The spotted cat was a newcomer to my neighborhood. The first few times I saw him, I spied him from afar. He stood out from the feral cats in the area; he wasn’t a stealthy hunter or a fighter. Rather, the cat seemed afraid of his own shadow. I tried calling to him, but he’d only stare at me, wide-eyed, then flee. His behavior made me wonder if he’d been somebody’s pet once. I mean, he just appeared out of nowhere one day. When I spoke to the neighbors across from my place, they claimed that someone had dumped him here earlier this summer.
I felt bad for the poor guy, who I dubbed “Moo” because of his cow spots. This was during the time I was feeding Snowy, the neighbor’s elderly outdoor cat, who I have blogged about here. Eventually, Snowy led Moo to my doorstep. When I opened the door, Moo looked at me, then at Snowy, as if to say: “Are you sure this is safe? Are you sure this lady can be trusted?”
When I put down a bowl of cat food in front of Moo, he grabbed a mouthful of pate and ran down the steps, spitting it out on the ground so that he could eat it a safe distance from me. And so went my next few encounters with Moo.
I was stumped: how could I possibly help this handsome boy if I couldn’t even touch him?
TO BE CONTINUED