Years ago in early December I “met” a stray kitty. I had been seeing her around for some months but she was so beautiful – and seemingly healthy – I thought she belonged to a neighbor. She was part Siamese, the type with white bodies that almost have a light silvery look because of tiny speckles, a bit of tabby striping on the tail and legs and crystal blue eyes.
I had put up Christmas lights on the front yard fencing and had to adjust a section on the side yard fence along the lane before putting up a short string for a small section of fence near our front door. I made the adjustment out front then was heading for the door to get the short strand of lights to finish the small, immediate front yard fence. Our driveway is circular and goes around a large front yard, also fenced. There, sitting on the mowing strip under the big front yard fence, was this kitty. She was just lying there watching me so I took the opportunity to approach her. Not only did she not run away but allowed me to pet her. I went into the house to get the lights and when I came out, this kitty had “stolen” a mouthful of crunchies from the side of the house (where another kitty ate). Being too big a quantity, she dropped them on the ground but immediately scarfed them up – obviously ravenous.
I went back into the house and got a can of cat food (the small 9 Lives cans), along with a dish, and went back out. She was still eating the crunchies. I started feeding her the canned food and she inhaled it. Finishing one can, I got another…then another. She ate 2 1/2 cans before her hunger was sated. After that episode, the kitty “lived” in the bowl of our large pine tree in the front yard. She was safely off the ground and pretty well protected from the winds, having protection from the trunk growth. I took food out to her every morning and evening. All was good until the rain started…cold, bitter rain accompanied by cold, bitter wind. I put an igloo dog house at the foot of the tree with some bedding and tried to feed her inside. The kitty would have no part of it…would only eat if the food were at the doorway, requiring minimal entrance. (By the way, her ear was clipped so I knew she had been spayed.)
One day I had to go outside for something on a day with heavier rains and wind. There was this kitty in the tree looking like the proverbial wet cat having a bath! I went over and picked her up – she didn’t resist at all. I took her around to the barn and put her in the tack room, making a bed for her and supplying her with crunchies, water and litter box. She didn’t leave that room for nearly 6 months! This is how she got her name: Tack Room, aka T.R. She eventually moved out and joined the rest of the world but was all over the place on where she was happy…to be and to eat. For weeks it was with the others, then it had to be over here…then over there. But, not a problem. I accommodated her gladly.
T.R. was also weird about being touched, loved. For whatever period, she would welcome it…even invited it. Then for another whatever period, “eeww…don’t touch me” or would just run away. It was years before T.R. would let my husband Bob come near her much less touch her. Then she’d seek him out. What is funny about all this is up until she started getting in our laps (all outside – never a house kitty), we thought T.R. was a boy. Once when Bob was loving “him”, he discovered that he was a she! We assumed she was a boy because her face looked masculine, as was her demeanor. I guess all those years of surviving on her own had contributed.
Not long ago, I noticed she was off her food some. She looked of decent weight so I wasn’t too concerned. The feeding process at Keller Farms is cats first, then horses, then dogs. I’d fed the cats and did not see her. [Yes, with the 20,000 cats here, I do know everyone and I do notice who is around and who isn’t!] I wasn’t too concerned because of her recent eating habits. We went out to feed horses and my Irish is first. I opened the door to her run-in shed and looked down to be sure her bucket was secured and where it should be to dump the hay and there was T.R. – in the bucket, obviously ailing. It was a cold and rainy, blustery day and evening.
I went in and picked her up (Bob finished feeding the horses) and took her into the house. Our little bathroom off the kitchen was where I raised Mikey and Greta and they still eat in there. I made a bed for T.R. and put a light cover on her. She was not good. Breathing was rattlely and labored. We have no idea how long she’d been out in that cold feeding bucket. I spent most of the night in with her, loving her and talking to her. God was gracious enough to allow me to be there when she expired so she didn’t die alone. Even Bob cried at her passing. She was a good kitty and I am so thankful that she found us and had a home here – a good 6+ years!
Her favorite spot had become being on the picnic table behind the barn under the eucalyptus tree. That spot afforded her good view and company as the arena and round pen are nearby. We put her to rest under her picnic table so she could always be where she loved. She was a treasure and we feel fortunate to have had her as part of our family. We don’t know how old she was when she came here, much less how old she was when she left. But we were blessed for the years we had. She was a good kitty. She was appreciative of her home and her food.
She deserves to be remembered.