The Taming of Tiger Tom

The Taming of Tiger Tom

It is a cold, rainy night and the wind is banging my metal awnings around. I am so glad not to see anymore, the wild, gray tabby cat, huddling pitifully on my windowsill looking in at me, with mournful eyes..

I began to have glimpses of this cat about eight months ago in the evening, or by moonlight later at night. At first I thought it was a black cat, because all I could see was a black streak when he ran and hid himself. Later daylight sightings showed the cat to be a gray tiger cat, and I thought it might be the grown-up version of a female kitten that lived briefly in Eduardo’s trailer next door, because at first it stayed more closely to his trailer than to mine. Of course I made sure there was always food and water available for the cat on my shed roof, or Eduardo’s, where the cat could eat without fear of my dogs. Although my dogs are gentle, and even protective of our own cats, they consider an outside stray cat is fair game to kill.

As time went on the well-fed wild cat allowed me to see it, and even meowed back at me when I talked to it, as it perched safely up in a tree. I named him Tige, still not knowing its sex. A few months ago, at the onset of a very cold and windy December, the cat moved under the steps of the trailer, and after dark it perched outside on a ledge by my front window, looking in at the warm and cozy scene of my eleven cats in their boxes and on towel-covered pillows, all comfortable and contented. I felt so sad to see him outside with his fur being blown in the cold wind. I increased his rations of canned food and gave him twice as much as the inside cats.

One day he let me be close enough to him to stroke his back. He flinched and backed under the trailer, but next day he put himself close enough to pet him again, and he didn’t run. This could not be a true feral cat, but one that must have had a home at some time in his life. He is smart to have lived successfully on his own for quite a while in the coyote country that this is. 

About two weeks ago I ventured to pick him briefly, and repeated that several times a day, without being scratched, bitten or even growled at. By the third day of doing that he was so docile that I brought him inside. It was only then I could say with certainty that Tige is a tomcat, and could be called ‘ Tiger Tommy’ with honor. It’s strange that he recognizes Mack is the only cat among them all who ever fought as a tomcat, in his murky past. My other cats have always been cautious around Mack because, without a doubt, he was a pugilist of renown. Since his operation, he has mellowed into being a pussycat and joins in the chase games they all play.

The first day inside, Tiger Tom stayed on my lap the whole day, and I put him in a cat carrier at night for two nights. He stayed outside under the steps most of the time during the following days, until today when he did not go outside at all. He seems to be on a friendly nose-sniffing basis with all but two of my cats, but has not started a fight inside, or reacted violently to any of them except Mack, whom he has chased, fur flying, right up the oak tree. With almost all of the others he is a gentleman, and keeps a peaceful low profile.  He has been the easiest cat assimilation into my pride of cats that I ever achieved. We still have a peaceable kingdom.

So tonight, let it rain, blow and bluster, my dog, Smokey Joe, and all my cats and I are safe and warm inside, including Tom who has been sleeping on my lap until I moved to type on this computer. So goodnight and peaceful dreams to you all.