By Moss Geren, Writing Specialist
March 23, 2023

I’ve owned more than twenty cats over my lifetime – but I only ever got two on purpose. That’s life, I guess: you beg your parents to get one cat named Blackberry from the pound when you’re a six year old on a small farm, and soon you’re hyped you have as many cats as chickens running around.

Some were kittens born on the farm, but we also had a lot of strays. People would abandon cats on the side of the road out in the country. We met half our cats that way, and I’m sure I insisted we had plenty of room to keep them. Really, what’s one more cat if you have enough land?

That’s how we got MilkyWay. She was scared and lost, suddenly in a place she didn’t recognize, and I was determined she was going to be our cat.

I had spotted a small black and white cat, really a large kitten since she wasn’t full grown, on our property. I remember sunshine and cold air. She was nervous when she saw me and darted under the barn to hide.

I’m sure I hopped inside the kitchen immediately to share the good news. “Mama, there’s a cat outside! It ran under the barn!”

She was probably watching Buffy or something on our small block of a TV that lived on the counter. The screen couldn’t have been more than two feet long. “I’m sure you could lure it out with some food,” she suggested.

I sprinted to the shed nestled at the edge of the forest. It was originally supposed to be a playhouse for us kids, but it never caught on in popularity. Instead it held our cat, chicken, goat, and dog food along with some tools. I grabbed one of the grubby bowls under the edge of the shed, made sure there was plenty of kibble, and trotted back to the barn.

It was time for the hunt.

I sat that bowl down beside the gap underneath the barn, just at the corner of the building. There wasn’t a gap under one side because the earth tilted up, so animals couldn’t get in or out that way. That was the corner I crouched by so she wouldn’t see me.

I waited, tensed, quiet, my eyes locked on that bowl. After a small eternity, she dared to creep out, inching towards the food. Who knows when she’d last eaten.

I jumped forward, scrambling to reach her, but MilkyWay was faster. She disappeared under the barn once more.

I’d blown it! She knew I was there now, waiting for her. She wasn’t going to come back out. But if I waited, if I was still enough, maybe she’d think I’d left. I crouched down again.

I got bored after a while and sat down in the grass, daydreaming. I was worried about the stray, though. I missed her a time or two while I was playing with strands of grass or lost in thought.

She was hungry, though, so she kept coming back – even when this big-child-thing wanted to catch her. I crouched at the corner of the barn once more, frustrated and cold as the sun started getting lower in the sky. I was going to get her this time. I think I put the bowl slightly further away from the barn so I’d have a better chance.

This time, when she padded into the late sunlight, I snatched her up and pulled her into my chest. I held her so she wouldn’t be scared I’d drop her, with one hand under her butt and one around her torso. She squirmed, digging her claws into my collarbone, and I scruffed her.

Delighted with my new captive, I carried her into the house and finally let her eat.

MilkyWay stayed in the country along with many of our cats when we moved to the suburbs. I missed them terribly and worried about them, but I think many of them were happy to stay on a farm. We did bring one of her kittens with us, though. Snowy is now a healthy 15-year-old who enjoys wet food and naps. She even got to stick around for the second cat we got on purpose.

To be continued…