Black Boy, a Feral CatBut back to the beginning. Let me tell you how Black Boy (Garçon Noir) turned up. I live in the countryside in France where there are lots of cats, some pets, some loosely attached to people and some truly feral cats. I have what I call my indoor cats and the outdoor cats as well. I put food down outside and the hungry outdoor cats love it. Over time the regular visiting outdoor cats might even acquire a name. Last spring I started noticing that a very shy black cat with torn ears and ticks was a regular visitor to the food.
The miracle happened, and I was able to tentatively stroke him and then actually groom him. Although he was obviously a force to be reckoned with amongst the feral cat community he was the perfect gentleman with me. He never lashed out at me or at my 'indoor' cats even when cleaning his wounds and those cat bites must have hurt him. All through last summer he happily wandered through the garden and stayed awhile, sunbathing and sharing the company of people and my own cats. He still fought and lost sometimes, mostly to the tomcat feral community. On one memorable occasion he limped in on three paws, with yet another bite. Yet he was an attentive cat and always showed up, my reception committee, when I returned home. It was wonderful to be greeted by a wild cat, free to come and go as he pleased. For the last few weeks, however, Black Boy had been noticeable by his absence, no more greetings like clockwork and when he did come, he was very fearful - perhaps something to do with two other tomcats I'd seen hovering around the food. Last night, he reappeared. But as he escorted me to the door, he limped badly. He was hungry and obviously was not going to catch much, so he was happy to stay the night. His leg was so lame I took him to the vets (and took advantage of the anesthetic to have him neutered). And the French vet is where he got his French name, Garçon Noir. The news was grim. An X-ray showed he had a piece of hip bone snapped off and he might have suffered nerve damage. There was talk of amputation if the feeling didn't come back in his back right leg. Bad news. I brought him home and set him up in his own little room (the house's entrance, which already doubles as a temporary kitchen during house renovations). He kept limping but was hungry, a good sign. Over the next few days his leg seemed to hold an increasingly natural position. I was relieved, and the pills the vet gave him seemed to be working. When the time neared to take him back to the vet for a checkup, he conveniently escaped into the unfinished house and hid deep under some plumbing - impossible to reach. Nothing could get him out. This lasted days until finally, loneliness got the better of him and as he reappeared, I snapped him up. Back at the vets, all talk of amputation was forgotten and he's now almost back to normal. I'm still keeping him at home and he's as tame as can be, even jumping onto my lap in a flurry of purring and chin rubbing. I'm convinced in his own way he's saying "Thank You" and pretending to be an indoor cat, at least for a while. Soon he'll be the proud owner of an elasticated reflective collar, and may even become part of the family. Why not! After all, most of my other cats (five or so) wandered in from the wild, liked what they found, and stayed. I think I might be seeing quite a bit more of Garçon Noir! All the best, Anne Related PagesFeral CatsHow to Tame a Feral Cat Submit Your Story Bragging Rights For Readers Contact Form CatLover Magazine Subscription Form
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