The kids named her Berry, even though they've not seen her. Yet. Indeed, we do not even know if it's a "her," though in my view her personality tilts toward that of a female. She has been stopping by this winter. Not every day, but many days. The six farmette cats have noticed and they keep their watch. I'm sure they chase her away when they catch her lingering by the writers shed.
She is a cat. She is not the only cat that passes this way. We certainly are not looking to take care of more cats. There are too many here already. Occasionally, like maybe once a month, one of our six pack will kill a bird. And frequently they will kill mice. The bad with the good. When we see a returning cat in the winter, we will leave out dry food. No cat loves the dry food we serve here, but when a cat is hungry, she will eat it.
There is always the very real possibility that a cat passing through here belongs to someone. Our immediate neighbors -- one across the road, another to our west -- don't own cats, but the development has brought in new people into the mix. Maybe they own cats that go out for a daily prowl.
I am confident, however, that Berry is nobody's cat. I stubbornly refer to her as Razzle Dazzle Berry because she is anything but dazzling. Something happened to her in her life to cause severe hair clumping and matting. She is a long haired feline and her hair is so tightly stuck that it feels like she has mogul bumps all up and down her body.
We thought at first that she may have some disease, some parasite that would ruin her hair in this way, but Ed claims that this likely is not her problem. She has burrs all over her body and he thinks the hair clumps and forms matts around them. The awful appearance is what stands out about her. But there is another thing: she is unquestionably the friendliest cat that has ever passed this way. By far. Not even our very domesticated Dance is as comfortable with people as Razzle Dazzle Berry is. We know ferals: their skittishness, their fear of loud noises, their great urge to flee when little kids come their way. Berry, on the other hand, from day one did not run away when I approached the shed (she, like all ferals who appear here, hid under the raised building). On day two she got nearer to me as I came up with a bowl of food. On day three, Ed reached over and petted her and she purred like a windup toy cat.
Yesterday, we decided to give her warmth and shelter in the writers shed -- if she wanted it. Ed took over a heater, a bowl of food and she followed him inside (again, not feral behavior!).
This morning, I went to visit her. She loves these visits and has a great appetite and in general, has made no moves to try to leave. She is hard to photograph because she follows me so close that I can't create distance between her and the camera. If I bend down, she is right there, waiting to be petted.
Who is this cat? My guess is that she was once someone's pet and they let her go. The kinder explanation is that she went outside and got lost. It happens. We'll try to locate a chip reader on the very off chance that she is chipped.
What's her future? Ed is slowly combing through her hair, but I dont think he can help her just with a cat comb. I think she needs a professional hand, but he persists. And inspects. And persists.
Even if he grooms out all the matts (impossible! she's all clumps!), she will then have as many bare spots as you'd see on a hill at the beginning of spring. She can't survive the winter without hair. What do we do with her??
Since she has the most fantastic disposition, I think we should give her to a cat shelter for adoption. Even as I know that one look at her will make you turn toward other cats. She may Razzle Dazzle me, but I admit that she is not likely to do that to the average person looking around for a cat to take home.
We talk about it at breakfast...
We talk about it pretty much all day long. (Except when we ski: that is our quiet time!)
For now she is content in the shed. There, with a motorcycle, a cat toy, the old cat condo that is discarded because it is so loathsome to look at, an even older door that for some reason is leaning against a wall, offering a good hiding spot when she wants to let go of her guard, and a heater, a blanket and bowls of food and water. Dazzling personality, horrible to look at. What the hell are we going to do with her...
In other news, I had my late afternoon lunch/snack of a raspberry chocolate chunk cookie with milky coffee (oh, how some would wince at the audacity of drinking milky coffee in the afternoon!) and for once I ate at the kitchen table so that I could better look at my new arrival, the book I mentioned yesterday -- Snacking Cakes. (Dance joined me. Dance loves pussy willows and I had just filled a vase with tulips and pussy willows.)
I mention this because I quickly put aside my colorful sticky notes (that I usually insert into a new cookbook to mark things I want to immediately try). They're useless in this case. For the first time in my life I have purchased a cookbook of desserts where I want to, I intend to, I can't wait to bake most of the cakes included in it. Yossi Arafi has hit on all that I crave and want to have on the farmhouse kitchen counter. Cakes that I can alternate with my oatmeal for breakfast and eat on days where I forgot to take time out for lunch (it happens more often than I can say). Yossi, a million thanks! You can't find this stuff at your local bakery. And who'd want to buy them anyway -- they're perfectly easy and you can whip up at home with your eyes closed. Thank you, Yossi. You are brilliant and I am grateful.
With love...
