THE CAT WITH NO FACE

I live in a community with lots of feral cats.  When I first moved here 5 months ago, there were about 15 wild cats.  One of my neighbors, a winter Texan, feeds them twice a day on his front porch and back patio. When I asked who feeds them when he's gone, he responded that they somehow survive but are pretty thin when he returns in November.

Most of my neighbors are good-hearted people and love the idea of our feral cats.  They made sure the resident feral cats were all neutered several years ago. They firmly believe that we are devoid of rodents because of them.  When they periodically visit, most of them leave cat food on their patios.

I'm one of the few residents living here full-time.  Although I'm not a cat person, I cannot stand the thought of them starving.  I am now the official Cat Lady.  Feral cats are reasonably intelligent and have identified me as the one who provides regular sustenance.  They usually come running as soon as I leave cat food on the Cat Man's patio and front porch.  Since they are feral, they never come very close.

About 2 months ago, before the Cat Man abdicated his position and left Texas for the summer, a cat wandered into his patio while I was visiting.  Unfortunately, it had been in some kind of fight that left her nose and part of her face missing.  Her face was a bloody mess. You can't bear to look at her, but you can't look away. He told me that she was the mother to many feral cats and doubted that she would live much longer.

A few weeks later, a neighbor reported that she had heard this same cat gasping for breath late one night.  It was gone the following day.  We felt sure she wandered into the woods and died.

A few days ago, my newly-arrived next-door neighbor called for me from my patio.  The cat without a face was eating cat food on his patio.  I related the story to him.  He promptly called Animal Control, who arrived but couldn't catch her.  We were all in tears this past weekend, but by Monday morning, most of my neighbors had returned to their primary homes.

Beginning a few days ago, I added antibiotics to her food in the hopes that her face would heal and that she would live. She's now taken residency on my patio.

Paddy has a sixth sense for aging or injured animals and has stationed himself without making a sound next to the patio door. I'm hoping it's not some kind of death watch.

I've contacted the Cat Rescue organization that raises money in our town.  Their primary mission is to catch, neuter, and release cats.  I asked them to trap this cat and take it to a vet to determine if she could recover and, if not, to euthanize her at my expense. We've also acquired two new cats that have yet to be neutered.  I added that to my request.

I don't know if they'll call me back,  but I'm praying that this precious creature is not suffering. I purposely did not take a picture of her face.

Do you ever feel that in saving the lives of God's littlest and most defenseless creatures, you somehow are saving yourself?

We’ve gotten through 7 days of antibiotics and a daily serving of stew-like cat food for the past 10 days.  She’s still alive and curled under one of my patio chairs, where she sleeps almost 24 hours daily.

I’m somewhat desensitized to her half-eaten face.  It's been several months since it happened. The consensus here is that a fox hanging around our property probably battled her for food.  The fox won with an extra bonus of a cat’s face.  Another way of looking at it is that the cat is a major survivor!  You go, girl.

Most of my neighbors cannot bear looking at her, but I swear her face is not as red and raw as it was 10 days ago.  Every time I look at her, I pray that she will live her final days in peace and be free of pain.

Paddy, the retired hospice therapy dog, checks on her frequently and positions himself so that when his eyes are open during the day, he has a direct view of her on the patio.  I check periodically to see if she’s still breathing.  Paddy has also gotten into the bad habit of waking me at 5:45 AM, when he runs down the stairs and straight to the sliding glass doors to ensure she’s still there. He’s obsessively worried about her.  Okay, I admit it.  I am, too.

In anticipation of our early morning arrival, the cat is always awake and ready to eat.  She gets fed first.  Every morning, I can leave her food dish a little closer.  This morning, I was within 2 feet of her.  As I sat down the food, she made a sound that was a mixture of hissing and gurgling simultaneously. If I had gotten any closer, her remaining teeth and razor-sharp claws would have found a place on my flesh.  I figured the weird noise was due to not having a nose. It's also because she’s been a feral cat for almost eleven years and has learned to protect herself, except for her recent encounter with the fox.  Age slows all living things down a little, sometimes, a lot!

So, I’ve been asking myself why I took her on and why she chose my patio to plant herself.  After all, I’m not a fan of cats, in particular, feral cats.  I mean, what’s the point in taking care of a cat that’s probably on her last leg and hates humans?

I’m beginning to feel that she’s some kind of gift.  She needs me.  Oh sure, she hisses at me, and is horrific to look at, but she is God’s creature, right?  In His eyes, she’s beautiful.

Her nature, as a feral cat, is to hiss at humans to stay safe.  My nature is to save her.

I might have a fan installed on my patio. Texas summers are brutally hot.😻