A new house was built just
adjacent to the Cumberland Valley Rail Trail, just east of Ott Road, in the
past year or so. Beginning in the spring, I have begun to see more cats in the
proximity of the house. To date, I have identified at least six different cats.
I assume that they are barn cats; as I walk by most of them are visible, but
remain close to the tree line so that, in case I am more dangerous than I look,
they can make an easy escape. That is true for all but one of the cats.
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| Tiger from the CVRT |
Tiger, my name for him because he
has never managed to tell me his real name, nor have I ever met any of his
associated humans, is a friendly fellow. He is predominately white on his legs
and belly, with an orange, almost golden, coat across is back. Tiger has a
funny face with an orange path around his nose and mouth, that I refer to as
his van dyke beard. From the very first time we crossed paths, he has wanted to
run up aside me, tucks his head down and rolls on to the grounds just out of
reach. If I squat to greet him, he pops up and rubs against my legs, in the
process asking for a head scratch. If I remain standing, he is a little intimidated,
but he remains interested in greeting me. His soft meow lets me know that he is
around, even if I do not immediately see him.
On the hottest days of the
summer, and now the coldest days of winter, Tiger is always happy to see me. I
suspect, however, I am probably not the only one. Tiger, me thinks, is partial
to all humans that are willing to spend a little time with him. Maybe, one day,
he hopes, I will bring food because of his hard work in getting acquainted with
me. His companions watch warily as Tiger and I have our normal conversations,
consisting primarily of, “you’re a good cat,” meow. “Okay, I am going to
go now.” Meow.
On a walk in mid-December, the
coldest day of the season thus far, I was nearing the valley of the cats as I
now think of this part of the trail. As I approach, I keep an eye out for the
cats. Nearby a wooded area is usually filled with several birds. I stopped for
a moment and watched juncos, sparrows, wrens and a downy woodpecker flit from
tree to tree. Soon, I saw two feline figures in the distance and thought to
myself that the birds should take care because the half a dozen cats could
wreak havoc on their community.
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| The much sought after head rub |
Before too long, I see Tiger,
tail up in a slight question mark pose, with a soft meow to greet me. I bent
over to rub his head as he rolled on his back from side to side. He gets up and
stares at me, his eyes begging for more attention. I laugh at him because in his
fur are several pieces of dry leaves that has created a new layer of leopard
spots. Despite me telling him that it is cold, the wind chill was in the single
digits, and he should get into a barn or other shelter, Tiger is determined to
follow. I happened to glance up to see a sharp-shinned hawk in a nearby tree. I
reached for my camera, but the raptor flew across the fallow cornfield before the
camera focused. I wandered down the path, lost in my thoughts: just a few
minutes before the birds were in trouble because of the cats. But my perspective
had changed. There had been kittens in the valley of the cats during the summer.
Was it in the realm of possibility that the cats were endangered by this
bird? Tiger and his companions face a myriad of other dangers because they are
free-range cats I decided; the hawk is probably the least of their concerns.
I had once again regained my
normal stride but continued thinking about Tiger and potential dangers. I smile
because Tiger is trying to make believe that he would like for me to be his
human; however, I know this is likely a scam – he probably says that to all the
humans just to get some treats. Nevertheless, I should put some cat treats and food
in the car so that when I am walking in this area…just then I heard a soft
pathetic Meow. Tiger is about ten yards behind, his squat legs moving as
fast as they can carry him. We are more than a quarter of a mile from our
meeting place. I bent over and gently chided him for following me, all the while
giving him another head scratch. Maybe I am wrong. Perhaps I am the only human who
spends some extra and special time with him. After all, he is a free-range cat.
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| Crier |
In between semesters I can walk
the CVRT more frequently and manage to cover more of the trail. Within a few
days, I found myself back at the valley of the cats. As I walked the slight rise
from Ott Road, I began to scan the trail ahead for signs of cats. Off in the
distance, I spied a couple of felines walking adjacent to the path in the
distance, but soon, just off to my left, I heard the familiar beckoning of
Crier, the name I have given to a timid grey cat. Crier’s meow is more of a lamentable
wailing. His cry is a pitiful call for attention, yet it is somehow muted,
almost difficult to hear. As I talked to Crier, two other cats (Turtle and a
black and white, there are several) creeped up behind me just out of reach but
curious. Crier is skittish and any move toward him results in a dash away for a
few feet. Yet, he/she continues to cry. I squatted down on the other side of
the path and spoke gently to Crier, who sat serenely but then let out another
pitiful howl. Food would probably help my cause I thought.
I walked toward Oakville and was
a little disappointed that I did not see Tiger. Although I occasionally fear for
his safety, I know that he was probably off doing what free-range cats do and I
would see him later. It was rather late; I would soon begin to lose the light.
A house in Oakville, at the
intersection of Mudlevel Road and Oakville Road, is a cat haven. For several
years, the occupants of the house have fed a brood of outdoor cats. It is not
uncommon to see up to a dozen cats inconspicuously sleeping on the porch, and in
the bushes. Paper plates are strewn around the outside of the house with the
remnants of wet cat food. Once when I was walking by, I met the man who lived
there and complementarily mention his care for the cats. He replied that I was
welcome to take any cat that I wanted, they all needed good homes.
The house across the street
always decorates for holidays. Christmastime always brings old-fashioned
plastic figures of Santa, Frosty, and the reindeers. I always admire the
manager scene, with paint peeling from the plastic figures. I speculate how old
they must be: are they fifty years old? There was a time when several houses
would have had these plastic figures with long extension cords endeavoring to
power the displays. Today, they have been replaced by LED displays,
projections, and deflated airblown inflatable characters.
On my return trip, I noticed the
fog hanging low across the valley about an hour and a half before sunset. After
I greeted two grandmothers, speaking Pennsylvanian Dutch, pushing a baby in a
stroller, I heard a persistent familiar greeting meow, as Tiger came
running from the tree line to greet me. I knelt and Tiger flopped down to be
petted. He was more than half a mile from his normal location. I asked if he wanted
to follow me back toward his home and the other cats, but he was content to lie
in the middle of the trail and gently roll back and forth on his back. He
seemed to be telling me, I am good, I’ll catch you next time.
