Kit Kat -- An Unlikely Pal
It was deep winter when I first spotted this strange looking stray. There were lots of strays around the apartment I shared with my Neea-Kha. It was right across from the river -- lots of ravines and large fields all around. The reason this cat caught my eye is because of his very large head and small body. His head seemed too large for his body. He was always out after dark -- seldom saw him in the daylight. What a scared cat he was; at the first sound of anyone walking down the sidewalk or a car coming by, he'd jump off the breakwall and down through the ravines. Always furtively looking about. After he finished his nightly walk along the breakwall, he'd shoot across the street and speed through the large field to wherever he called home. One night, sitting bundled up -- coat, blanket around me -- just getting some air, I watched him doing his patrol. It was such a frigid night and I started thinking about the life this cat lived. I talked to God about this poor cat, wondering if I should at least make sure he had food to eat. After all, I wouldn't hesitate to feed a hungry person or give a blanket to someone sleeping under a bridge. Animals felt the cold and hunger, just as humans do. It didn't take long to decide that yes, the right thing to do would be to at least feed him.
Next day I loaded up with tinned cat food, kibbles and styrofoam bowls. Just as night was falling, I took a bowl of oily canned salmon across the street to the breakwall. I waited and watched for this white cat to come out but didn't spot him at all - snow was falling fast and furious and I had noticed how much he hated snow and rain. The food was gone the next day, but I doubted that "my" cat had got it. Next night, more food and just as I was about to call it a night, across the field he ran, barely putting his paws down into the deep snow. He went to the bowl, looked furtively about, then just seemed to inhale that food before he was making the quick trek back to his hideout. And so it went, night after night - putting food out, sometimes seeing him, sometimes not. Going over in the morning to dispose of the night's bowl. Watching for him by day. He was seldom around during the day that winter. Spring came and along with it, the rain. I'd go two or three days without seeing him then all of a sudden a sodden, soaking cat would come streaking across the field to the breakwall. I started feeding him during the day also. When I saw him settle on the breakwall, I'd quickly get a bowl of food ready; he would leap down to the ravine - never allowing me near him, and wait until he was sure I'd gone before appearing again to devour that day's leavings. There were times I saw other cats and racoons eating the food before my cat came for it. Then I'd wait for him to appear and take another bowl over for him.
The kind lady in the apartment next to me - Val - had an old cat (Mookie) who was a very picky eater. Mookie would only eat food from the same can once. Every time she ate -- and she ate very little at one time -- it had to be from a fresh can. Val had seen me enough times feeding my cat and started leaving the uneaten cans of food at my door; I'd come home from work to find a plastic bag with two or three cans of food and sometimes unopened cans. The upstairs neighbours had a cat and they started leaving canned food and kibbles -- oh, we forgot that Sassy doesn't like this kind of food, can you take it? Well, sure. As much food as I got and bought, none was ever wasted.
Summer came along and Kit Kat, as I now named him, started to appear around 5:00 pm - just as I was walking from the bus stop. I'd quickly run into the house, get my dog ready for our walk, get Kit Kat's food ready and walk across to leave the food. My Neea-Kha, who usually liked cats, did not like the idea of me feeding anyone but her. She took to running up to the breakwall (of course, she was on a leash), jumping and barking. Kit Kat would disappear down the side of the wall and sometimes wouldn't appear again until nightfall. When night came I'd be taking Neea-Kha for her night walk and Kit Kat simply stayed hidden. Sometimes the food wasn't even touched. This wasn't the ideal situation for any of us so I started packing up my work tote with a can of food, a container of kibbles, a large spoon, styrofoam bowl and a plastic bag to dispose of the previous day's bowl. I got some good-natured teasing from my co-workers about not being paid enough to buy real food for myself. When I got off the bus at 5:00, Kit Kat would be there waiting for his food -- problem solved!
Kit Kat by now would stand on the hill just under the breakwall watching me, then jump up and start noshing down as soon as I turned to go. By the end of the summer, he allowed me - in fact waited for me - to stand there, protecting him and his food from the other cats that came around. I simply stood with my arms wide around cat and bowl, not touching, just there. It kept the other cats away.
One day as he came up for food, I saw he had a deep gash across his cheek, close to his eye. Must have been in a catfight - he really could defend himself but preferred to avoid fights if possible. I went into the apartment and got some surgical gloves, damp facecloth and polysporin. I had never touched Kit Kat before and thought I might have to forego cleaning the area and just quickly dab on the polysporin. He had just finished the food I left and didn't startle as I reached for his face with the facecloth and stood still as I cleaned around the cut. He stayed put and allowed me to put the polysporin all around the area. I was amazed and so gratified that he trusted me that much. The cut healed perfectly within a few days.
Summer turned to fall, then another deep, frigid winter. Watching Kit Kat do his nightly rounds of the breakwall, I was again amazed and gratified to see that his body was now proportionate to his head size. He didn't really have a big head after all, just a starved body. He was actually quite a large cat now. How I wish I had taken photos of him at some point, but I can still see him so plainly in my mind's eye. He now meowed for his food when I got off the bus. If I wasn't fast enough, he would do the head-butt and meowing and prancing around. If I happened to miss him for a day or two, the neighbours in my building would be sure to tell me if he'd been there in my absence. If they saw him during these times, they hurried down the stairs and took him over some food. Wonderful neighbours I had! On one occasion, during days of heavy snowfall and bitter cold, I hadn't seen Kit Kat for four days. I was worried but didn't know where he hung out. So -- I donned heavy coat, boots, ski pants -- the whole ensemble and headed in the direction he always went. I hunted behind and around the many apartment buildings down there, behind dumpsters, in clumps of grass around the trees, peered over backyard fences, down the laneways, to no avail. My search was fruitless, my worry endless. I prayed for his safety and that he wasn't freezing and starving, I peered out the patio doors constantly; everyone in the building was on the lookout for him and would let me know if they spotted him. How relieved we all were when on the sixth day, with much aplomb - as though nothing untoward had happened - Kit Kat sprints once more across the open field, bounds on top of the breakwall and waits for his supper! Well, he sure did get supper and then some! He didn't look any the worse for wear, after all.
Winter once again turned to spring, then summer and then again. How I wished I could bring this cat into our home but Neea-Kha never did make peace with the fact that I was feeding him. She would bark through the patio doors when I took food over but Kit Kat was used to that by now and as long as my dog wasn't with me, he'd stay and eat. For three years I tended to this cat - he must have been seven or eight years old about this time.
One evening, I was delayed coming home from work - buses were running about 15 minutes late. Val, my neighbour was standing on her balcony and yelled across that Kit Kat was under my balcony, waiting for me. That surprised me; he never crossed over to our side of the road, except to run across the field a distance down from us. I quickly got a bowl of food ready and gave it to him under the balcony. When I got inside, my Neea-Kha was anxiously pacing, ready to go out to do her business. I figured on taking her out the back exit, with Kit Kat eating at the front of the building. I turned to go towards the back door and how I wish I had kept Neea-Kha on a tighter leash. She ran and jumped at the front door, scaring poor Kit Kat, who took off like a shot, into the road. I screamed as I saw the oncoming car hit him. Even with such a devastating blow to his body, his legs were still trying to run as he tried to make it across the road. My scream brought the other tenants out of the building and I went back in to call Animal Control. I knew he had been mortally injured. Neea-Kha and I continued on to our walk, tears streaming down my face. When we came back, neighbours from several buildings had come out to the street. Someone had picked Kit Kat up and laid him atop the breakwall. Neea-Kha stood beside me, quietly - not even jumping up to the wall - as I put my arms around this tough guy cat who had allowed me to befriend him. The neighbours chatted quietly, waiting with me for Animal Control to come. One young lady said that her mother was going to be devastated by this...she had been feeding Kit Kat for quite a while! My fellow tenants marvelled that I had been feeding him for three years and it was likely on the days I missed him, he was getting fed elsewhere. I was happy to hear that! Animal Control finally appeared, confirmed that he was male, bagged him up and carted poor Kit Kat away. I wish I'd had the presence of mind at the time to bury him properly in the field. However, I know that his spirit quickly found its way to that place where he would never again feel pain or hunger; the place where he could run for joy, not from fear. I vowed never again to feed stray cats.
Next day I loaded up with tinned cat food, kibbles and styrofoam bowls. Just as night was falling, I took a bowl of oily canned salmon across the street to the breakwall. I waited and watched for this white cat to come out but didn't spot him at all - snow was falling fast and furious and I had noticed how much he hated snow and rain. The food was gone the next day, but I doubted that "my" cat had got it. Next night, more food and just as I was about to call it a night, across the field he ran, barely putting his paws down into the deep snow. He went to the bowl, looked furtively about, then just seemed to inhale that food before he was making the quick trek back to his hideout. And so it went, night after night - putting food out, sometimes seeing him, sometimes not. Going over in the morning to dispose of the night's bowl. Watching for him by day. He was seldom around during the day that winter. Spring came and along with it, the rain. I'd go two or three days without seeing him then all of a sudden a sodden, soaking cat would come streaking across the field to the breakwall. I started feeding him during the day also. When I saw him settle on the breakwall, I'd quickly get a bowl of food ready; he would leap down to the ravine - never allowing me near him, and wait until he was sure I'd gone before appearing again to devour that day's leavings. There were times I saw other cats and racoons eating the food before my cat came for it. Then I'd wait for him to appear and take another bowl over for him.
The kind lady in the apartment next to me - Val - had an old cat (Mookie) who was a very picky eater. Mookie would only eat food from the same can once. Every time she ate -- and she ate very little at one time -- it had to be from a fresh can. Val had seen me enough times feeding my cat and started leaving the uneaten cans of food at my door; I'd come home from work to find a plastic bag with two or three cans of food and sometimes unopened cans. The upstairs neighbours had a cat and they started leaving canned food and kibbles -- oh, we forgot that Sassy doesn't like this kind of food, can you take it? Well, sure. As much food as I got and bought, none was ever wasted.
Summer came along and Kit Kat, as I now named him, started to appear around 5:00 pm - just as I was walking from the bus stop. I'd quickly run into the house, get my dog ready for our walk, get Kit Kat's food ready and walk across to leave the food. My Neea-Kha, who usually liked cats, did not like the idea of me feeding anyone but her. She took to running up to the breakwall (of course, she was on a leash), jumping and barking. Kit Kat would disappear down the side of the wall and sometimes wouldn't appear again until nightfall. When night came I'd be taking Neea-Kha for her night walk and Kit Kat simply stayed hidden. Sometimes the food wasn't even touched. This wasn't the ideal situation for any of us so I started packing up my work tote with a can of food, a container of kibbles, a large spoon, styrofoam bowl and a plastic bag to dispose of the previous day's bowl. I got some good-natured teasing from my co-workers about not being paid enough to buy real food for myself. When I got off the bus at 5:00, Kit Kat would be there waiting for his food -- problem solved!
Kit Kat by now would stand on the hill just under the breakwall watching me, then jump up and start noshing down as soon as I turned to go. By the end of the summer, he allowed me - in fact waited for me - to stand there, protecting him and his food from the other cats that came around. I simply stood with my arms wide around cat and bowl, not touching, just there. It kept the other cats away.
One day as he came up for food, I saw he had a deep gash across his cheek, close to his eye. Must have been in a catfight - he really could defend himself but preferred to avoid fights if possible. I went into the apartment and got some surgical gloves, damp facecloth and polysporin. I had never touched Kit Kat before and thought I might have to forego cleaning the area and just quickly dab on the polysporin. He had just finished the food I left and didn't startle as I reached for his face with the facecloth and stood still as I cleaned around the cut. He stayed put and allowed me to put the polysporin all around the area. I was amazed and so gratified that he trusted me that much. The cut healed perfectly within a few days.
Summer turned to fall, then another deep, frigid winter. Watching Kit Kat do his nightly rounds of the breakwall, I was again amazed and gratified to see that his body was now proportionate to his head size. He didn't really have a big head after all, just a starved body. He was actually quite a large cat now. How I wish I had taken photos of him at some point, but I can still see him so plainly in my mind's eye. He now meowed for his food when I got off the bus. If I wasn't fast enough, he would do the head-butt and meowing and prancing around. If I happened to miss him for a day or two, the neighbours in my building would be sure to tell me if he'd been there in my absence. If they saw him during these times, they hurried down the stairs and took him over some food. Wonderful neighbours I had! On one occasion, during days of heavy snowfall and bitter cold, I hadn't seen Kit Kat for four days. I was worried but didn't know where he hung out. So -- I donned heavy coat, boots, ski pants -- the whole ensemble and headed in the direction he always went. I hunted behind and around the many apartment buildings down there, behind dumpsters, in clumps of grass around the trees, peered over backyard fences, down the laneways, to no avail. My search was fruitless, my worry endless. I prayed for his safety and that he wasn't freezing and starving, I peered out the patio doors constantly; everyone in the building was on the lookout for him and would let me know if they spotted him. How relieved we all were when on the sixth day, with much aplomb - as though nothing untoward had happened - Kit Kat sprints once more across the open field, bounds on top of the breakwall and waits for his supper! Well, he sure did get supper and then some! He didn't look any the worse for wear, after all.
Winter once again turned to spring, then summer and then again. How I wished I could bring this cat into our home but Neea-Kha never did make peace with the fact that I was feeding him. She would bark through the patio doors when I took food over but Kit Kat was used to that by now and as long as my dog wasn't with me, he'd stay and eat. For three years I tended to this cat - he must have been seven or eight years old about this time.
One evening, I was delayed coming home from work - buses were running about 15 minutes late. Val, my neighbour was standing on her balcony and yelled across that Kit Kat was under my balcony, waiting for me. That surprised me; he never crossed over to our side of the road, except to run across the field a distance down from us. I quickly got a bowl of food ready and gave it to him under the balcony. When I got inside, my Neea-Kha was anxiously pacing, ready to go out to do her business. I figured on taking her out the back exit, with Kit Kat eating at the front of the building. I turned to go towards the back door and how I wish I had kept Neea-Kha on a tighter leash. She ran and jumped at the front door, scaring poor Kit Kat, who took off like a shot, into the road. I screamed as I saw the oncoming car hit him. Even with such a devastating blow to his body, his legs were still trying to run as he tried to make it across the road. My scream brought the other tenants out of the building and I went back in to call Animal Control. I knew he had been mortally injured. Neea-Kha and I continued on to our walk, tears streaming down my face. When we came back, neighbours from several buildings had come out to the street. Someone had picked Kit Kat up and laid him atop the breakwall. Neea-Kha stood beside me, quietly - not even jumping up to the wall - as I put my arms around this tough guy cat who had allowed me to befriend him. The neighbours chatted quietly, waiting with me for Animal Control to come. One young lady said that her mother was going to be devastated by this...she had been feeding Kit Kat for quite a while! My fellow tenants marvelled that I had been feeding him for three years and it was likely on the days I missed him, he was getting fed elsewhere. I was happy to hear that! Animal Control finally appeared, confirmed that he was male, bagged him up and carted poor Kit Kat away. I wish I'd had the presence of mind at the time to bury him properly in the field. However, I know that his spirit quickly found its way to that place where he would never again feel pain or hunger; the place where he could run for joy, not from fear. I vowed never again to feed stray cats.