I am a Feral Cat

Dear Human,

I was a typical kitten. A blessing! One of millions yet special!

I am curious. I am always wandering the streets. I am at home.

I have found my niche and chose my site. I seek the wild adventure.

I once had human hopes. I was born just a few houses away. I had pet possibilities.

I wasn’t in their plans. I was left in the alley. I was taught to hide. I was scared and abandon.

I once had a playful side. I found entertainment in a bug, in a leaf, in a floating feather.

I am a feral cat.

But being a feral cat means I upset humans. I do things they don’t like. I can hurt others with my sharp claws, my canine teeth, and even screech in the middle of the night.

I can be scared, too. I can be afraid of your loud voice and timid when you try to approach me. I struggle to survive when food is scarce and winter nights are wet and cold.

I am a feral cat.

Yet I remember you and the soft rug you left on the old wooden chair. I am an old feral cat that seeks your mercy during my weary days.

I am not a pet. I carry parasites and diseases, none I wish to share with you. I have wits and am able to scavenge for any scraps to survive.

I know you had a puppy. She kept me at bay. Now that she’s gone, your kindness extends to me. I do appreciate your caring nature. Just watch me from afar to see my tenderness. Don’t be fooled by my feline behaviors.

I am a feral cat.

I know you don’t like it when I act with compassion and let another feral eat from the dish. I can treat them with empathy for I too have eaten bugs and rocks to fill my hunger pains. I choose not to fight. Your kindness has allowed me to extend this to another. We all are trying to survive.

I am a feral cat.

One of millions yet special. I will never be a pet. I will never want to be trapped. I will never want to be tamed. I am a feral cat.

Yours truly,

Cautious Clay

#18/31

I have a male gray feral cat that lives in my backyard. He always keeps about 5 feet away from me. I do worry about him. He had a really hard time this winter. I’m sure he lost a life or two. I wasn’t sure he would make it. He’s about 10 years old. He has always lived in the neighborhood. In two years I will be moving. I worry about him and what will happen to him. I know I can’t make him a pet. I struggle with this. I do feed him, watch him sleep in the wooden chair, and wonder what would he say to put me at ease. This is one possible version of what he might say.

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