Boots

A little over a year ago, I shared a shortened version of the following story with my date. Shortly thereafter, I blogged the story in its entirety, and I posted it on another blog site. Since I've started using JoeUser, I thought I'd post it here. So, I share with you the story of Boots...

A couple of years ago, I built a house in a rather undeveloped neighborhood. There were a few homes that preceded the one I had built scattered about the patch of land waiting to be covered with new homes. While the land that waited wasn’t exactly in the country, neither was it inside the city limits. Rows of trees lined the southern boundary of the property. The lot I selected sat amongst a number of large oak trees. Because of the openness of the development and the size of the lot (not to mention that I couldn’t afford it), I opted not to build a fence around my property.

Several weeks after moving into my new home, I noticed a gray cat on my back porch as I rounded the corner of the house while walking through the backyard. The cat arched his back, froze, and gazed directly into my eyes. As I approached, he darted off into the trees that grew next to my vacant property line.

I found the gray cat on my back porch again the next day. I exercised more caution this time. I stood still and allowed him to study me from a distance. I too did the same. As I examined the cat from a far, I noticed the cat’s ear was partially missing, and I wondered if this was part of the reason he was so intimidated on the day before. Rather than approach the cat, I turned slowly and went inside of the house. I opened the pantry and found a can of tuna fish. I opened the can and dumped half of the contents onto a plate and made my way to the back door. The back porch was large and the gray cat sat hiding behind the fireplace that extended onto the porch. I gently opened the back door and sat the plate onto the porch, stepped back, and waited. I sat motionless against the brick of the back porch as far away from the plate as possible, and I waited. Eventually, the aroma caught the gray cat’s attention, and he gently peeked around the corner to see the meal that awaited him. He noticed me as well and stopped dead in his tracks. He paused for a long time. I continued to sit stoic, and I didn’t move nary a muscle. I gazed at the plate and at what awaited him if he would just step forward and take in what I had to offer. I didn’t want to scare him off by looking him directly in the eye. After a long pause, his desire for nourishment overtook his timidity. He crept over to the plate, smelled what it offered, and began to eat. I noticed that his ear had been chewed by another animal and his coat had missing patches of fur, which I inferred must have led to his skittish behavior. He took in the meal and left as quickly as he had eaten. I stood from the porch and returned indoors and covered the remnants of the can of tuna hoping he’d come back again to enjoy the rest.

As I had hoped, he was on the back porch again the next day. I immediately went to the can of tuna and spread it onto another plate, and I laid it on the porch in the same place as the day before. He approached the plate more readily and ate as quickly as the day before. This continued for the next few days. I would find him waiting for me in the same spot. After exhausting my two cans of tuna, I ventured to the dollar store and stocked up on canned cat food.

I found myself looking forward to feeding the gray cat. I had never had a pet growing up as a child, and I had never been interested in owning a pet as an adult. But there was something that tugged on my heartstrings when it came to him. Despite his chewed ear and mangled coat, he was a beautiful cat. His gray fur meshed with his white paws. My children had seen him and named him “Boots.” They desperately wanted to get close to Boots, but he was very wary of them. I had to help them understand that Boots had been very hurt by another animal and I reasoned with them why he was very afraid to get close to them. I had to rationalize that he would run from them because he didn’t want to get hurt. I explained to them that even though they had no intentions to hurt Boots, they had to earn his trust, and after all he’d been through, it was might take a long time.

As time progressed, Boots continued to come to the back porch. He usually came around the same time each day. Each time I laid the plate of food out for Boots, I would gradually sit closer to him as he ate. I didn’t move as he ate, I only sat closer than I had before. I took a long time in doing so. I was also cautious in not overfeeding Boots because Boots was a wild cat, and I knew he needed to continue to fend for himself in the wild. Despite his injuries, he had made it thus far without me, and I knew that he needed to continue to be able to sustain himself and be the cat he’d become.

I continued to sit closer to Boots as he ate each day. After some time, I decided I would slowly reach to stroke his back. He quickly turned and ran to the edge of the porch, but he didn’t jump from the concrete. He wasn’t about to leave his meal undone, and he slowly ambled back to the plate. I sat patiently as he ate and simply watched him enjoy his meal. The next day, I reached for him again. He jumped at first, but he stayed. I touched his back gently, and then let him finish. Each day, I did this until he allowed me to stroke his back very gently. His back arched in delight as I ran my fingers across his backbone. Eventually, after days of gentle strokes, he began to let me stroke his head as well. I’m unsure if he enjoyed his back or his forehead stroked more.

I began to notice that Boots would stay the night in the corner of the porch that offered him comfort. I laid a piece of carpet remnant out for him in his spot. He frequently spent the night on that remnant. Late one evening, long after I’d fallen asleep, I heard a shrill squeal. I sprang from the bed and lit the backyard with the flood lamps that hung from each corner of the house. I noticed Boots staring in obvious fright at a very large, black cat. Both ran at the sound of the back door when I opened it. I assumed it was this cat that might have had something to do with Boots’ missing earlobe. I worried about Boots for the rest of the night. I wondered if he’d come back the next day. Boots’ fear was evident as I cleaned the back porch the next morning. That afternoon, I found Boots sitting in his freshly cleaned spot on the porch, and I fed him as usual. I let him eat without touching him that day, just being cautious of the experience he’d had.

I often looked for that black cat. I didn’t like him. I kept a BB gun nearby ready to defend the cat I’d grown to care for. Some nights, I would hear Boots squeal and I’d hop up and grab my BB gun and fire towards the black cat that was always there. I don’t know that I ever hit the black cat because he was quick and sneaky, but nonetheless, I protected what had become my cat.

It was around this time that the winter months came upon us. I found Boots curled up in the garage one evening. I’d had a carpet remnant next to the garage entry door since I’d moved into the home. Boots had found a comfort zone on that sand colored carpet on the back porch, and he’d found the same comfort within the confines of the garage, especially now that it was growing cold outdoors. I began to feed Boots by the garage entry door. Boots was an intelligent cat. I would sit working from my desk that was on the other side of the garage entry door, and I could hear a light scratching on the door. It was always Boots telling me he wanted dinner. And faithfully, I took Boots a plate, and I stroked his back and forehead.

Boots never opened up to anyone else in my family. He only trusted me, and I know it was because I had invested the time in building trust in him. I provided for him and I stroked him and loved him in the way he needed, but I always allowed him to be himself. I accepted him and his wounds. I took him in as a wild cat, and I let him continue to be a wild cat. But along the way, I fulfilled his unmet needs; needs for which he longed.

I’m a lot like Boots. I’ve been a little chewed up. I have wounds. But underneath my fur that has a few bare spots, lies a soul that longs to be loved and cared for by someone who understands me and what I need. Someone who will allow me the freedom to be me; someone who offers gentle strokes with patience; someone who understands that when I leap from my plate and run to the edge of my porch, it’s just that my black cat lurks in my memory at times. But like Boots, I know that there is someone there that will know just how to do that, and eventually, I will scratch at the door longing for the door to be opened to me.

My sister-in-law left a comment on that blog in which she said, "I really like this. Who knew that a cat would one day teach you about yourself? I find myself wondering whatever happened to Boots. I have a feeling he found a nice kitty and lived happily ever after!"

Well, she was right. He found a nice kitty and is living happily ever after.