The Old Yellow Tom

Sometimes in spite of yourself you find an attachment growing with the most unlikely animals.

Several months ago we discovered an addition to the barn cats.  It wasn't hard to spot since all my cats are black and white.  We would notice a flash of orange flitter through the rafters or see a whiskered face peeking out of a pile of buckets.  I wasn't too impressed since I figured it would be a female cat that would promptly produce a litter of kittens.  I long since had decided that the cost of spaying and neutering cats was less than feeding litter after litter of kittens.  My barn cats now consist of four neutered toms, which suits me fine.  Hubby just shrugged and put out a little more cat food.

Soon the oldest grandson had gotten into the mix.  He began a campaign to entice the animal out and tame it.  He would patiently wait by the feed pan until the cat would begin to creep closer and closer.  Soon the cat became accustomed to the boy and would wait until the other cats had finished and slither into the feed room.  After a while he would come out from behind the feed sacks and approach the cat food.  It wasn't long after that he announced that I didn't have to worry about kittens since this was a "gen-u-wine" tom cat! 

His battle worn appearance indicated that the old tom had obviously survived his share of barn confrontations.  I wondered if there would be fights between my docile old toms and this newcomer.  I didn't have to worry.  They didn't like him but they did give him lots of space.  A wary sort of truce was declared between him and the rest of the residents. 

Little by little the old yellow tom became a fixture in the barn.  After a while he quit sprinting away when anyone approached, instead he would just slide out of reach.  With unbelievable patience the grandson cultivated a friendship with the battle scared old cat.  Before long he could slowly reach out a hand and scratch him gently between the ears.  His efforts were rewarded with a rusty grumble that he slowly realized was a purr of contentment.  There the friendship stopped.  Any move to come closer resulted in the old tom removing himself out of reach.

One day the grandson came galloping up from the barn with the news that the old tom was hurt.  "Come quick, we've got to do something!"  I followed him back to the barn and surveyed the problem.  The old cat was certainly chewed up.  It looked like something had grabbed him across the back and he had escaped but with a substantial wound.  The problem was, how do you catch him and stuff him in a crate to take to the vet.  Then who is going to stick their hand in the crate to get him out.  He wasn't that hurt!  I shook my head and told my grandson that it was up to nature now.  He would either get better or not, but there wasn't much we could do about it.  Privately, I thought my cat problem would be solved in a few days.

Against all odds the old tom didn't die.  His wounds looked nasty and he got thinner and thinner but he just kept hanging around.  After a week or so we noticed that he had a toe that was swollen but he seemed to walk o.k.  Time passed and his back would heal up, then break open again.  His toe got bigger and bigger.  He got thinner and thinner.  Still the old guy just kept on living.

Sometime during this he decided to move to the back porch with the cat we call the "yard cat" since he prefers the yard and porch to the barn.  The two old cats would lay around on the porch and wait for the dog to be fed.  At that point they would snack on his food until he finally would woof them back to their lounging spots.  Weeks passed and his condition seemed to improve but little.  He's still thin and scrawny looking, his toe is still enormous, but his ability to endure is awe inspiring. 

What has changed has been our attitude toward him.  What started as an attitude of "maybe he'll just die" has slowly become "maybe he won't!"  I've even started to try to pet him, which he tolerates for about 2 seconds then he moves away.   His defiance of all the odds has brought about a grudging admiration of his grit.  Ugly or not, I guess he's now our cat.