Part 2 of 3 of the true story of a wild (feral) cat colony over a 3-year time period. My observations and involvement.
I named the two kittens from Pal in my first series Corn Muffin and Mini Pal, but they became just Muffin and Mini.
Mini is slightly larger than Muffin, but they are colored nearly the same. Very light tan coats with darker yellowish-brown tortoise shell markings. From 20 feet away, they look yellow. Mama Pal looks almost orange.
The first month, Muffin and Mini were constantly sneezing, their eyes and noses constantly running. Mama stayed with them nearly a month after they were weaned, unusual for a wild Mama cat. Her being 1.5 years old with her first litter was also unusual.
Eventually, Mama Pal divorced herself from the kittens, returning to her strip mall territory. Two or three days after Mama left, Muffin started coming within a foot from me, planting his front feet and meowing at me with such intensity that his face looked like it would split in two. He has been doing that ever since.
I reached down to pet him, but he’d scuttle away. Seconds later he was back again, doing the same thing. “I just fed you,” I told him. “What are you trying to tell me?”
A thought occurred. Rummaging later in a kitchen drawer, I found a length of string and a piece of ribbon.
The next morning, I dangled the ribbon in front of him. His eyes lit up and he snatched it! Soon he was climbing a sideways growing bush as if in a child’s jungle gym, chasing the toy. He had been demanding me to “Be my friend, figure out how,” and I had. The next day, shy Mini, seeing Muffin hadn’t been hurt or killed by the new activity, joined in.
I bought a toy with a squeaky mouse and a huge feather on the handle. For a few weeks, for 15 minutes each morning before food, it was Toy Time, played with an intensity only kittens can muster.
One day Muffin was resting a minute after vigorous play, and I ran the feather gently from the base of his head to his tail. Soon my hand replaced the feature. Realization dawned in his eyes, he started purring loudly. The next day I was petting both of them. I tied the toys to low hanging branches, for them to play with when I wasn’t nearby.
When a cat approaches you with its tail up in the air like an exclamation point, it’s a sure sign that they like you and are glad to see you. Every morning, when “Big Friend (me) comes home,” both boys come racing to me with nothing less than happy tails. That’s how I was quick to figure out they are boys. Mama Pal never had a happy tail, and I’ve never touched Mama Pal in any way. But her other mannerisms tell me she’s glad to see me.
The boys grew quickly. My slowest time of the day for selling papers is before 9 a.m. That was the time they wanted the most food and fun with Big Friend. But whenever they sat near the curb and commanded me to come to them, I did. Every couple of hours, they get a couple minutes of pets and fresh food.
The boys were inseparable. Muffin was the leader, Mini followed along.
I always get down on one knee to feed and pet them. Muffin’s spot is directly under me, with Mini almost right next to Muffin. Muffin, face inches from mine, likes to look directly into my eyes with love and adoration. Though cats don’t usually make long eye contact with humans, Muffin’s not your run-of-the-mill cat.
When I’m near Mini, he does what I call The Biscuit Dance. His eyes half close and change from light brown to burgundy. He kneads the ground with his front paws while in a sitting position, causing him to sway gently side to side.
At nine months old, Muffin started disappearing for one to four days. Every time he came back, he’d want extra treats and pet time. Every time he was about to go on a trip, he’d demand two or three extra pet sessions. I never worried about him after the first few “trips” — he always came back fit and healthy.
When Mini was 11 months old, he made his first and last disappearance. He was gone for six days. The sixth day at sunrise, as I was greeting Muffin, I heard Mini’s high-pitched, quick-succession “MewMewMew” coming from the bushes. He emerged thin, dirty and unable to use his hind leg. I’m guessing a cat bully was chasing him, causing him to run unthinking into the road and get clipped by a car.
He wanted to be near me a lot for the next few weeks, more than usual. His leg healed in days, now he can effortlessly leap to a perch five feet off the ground to be eye-level with me.
About a week later, Muffin couldn’t stand on his front leg. Careful examination showed he had a quarter-size sore at the base of the hurt leg, probably a spider bite. He, too, recovered in days.
- Every day with Muffin and Mini is a good time, here are some snapshot moments of our first year together.
- Muffin and Mini laying side by side on their backs, close together as Siamese twins, eyes half closed, front paws gently waving in the air, purring like motors as I rubbed both of their chests at the same time for minutes on end.
- On peeping into the tent-shelter I made for them, I found them both fast asleep on the one catbed, each with a front leg around the other.
- After a satisfying meal, they would sit side by side together three feet away from the curb, facing me. They would clean themselves in perfect synchronization, minutes on end. Traffic would slow while people gawked and snapped pictures on their phones. Lick, lick, lick left paws; wipe, wipe, wipe faces; then to the right paws and wiping faces.
- I’m sitting in a folding chair in windchill near 20°F below zero right after the January snowstorm in 2024 with a boy in each lap, enjoying a half hour of pets. I had on six layers, but they were unfazed by the cold. Though, they hated walking in the snow!
- On many occasions, one or the other presents me with a fresh-caught mouse or mole. After praising their catch and giving approving head pets, they then happily devour what they’ve caught.
- At least once a day, ever since he first appeared at the food plate, Muffin carefully covers it up with leaves and twigs using his front paw. He always checks his work carefully, sometimes making adjustments. He also loves licking every drop of gravy from the empty Friskies cans before they’re discarded.
Of course, I could go on and on with 100 more snapshots. The first year with Muffin and Mini was the best, but wild tomcats grow up and become territorial.
On Feb. 26, 2024, Mama Pal was hugely pregnant. When she came to eat on February 27, she wasn’t. Find out what happens next in the last installment of Feral!