In February I wrote the story of Barney, a feral cat who was abandoned on our rural road and left to fend for himself. He was already a wild and frightened adult when he first came looking for food and shelter at our home 18 years ago and in all the years we’ve had him, he’s never once tamed down enough to let us touch him. Wary and aloof, we can only wonder what happened to him in his former life that made him so distrustful of people.
But last Christmas something of a miracle happened when Barney who, up to this time, was strictly an outdoor cat living in our hay loft, decided he’d had enough cold winter weather and opted for the warmth of the woodstove on his old bones. He came to the back door with all our other cats who wanted in for the night and waltzed right in and made himself comfy on the dining room rug. Amazed, I called for my husband to come look. We both were shocked and figured Barney would start meowing to be let back out within a few minutes. But minutes turned into hours and he was still sleeping on the rug when we woke up the next morning and didn’t seem to be in any hurry to return to the great outdoors. Long story short, Barney the barn cat became Barney the kitchen cat, staking his claim on the thick kitty pad in front of the woodstove. My husband had a theory that perhaps Barney suffered some kind of stroke that erased his former memory and gave him a new start at a different life.
I decided it would make an interesting piece in my Gazette column and when the story ran, I received an outpouring of letters and phone calls from people who loved the poignant story of a feral cat who decided to trust humans in his old age.
Fast forward six months. We wondered when warmer weather came whether Barn would continue to come inside the house or would revert to his outdoor ways. Today, in the mid-seventies, he comes and goes with the rest of our cats, dividing his time between the back porch glider and the sofa. Oh yes, he’s made the short distance from the kitchen rug to the living room couch in one fell swoop. We have also noticed in the last few months he has gone completely deaf; another reason he is probably glad to be inside at night, not being able to hear a fox or coyote sneaking up on him. If we want to get his attention, we have to lightly tap him on the head or stomp on the floor so he can feel the vibration.
He was never housebroken to a litter pan but has never made a mess in the cabin. When he needs to go out during the daytime, he positions himself in front of us and makes a quiet meow. If he wants out at night, he comes to our bedroom and makes the same polite meow by the bed. He makes a funny little “pert-pert” sound when he wants you to pet him, which still amazes us since he’s never let us touch him in all the years he’s been here. Barney now begs for neck rubs and under-the-chin scratches and is shameless in his intent to receive them. He follows us from room to room, wanting to be wherever we decide to sit. If we get up to move, Barney follows us to our new location and settles in that particular spot. Slippers are a must inside the house because if barefoot, he enjoys nothing more than giving your big toe a “love bite.”
If you decide to sit in his spot on the couch, he will jump up and wedge himself between you and the back of the sofa and push you to the edge with his back feet. He had ear mites that we could never treat because he wouldn’t let you touch him. Recently, he let me dab Vaseline on both my index fingers and gently massage both ears without a fuss. Physically, he is a long-haired, brindle-colored cat with expressive amber eyes and ear tufts on the tips of his ears, a feature associated with bobcats. One negative thing that’s happened to Barney was he had a bad seizure sometime back in March. We were sitting in the kitchen when suddenly he jumped up, ran into the living room and began writhing around on the floor, eyes rolled back and body jerking uncontrollably. I thought, this was it for Barney. I didn’t want to touch him for fear he’d scratch me, but I finally picked him up to take him outside. When I lifted him, he went completely limp. I placed him in the yard grass, thinking he’d continue to seize, but he just looked around as if he was confused as to what was happening around him. It was much like what happens to a human when they come out of a seizure. He roused from the grass, came up on the porch, went back into the house and has not had another episode since. But we know that at his age, time is running short. All we can do is love and take care of him.
And that is the update on Barney the barn cat—Barney the kitchen cat—and now, Barney the couch potato. I somehow know you Gazette readers will be happy to hear about Barney’s progress and wish the (now tame) feral cat all the best!
