Stray

I know he is there when I hear him, screaming in our front yard late at night. The sound is not that of a cat at all, somewhere in between the howling of a wolf and the crying of a child. But he is a cat, just a very big, very scared, and very hungry one. I suspect what's driving him out of his hideaway, probably somewhere in the woods surrounding this place, is pure desperation. Hunger, making him overcome his fear. His looks indicate he has been out there for a long time. He has the size of a small dog, thick, rough striped fur and his head is as wide as the rest of his body, making him look like a smaller version of a lynx. We have named him Stray.

It is midnight and freezing cold as I step outside, holding a bowl of catfood. The instant he sees me he dashes to the other side of the front yard, watching me from there, big yellow eyes flickering in the dark. My own cats are outside as well, clearly not happy with the presence of the intruder, hissing at him. He moves even further away, hiding under a car in the street. I shake the bowl and he perks up as the familiar sound of food reaches his ears, and very slowly, belly pressed against the ground, he comes closer again. I crouch, making myself as small as possible. The arm with the bowl stretched out towards him, softly calling him, using my other arm to keep my own cats at a distance. "No" in a firm voice if they come too close, and finally they give up trying and stay several metres behind me, leering.

Suddenly, he's there. Taking a mouthful of food from the bowl and immediately backing off again, swallowing hungrily, hardly taking time to chew. I put the bowl down and he approaches, and for a minute or two I find myself sitting right next to this magnificent creature, crouching with my arms around my knees, not making a move. I watch him eat, while he divides his attention between eating and keeping an eye on me and my cats, hissing at them occasionally. I wonder what he's thinking. Most likely, all he really cares about is the food. Still, behind all the agression I see a nice animal, just very scared, and hardened by the life he is forced to live.

I wonder if he can be tamed. Very slowly, I outstretch an arm towards him, hand open, palm up, showing him clearly there's nothing there to harm him. His eyes narrow but he continues gobbling down the catfood and I leave my hand there, ony a few inches away from him, inviting him to come closer and be petted. He strikes faster than lightning. His front paw lashing out at my hand, long sharp claws bare, breaking my skin. Too late to withdraw, all I can do is move with him and so I move my hand down so his claw doesn't dig as deeply into my flesh as it could have.

I don't make a sound. He is at the other end of the garden again, watching me. Looking straight at him, our eyes meet. With his stomach full and at a safe distance, every bit of fear has vanished from him. Almost majestic he is sitting straight up, yellow eyes flashing. I grin. Foolish girl, whatever made you think he could be tamed and turned into a domestic cat. He may not have chosen the life he is living, but it is where he belongs. And you may feed him, from time to time. Don't expect anything in return, apart from being allowed to revel in his beauty and wildness. When I finally get up to go back inside he takes two big leaps and vanishes from sight. Back to the woods. The house is warm and comfy and my bed awaits. But first.. a bandaid.