came into the porch to eat. But before he could come into the house to meet the other cats, he needed to be Vet checked, have his shots and then eight days later, he was neutered. I felt like I was betraying him but I knew the perils of a Tom cat's life would bring him to an early and brutish end. I discovered he was about eighteen months old, in good health and I wanted him to remain healthy. Besides, it is impossible to live with a full Tom. The odor of testosterone in a Tom's urine is unbearable.
The most surprising discovery was that Chester was not just a stray, he was a feral cat. He had never been socialized to be with humans. Strays usually were some one's pet once. A feral cat is born in the wild from a feral mother who teaches the kittens how to survive without humans. So Chester had no understanding of the normal human/pet interactions. When I scratched his ears or rubbed his back he grew confused. He had no idea how to respond. The feeling was pleasurable but at conflict with his danger signals. So we took it slow and easy. He was allowed to go out at will, because that was where he felt safe. He was terrified of thunder storms and if he was in the house when a storm started he was desperate to get outside to hide.
Chester got along very well with my two resident house cats and he understood his place in the hierarchy. He was deferential to Placi who was much older, and he was respectful of Melody's moods and space. There was not one hostile incident with the other cats throughout their lives together. One thing was very clear, I was his person. I have never enjoyed such absolute love from a cat as I did with Chester. When Maya came home he liked her too but not as single mindedly as his love for me. Maya said Chester loved one and 1/2 people. We had become bonded. As I was winning him over, he was also winning me. He knew me better than any other cat, could read my moods and anticipated my actions - but then he studied me for six months before permitting himself to be adopted.
I was given a book one Christmas called "A Cat is Watching" in which the author (forgot the name) describes the necessity of keen observation to a cat's survival. The more observant and cautious the longer the cat lives. He claims that cats are watching us quietly and invisibly all the time. They make their choices and time their moves based on the information they have processed, and God help them if they make a wrong decision. I always saw Chester as a prime illustration of that thesis.
It's been said that a feral cat makes a poor pet. There are challenges to overcome like litter box training, irregular hours, absences from home, and territorial marking, but patience and a mutual desire to be accepted does work wonders to alter behavior. I don't recommend a feral cat for a family with children, nor can it become an indoor cat only. If you have a strong need to win, be dominant and control, a feral cat is not for you. In fact, get a dog and avoid cats altogether. I never had a cat more devoted, loving and interesting than Chester. That feral cat was the best cat I ever shared my life with.
