Courting the Barn Cat

The pretty wild kitty.

O.C. and Syd in the stable.

I've gone back to grooming Drifter once a week as I rebuild the strength needed to get back in the saddle, but truth be told, I think I've spent nearly as much time grooming the barn cat as I've spent on Drifter! I'm trying to win her over, you see, and that takes time.

O.C. is one very attractive kitty, with a long, soft coat and an amazing pair of luminous green eyes. She's not what you think of when you think "barn cat." But she was born to a feral mother and has been virtually wild since she was a kitten, so she's happiest in and around the stable, keeping vermin at bay. She's extremely skittish, wary of the slightest noise, alert to the littlest movement, and does not trust people. That isn't to say she doesn't like people; it's just that if you startle her (and she startles easily), she's going to object with her teeth and her claws before making a run for it!

Snoozing on horse blankets.

Naturally, this interest in people and petting coupled with her extreme skittishness intrigues me and makes me want to win her over. I haven't had any cats in my life since the Ancient Kitty passed away last year, so I was feeling ready to make a new cat friend. I may prefer dogs over cats, but that doesn't mean I'll pass up an opportunity to pet one. And O.C. has heavenly, soft-as-a-cloud fur.

O.C. looks very silly with her leg stuck up in the air.

It was her fur, in fact, that brought us together in recent weeks. It just so happens that I not only like to pet animals, I also like to groom them, especially when it comes to working matted and shed fur out of an animal's coat. I find it deeply satisfying and animals tend to like it, too. So when I noticed that O.C. had several large mats in the long fur behind her head, I had to have a go at them! She will jump up on a lap readily enough, but I was concerned that the inevitable pulling on her fur that would occur when I started working the mats out would provoke a painful response. I therefore went to work rather gingerly, but she made it quite clear that she loved what I was doing! I think the mats had gotten to the point that they were causing her some discomfort and she seemed to understand what I was about. She purred and purred as I worked the matted fur free, pushing her head into my hands, begging for more.

O.C. is now sporting a shorn spot on the back of her head.

I was able to get most of the mats out with my fingers, but there was a particularly large and stubborn one that could only be removed with scissors. I hated to evict O.C. from my lap, knowing that there was a good chance this would constitute a criminal attack in her eyes and she wouldn't let me come near her again, but off she went, much to her displeasure. It did take some time to persuade her to come back for further ministrations and for some reason when she DID get back up on my lap, she decided that my left hand was not to be trusted. It is rather difficult to snip mats out of the fur of a cat using only one hand, but every time I moved my left hand, she'd try to bite it. It was protected by the sleeve of my winter coat, so no harm was done, and she only managed to sink her teeth into me once. The stable owner told me that they'd given up on trying to cut her mats out because she so frequently drew blood, so I was quite pleased to learn that I'd been able to provide this service to O.C. with minimal acrimony and bloodshed! I don't mind when she tries to bite or scratch me because I know she's just scared and doesn't know what else to do.

O.C. on the alert!

So each time that I've come to groom Drifter since, O.C. has been around and I've immediately sat down and invited her up for a little bit of petting. I work out any mats that are starting to form, massage her ears and her skull, tickle her under her chin, and give all manner of physical affection around the head. She's made it clear to me that I am not to run my hand along the length of her body (that's how I got bitten), touch her anywhere other than the head, or make any sudden moves, but if I abide by those rules, she wants nothing more than to snuggle.

The contented kitty.

When I came by the stable yesterday to groom Drifter, we followed our usual pattern. She meowed when she saw me and jumped up on my lap as soon as I sat down on the bench. I separated some hairs on the back of her neck that were starting to get matted and then gave her lots and lots of petting. She was purring so fiercely that she began to drool, which made me laugh. Benny, the Ancient Kitty, would do the same thing when he was happy. It made me glad to know that O.C. was enjoying my caresses to such an extent! At length, I decided that since I was here to look after a horse, I ought to get to it, and dislodged O.C. from my lap. She stayed nearby, however, curling up to snooze in my coat when I took it off, but what really made me happy was that when I was bending down to clean Drifter's hooves, with my hands near the ground, O.C. came over and tried to persuade me to pet her some more. She actually trilled! I suspect that O.C. has not trilled for many human beings, so I felt very honored. When I was finished with Drifter, I sat back down on the bench and O.C. immediately got back in my lap, butting her head against me, purring and drooling, snuggling her little face into the crook of my elbow, licking my jeans, and even, at one point, playing with the strings of my hooded sweatshirt.

O.C. watches a flurry of falling snow through the open barn door.

And so I sat on the bench in the chilly stable, listening to the sound of steady rain falling on the metal roof, the vibration of O.C.'s purr traveling up through my hands, marveling at her warm but virtually weightless presence on my lap. I could see Bear's steaming breath wreathing his head as he stood at his stall door, pondering the rain that fell beyond, and hear the quiet but solid noises of the horses shifting their bulk from hoof to hoof as they dozed away the afternoon. The air was full of the sweet perfume of the hay stored in the room behind my bench and my skin and clothing were imbued with the scent of horse. As O.C. writhed in my lap, seeming to ache with an urgency to get as much pleasure from my touch as she possibly could, my soul broke free and my being opened to a sense of peace.

Evil kitty ears.

After half an hour of this quiet meditation through interspecies physical connection, I decided, rather reluctantly, that I ought to go before my blood sugar dropped or I got too tired to drive. I began the delicate process of trying to persuade O.C. to leave my lap. She did not wish to do so, and when I incautiously moved my hand to give her the classic feline eviction nudge, she perceived it as an attack and responded in kind, drawing blood on the back of my hand with her claws. I was sorry that our wonderful session had to end with blood and misunderstanding, but was glad when O.C. immediately began to clamor for my attention. I do not know cat vocalizations and body language as well as I know the language of dogs, but I am pretty sure she was pleading for a return to my lap and more petting and was quite sorry to see me go!

O.C. has the most beautiful green eyes with glittering gold undertones.

And so I am happy. Altruistic joy has a particular keen-edged sweetness. I felt it very strongly during the Ancient Kitty's final years, when he was old and greasy and bony and my pleasure in touching him had to come from knowing that my doing so made him happy. I'm feeling that again with O.C. I don't need to own her or coo over her or tame her of all her wild ways. I just want her to know that I wish her no harm, that I will happily untangle her fur, and that I only seek to give her pleasure with my touch. It is immensely gratifying to me to that her trill, her head butts, and her drooling purr all would indicate that O.C. has come to understand my intentions and is, in my hands, knowing joy.

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Farewell to Benny

Benny basking on the back deck and reaching out his paw to ask me for more petting!

For the past seven years, I have been cat-sitting a positively ancient white and marmalade feline whenever his owners go out of town. Despite the fact that Benny was painfully thin, increasingly greasy, possessed the world's crabbiest-sounding meow, and that I'm much more of a dog person than a cat person, the Ancient Kitty and I developed a definite rapport over the years, no doubt because whenever I came over, Benny was in for a couple of hours of concentrated kitty massage! So it is with some sadness that I must announced that on Tuesday evening, November 8th, 2011, at the grand old age of 18 years and 8 months, Benny parted ways with this world.

Me and the Ancient Kitty

Our routine went something like this: when I was taking care of Benny, I'd come by in the morning to freshen his food, say hello, and bring in the newspaper, occasionally letting him out to spend the day on the back deck if the weather was fine, and then in the evenings I'd come back to feed him again (including giving him his dinner treat, which over the years varied from a couple of shrimp to little pieces of pork chop; he never ate much, so there was always the hope that something special might induce him to consume a few more calories), and then settle down to watch TV and pet him for a couple of hours. During the early years of our acquaintance, Benny would sit on my lap for the petting sessions, but as his arthritis worsened and it became harder--and then impossible--for him to jump up on my lap, I took to sitting on the floor with him. He loved that. He had the somewhat unfortunately tendency to drool when he was happy, so he'd purr and drool while I pet him, whether it was on my lap or snuggled up against my leg while I sat on the floor. He always ate better after a vigorous massaging session and I may have in fact prolonged his life with all that attention! He liked to be pet anywhere except on the stomach and especially delighted in being rubbed under the chin. He was always skin and bones during the years that I knew him, so it wasn't all that pleasant to touch him, but he loved it so much that it made it worth my while to make him so happy.

The King of the Couch back in the days when he could still jump up on it.

Benny was a cat of simple pleasures. By the time I got to know him, he had pretty much outgrown toys, though he occasionally indulged in a bit of catnip over the years and I understand he had something of a leather shoe fetish. What he loved best of all was lying in the sun and to his last days he enjoyed a good roll in the dirt. He wasn't a particularly social cat, but whenever he heard me come in through the front door, he'd yowl hello and want to get right to the snuggling.

Benny spent hours warming his old bones in the sun.

He was also of the opinion that there was nothing so fine as a good roll in the dirt!

The skinny kitty.

There was no getting around the fact that the Ancient Kitty was OLD. I thought for sure he was a goner as far back as the summer of 2006, when he was 14. Each time I came over, I braced for what seemed like the inevitability of finding that he'd died during the interval since I'd seen him last. I knew what to do in that event; his hold on life seemed tenuous enough that his owners and I had discussed that possibility and they always left a bag to store his body in until their return when they went out of town. And yet, Benny just kept living and living and living. His arthritis got so bad over the years that his paws were deformed and he had to walk on his tiptoes, causing frequent carpet snags, and his back was permanently hunched. He cleaned himself less and less over the last year or two, so his fur was often greasy and his increasing stiffness meant that eventually he couldn't reach his back at all, resulting in mats of fur along his spine. I've mentioned that he ate very little; I discovered that he preferred pates over chunks when it came to his wet food, but even then, the best you could hope for was that he'd eat a few mouthfuls. Constantly refilling his wet food one spoonful at a time with a rotating variety flavors was the best way to tempt his appetite and he could be relied upon to eat a little bit of dry food daily, but he was positively skeletal. Yet he continued to live and live and live, basking in the sun, until he finally stopped eating altogether and his owners saw that the time had finally come to put him down.

It may seem strange that someone such as myself who is so particular about tactile sensations would be willing to devote many hours to running my hands over a cat who was unpleasant to touch, but I do so love to pet animals, and I also really loved making Benny happy. What he wanted was so simple and so easy for me to give. He was old, he wouldn't live much longer (though he lived longer than anyone ever imagined!), and all I had to do to fill him with bliss was to rub his body. How could I refuse to do this for him? All of us become less pleasant in our final years and I felt, somehow, that massaging Benny even when he wasn't so nice to touch was a way of saying that we remain deserving of love (and of pleasure) even when we are old, and me giving this love to Benny, even though I hadn't known him since he was a kitten, was also a way of being hopeful that someday, when I'm old, there will be people who care for me even though they did not know me when I was young and fun and beautiful.

I'm very glad that the last time I saw him, exactly one month before he died, I gave him a wonderful spa weekend. He'd ceased cleaning himself entirely by that point and his fur was in a horrible state. I spent the first evening cutting and working the mats out of his fur during our TV time. I was in agreement with his owners that a bath would kill him and I was worried that even wiping him with a damp towel would be too chilling since he had no body fat left, but I really wanted to clean him somehow. Fortunately, thanks to the internet, I found that cornstarch can be used as a dry shampoo for a cat's coat and I rushed right over to give it a try. The method of sprinkling the cornstarch on his fur, massaging it in, and brushing it out worked like a charm! He absolutely loved it, since having me thoroughly rub through every bit of fur on his entire body essentially amounted to the mother of all kitty massages. Two hours later his fur was considerably whiter and soft and non-greasy to the touch. He was one happy cat! The next night I did a follow-up round of searching and working out every last mat and bit of cornstarch as well as some general petting. Benny was very happy and his owners reported that it was like getting a whole new cat and that he seemed considerably less depressed to be so fresh and clean!

Benny doing his best sphinx imitation and purring like mad after his cornstarch bath.

And so Benny has moved on. This is not a sad thing. I've been expecting his death for four years now and am astonished that he lived as long as he did. It was time for him to go. I will miss him, though, and his cantankerous meow and his love of being petted and our evenings spent on the floor together watching "Lock-Up" on TV. I feel like Benny has made me a better person, more giving and less judgmental, and gave me an opportunity to better understand and honor the aged.  So thank you, Ancient Kitty, and rest in peace.

Benny
March 1993 - November 2011

It wasn't always easy to photograph Benny because, unlike my dog, he wouldn't hold still for the camera! However, Benny did have the opportunity to meet Mouse a few summers ago and one of the resulting photographs is available for sale in my store! This is one way in which he will continue to live on. 5x7 Cat and Mouse - Sun Enough for Everyone