Mickey's Story
My caregivers call me Mickey, and I
am a feral cat. Say the word “feral,” and a lot of people
imagine a rabid, savage feline straight out of a Stephen King novel.
What feral really means is to revert to an instinctual, wild state
in order to survive. In my case, it simply means that I am homeless.
The myth of “wild feral cat” allows humans to conveniently
forget that ferals were once family pets or are the progeny of
discarded pets.
But I am lucky. Most feral cats must scrounge through garbage-strewn
alleys and dumpsters for meager scraps of food. They often starve
to death or die from disease or exposure to harsh weather. I belong
to amanagedferal cat colony. My human caregivers provide me
with food twice each day, I have shelter, and I’ve been inoculated
against diseases. I’ve also been neutered. And I do not have
rabies.
The boatyard of a small coastal community is my domain. I have lived
here for over eight years along with Rachel, an ashen-colored Persian
and her little friend Jericho, a black and white tuxedo-type. Then
there’s Clarence, an orange cross-eyed tabby and his gentle
tiger-striped companion, Precious. Dainty Patches and shy Cremora
also make their home here.
Each morning I wait outside of “Mickey’s Galley,” my
feeding station, for breakfast to arrive. As far as I know, I am
the only boatyard feral who greets my caregivers with a throaty,
extendedmeowwwand who allows my head to be scratched. I’ll
even let one or two of them comb my thick gray coat. The other cats
remain timid and keep a watchful but grateful eye as their food is
delivered. At least two mornings a week we dine on sardines, and
on the weekends our evening meal is complemented with a treat of
catnip, which I always enjoy. In return for our care, we keep the
rodent population under control. The local restaurateurs, whose establishments
line the riverfront, are thankful for our contribution. We work quietly
and efficiently and out of sight of tourists as unseen feline ambassadors
of the boatyard.
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I have only vague memories of the human family who abandoned me.
But I clearly remember my overwhelming fright and loneliness when
they opened the car door, placed me on the ground, and drove away.
Whenever a new cat is callously dumped here, I recognize the look
of terror and betrayal on its face. Usually, our caregivers are able
to rescue the bewildered cat while it still has some remaining trust
in humans. After a veterinary visit, the cat will go to a foster
home and eventually be adopted by a family who understands the commitment
of pet ownership. A rarer event is for one of our longtime resident
ferals to be adopted, but I’ve seen it happen. Most often, the
cat has gone to live in the loving home of one of our caregivers.
Given the choice of being homeless or living with one of the few
humans who have shown me kindness, I would prefer the latter. The
problem is that most of my caregivers already have at least several
felines living with them, so my residential status is not likely
to change. Having accepted this, I ask only that I be allowed to
live in my small area unmolested. I enjoy the same simple things
in life as any creature: the sun on my back a light breeze, a good
meal, and the affection of those I trust. I am used to evading the
roaming dogs, the skunks who like to share my food, and even the
people who drive their automobiles recklessly through the boatyard.
I’ve even survived brutal winters thanks to the shelters my
caregivers have provided. But now I find that I must also defend
my right to live to those humans who profess a concern for animal
welfare, and would like to kill me.
These misinformed people believe that by eradicating feral colonies,
the “homeless cat problem” will be solved. What they fail
to understand is that it is ahumanproblem that must be addressed.
As long as there are irresponsible pet owners who fail to spay and
neuter their animals and who regard us as disposable objects, there
will always be colonies of homeless cats. But there’snevera
good or moral reason for abandoning an animal. I know this; I am your
abandoned pet.
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