I step into this cage and he greets me with a purr. His tail is full mast and his eyes no longer seem dim. His stomach is rock hard- I suspect that he has been eating items not usually on a kitty menu.

There is no indication of the Cyclone of years past. He doesn’t pace his cage, simply chooses to lay on one of the three layers, or sit atop the cat carrier looking somewhat regal. He loves to have his ears scratched…”ooh mom, that’s it, you nailed the spot!”

I am cautious how I touch him and how much remembering the Cyclone of long ago that went ballistic and aggressive at a moment’s notice. Purring and cuddling in my lap he looks up at me with his golden eyes as if puzzled to why the petting has suddenly stopped. I dare not push the issue, because one trigger could change him in an instant. So we grab all the alone time I can manage and work our way toward understanding each other better. A small glimmer of hope dwells within me, could it be possible that he could merge into general population this time? I don’t know where he has been, just that he has been gone a very long time. He mystifies and delights me and come what may, I am glad he is home.

I first noticed his Royal Feralness when he slipped out from under the house early in the morning and did an impressive hose-down on some plastic garbage bags waiting for pick-up. As I quickly swiped the urine off the plastic bags, I vowed that this gold-and white tomcat?s days of mating would end soon. He made several trips to the outdoor feeders at night chasing the other cats away until he ate this fill. Then, in true tomcat style, he doused the surrounding bushes with this signature scent warning the other cats to stay away from his newly claimed turf. The next evening, I gave my kitty call and the barn cats came running. Quickly, I put them all inside the house. Time to trap this tom.

Within a matter of three days after withdrawing all food sources from the feeders, the orange tom was yowling inside the trap. Quickly, I dropped a dark towel over the trap noting that his substantial size prohibited much movement inside the trap. It was midnight Saturday and since the vet clinic wouldn?t open until Monday, I carried the trap upstairs into the Quarantine Room. After making sure I had all the supplies I would need; food, water, litter, scoop, plastic bags etc.. I opened the trap and stepped back. The tom bolted out of the trap and ran up our eight-foot walls, shredding wallpaper in his wake. He began to run laps around my head over and over- staying right at the base of the ceiling, ripping molding out of the wall! Amazed at this frantic activity and afraid he would stroke out, I left the room securing the door and praying he would calm down soon. The next morning, I returned to the room finding the plastic trellis we had screwed into the wall over the window, left askew. The screen ripped open and ?Cyclone? nowhere to be seen.

This was in 2003 and he returned a week later looking haggard and ill. I was able to scruff him quickly and whisk him off to the vet for an exam and clip job. Unable to merge with my regular cats, this three year old now neutered boy was adopted out a few months later to a farm eighteen miles away. A week later, he showed up, worn out and beat-up at our feral feeders. I made a quick trip out to the farmhouse only to find the road barricaded and the farm completely deserted.

Now, here it is 2010 and Cyclone returned last week. He is out in my cat enclosure recovering from yet another fight and is missing most of his teeth. He is ten years old (thereabouts). Since his first introduction to our family, he has lived outside and in 2006 after nightly raids from coyotes, I assumed he was gone. It appeared he had vanished from the face of the earth. The coyotes in this area leave little behind on their raids and since Cyclone didn?t show his golden face for weeks afterward, I assumed the worst.

Our winter this year, unusually harsh for this area forced me to confine him in my triple level cage. He takes his confinement remarkably well, but we didn?t name him Cyclone for nothing. It is still early, and I suspect, he still has a story or two left to tell me.

Last night, I took two kittens over to a possible forever home. I took Charlie and Shasta. I wanted to take Mercedes but the woman called prior to the appointment and asked for kittens instead of grown cats. I wanted to take Turner but he had other ideas.

My alpha cat Charlie was terrified the entire time he was there. He was trembling so hard and didn’t come out of the carrier unless I took him out. Then once I released him, he bolted for the safety of the carrier. Shasta ended up coming out and hiding under my coat some of the time, then trying to get back to the carrier the rest. It always breaks my heart to leave these guys, even when I know the home is a better place than where they are now. The elderly woman was a bit difficult but the daughters helped to buffer her and dissuade her from picking up the kitty and playing with him. I think the woman was about 80 something.

So I left Shasta and the carrier and called this morning to find out she has taken refuge under the bed, which is normal for them to do. I tried to impress upon these people that it is going to take time. With abused kittens, they have a very low trust meter. Shasta’s world has been rocked and he needs time to adjust. I will miss my snuggly kitty- he liked to burrow his head into my armpit every night and sleep.

I received a call this morning about 5 3 month old fully feral kittens. My heart wants to take them because I was told if I don’t take them- they will be euthanized because they are “to old” to be socialized- which just isn’t true! I told the woman that I regretted not being able to take them and hung up the phone and cried for these beauties.