"Mitchell": How I Lived My Feral Life in Domestic Delight

By Nancy A. Tremblay

Cats. Be they feral, running amok among us, or the charming creature who has given the pleasure of their company as they sit curled up and purring on your lap. Then again, there are those elusive moggies, the ones that slink through the night, their presence made known only by the solitary caterwauling that echoes through back alleyways and quiet neighborhoods. Cats. Do we really know them? Of course not, but in these pages, "Mitchell" will lead you on his personal journey of lives past and present. He will share a rare glimpse into the world of his culture, the ancient rules, cat society, and their real history. Mitchell, a feral-turned-domestic, tells all—or as much as he sees fit to reveal. He will make it clear to cat devotees and those with lingering aversion towards the feline species, that each and every cat has his or her purpose and most assuredly has a fantastic tale to tell.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Apr 23, 2020
• ISBN: 9781684566754

Book preview

Tidbit 1

It’s All About Me

I would like to start this tale of my life by beginning with my name, Mitchell. Well…that is not really my name. But isn’t it such a 1950s urbane suave but somewhat masculine sort of a name? Well, at any rate, the one thing I have learned throughout my many years, is that names must be changed to protect the innocent, which in this case would be me.

Oh yes. Before we begin, I would like to give mention to my person, Nancy who, too, shall also remain anonymous for now (anonymity anyway Oopsy! She doesn’t need). She is kindly assisting me in writing this story, from my words, to attain the understanding of you two-legs that I have come to know as humans. I would do it myself, but I lack the correct digits.

Amazing what a difference having thumbs makes. I dare say that is what separates man from the ape, but that is just not the case (in so many ways) as apes do have thumbs. I guess it’s what you choose to do with those thumbs, is it not? To be able hit the little square buttons on the machine she uses while I dictate to her, would be magic for we felines.

This world would indeed spin a different direction if we were to write. Perhaps cats will one day evolve just enough to have thumbs. Most likely not, as we are already nearly perfect. I changed my mind, we are perfect, as a chosen few of you already know.

On with my narrative, as I must tell this tale as quickly and as correctly as possible. You see, the only time I can fully be understood by the ears of a human is on the second super blue blood moon of those sporadic months when that rare lunar occasion occurs.

I was born in one of those months at the literal stroke of midnight. That charmed and magical, yet ominous hour. Just as the clock echoed its last cascading chime for that day, I made my grand and glorious entrance into this insensible, indifferent, cold, and calloused world. Just kidding. I am quite unfamiliar with any lunar rarities and/or oddities and I have no clue as to when I was born…this time. This time? Well, I shall get on with that subject later. I think you will find it quite fascinating. Right from the cat’s mouth! But for now, back to my story… All things in good time you know. That is my motto. Not really, but if I were to have one, that sounds like an appropriate one.

I can only imagine my birth as being a most spectacular event. Not unlike like the crescendo of a maestro’s most glorious and bravura movement in a brilliant new Masque. For a few moments I lay there alone in my glory. My first recollections soon after though would be those of the other little amoebas, littermates if you will, who had made their grand entrance with all the excitement of a kernel of popcorn on a hot skillet. All the squirming and clawing next to me. On top of me. Under me. Initiating a nonstop, dreadful, and annoying noise with every breath. That would be my first and a most ghastly taste of irritations as they searched in earnest for their initial clumsy sip of our mother’s sweet, life-giving milk. My, I can really command a sentence, can’t I?

Those first days and weeks are not much more than a blur to me now. I do know we were born to a feral cat who had been adopted shortly before our birth. We were a special surprise. I do vaguely recall two large metal objects in the small room we were born in and confined to for weeks. There were two snowy-white towers of warm comfort that, at times, would make a soft soothing rumble along with a gentle swishing rhythm that put the other wee ones to sleep as I watched those clueless little turds.

Our mother usually sat in the corner, glaring at us. They were so dense…being as we were, feral cats who had lucked out by being born in the house behind a warm clothes dryer, every feral’s secret dream. It was a good beginning. Hmm. On second thought, maybe it is not all feral cats’ dream. Only those of us with a sense of acuity.

It was shortly after that time of our lives, barely old enough to eat on our own, that on one cold and rainy night, our mother became more restless than normal. She was a smart one. She watched everything. On that rainy night, she slipped out of our room undetected. Quietly, she made her way down the hall to the French doors at the front of the house and, almost elegantly, jumped up to the door handle and unlatched it. As it swung open, she pitilessly walked out and left us forever. That is all I will comment on that trauma. Rejection. Oh my.

Well, we had grown into a devoted pride of fine-looking and, might I add, rambunctious throng of kittens. I was blessed with long tan hair and sable points. There were the twins, a male and female, who were garlanded with the same silky long hair as myself, with the only exception being angelic white hair with gray points. Oh, those twins were so in love with themselves. The rest were typical ferals, black and tabby. The unfortunate fact is that we were many, several more than the humans had expected to take on initially. It became obvious, well to me at least, since I was the only one blessed with the gift of reasoning and a fantastic cranium filled with cat smarts, that we all would soon be disbursed in some way, shape or form.

I was fairly sure that day had come when one of the brood decided to use the brand-new vacuum cleaner as scratching pillar, and one of the twins used a planter for, personal business. Those little imps… They had to spoil it for all of us. I watched in great disappointment as our litter box, food, and water bowls were swiftly removed from our room, the only home we had ever known, out onto the porch. The human opened the doors. The same doors our mother had used to abandon us weeks earlier.

Oblivious to what lay in store for us, most of my siblings rushed outside, not realizing there would be no going back. I, on the other hand, knew this was a situation I did not want to be a part of. Really. Outside? Come now. I was different from the rest. I was the most remarkable of the litter. Well, the twins were exceptional too, for their beauty minus their ever-growing bizarre, Borgia-esque attitudes.

I just couldn’t imagine life outdoors. Really. There are disgusting microscopic creatures just waiting to use my resplendent, if you will, body as host as they dined on the noble blood that flowed through my glorious yet sensitive veins. I had experienced a tick once. That was in my very early weeks. It had undoubtedly been brought in by the family dog, Rose. I will not change her name for her protection as dogs are clueless as to anonymity and the need for it. Anyhow, trust me, friends, I had nightmares. Porch living. How antediluvian.

Well, so much for a brief synopsis on the early days. We must move forward to the more interesting also known as the juicy stuff those perfidious days of adolescence. Oh, how we did howl.

Tidbit 2

Wisdom Begotten through Ignorance

Well, we’re on our own now, to a point, and at that awkward age; still part kitten in some ways, part lion in others, not to mention the premature but eternal twitches of puberty and all that comes with it were starting to peek into the mix. Yes, the pangs of our upcoming adulthood were loomed in the air. It was now time to separate the Toms from the toddlers and to learn the skills it would take to survive as ferals. I, on the other hand, would just watch. I was quite sure that a cat of my prominence would surely find my way back to indoor comforts.

On one miserably hot and humid summer afternoon I watched the brood. Just weeks earlier, they used to scare each other into a dither with their own shadows, slowly stalking the birds who were gathered at their feeder, and secretly laughed at the clumsy panthers as they approached them. Those were no dumb birds. I believe this to be a game for the birds to see just how close they would let the moggies get before they would take flight. I guess you could say another form of the ol’ cat-and-mouse game.

It was a bit of a message to find a pile of feathers now and again. I knew then that a bird lost that round. I would on occasion find a message; a lone pile of feathers quivering in the breeze.

As my siblings worked hard to improve on the natural skills they would need to build their lives as feral cats, I was trying to produce some sort of strategy to get myself back into the house. I was in good graces with the human that had the hairy face, but the other one, my present author, it would be a hard sell. My beauty and charm did not sway her. What to do?

Kittledy-dee, I would think about it tomorrow. It was hot and I was content, for now, to keep charming the man. I will call him Phil. I should use an alias for him as I did for myself, to protect his innocence, but then again, he is human and is not innocent nor needs protection. He is kind and always lets me sit on his lap when he joined us on the porch. That is how I learned to purr. He is a cat person. She, the other human, not so much. That is why I chose her to tell my story. She will be unbiased. I hope.

Another night was at hand, around our third I recall, on that insect-inundated porch. In my insomnia, I came up with a brilliant idea to charm my way into the house. As I saw it, Phil would be a pushover to let me into the house, but the female, she, would be a hard sell. I could be most persuasive as needed. I, in fact, could charm and pacify the slyest of serpents. After all, I was a snake charmer in a previous life. Number five, I believe.

I thought I could convince her of what an essential addition I would make to the family. A feline of my rare beauty and exceptional charm and talents would make the house complete. Nothing sets a house off like presence of a beautiful feline casually giving a glance of approval to the camera while lounging in an obvious part of the house (e.g., most expensive piece of furniture). Seriously. Have you ever seen a photograph of an exquisite living space in a magazine without the clear presence of a beautiful cat lounging gracefully?

A gift, that would be my ticket, a grand gift. I must gain admission back into to that house! Off I went to strike an agreement with my brothers and sisters. They would supply me with lovely offerings for the grande dame of the house. I would then disappear from the newly acquired territory, also known as the porch. She would then find me as irresistibly charming and necessary for rodent control. Yes, indeed, a gift would work. Yes, indeed, I still have that ol’ polished charm.

In one of my lives, perhaps number four. I get three and four confused at times as I can’t count. I was a used car salesman in the fifties. Oh, those were the days, if you know what I mean. The never-ending cocktail parties and the unlimited flow of martinis in a room swimming with an infinite cloud of cigarette smoke floating stagnant and pungent in the air. Those were the days and I was such a Mitch.

No matter. I must go back to porch predicaments. With all the charming skills I could muster up, I had my siblings convinced to bring me the best of the best. Dead vermin so impressive you’d want it taxidermied. Instead, I’d leave it on the doorstep for my mistress. The siblings were very glad to do it. I believe they were eager to get me moved back into the house. Hmm, well at any rate, they would supply me with goods to offer up starting that very afternoon. Off they went hunting and off to the car top I went for a little sunning. While I still could.

It was soon after my time sunning myself that I saw my brother Dot approach the porch with something in his mouth. I knew it must be the gift that had been promised me. Indeed, it was. He had brought me one of the most odd-looking creatures I had yet to see in this young life. It was a beautiful color, a dark smoky gray and small. Actually, a tad bit smaller than I had hoped for, but he had done his best and I was grateful.

Now I had a present to offer the lady of the house. Still, the