The Cats Herded Me Today Writ Large

My two cats spent 12-plus years together living in our cabin in the woods with me, above a creek with its broad forested sandy natural floodplain, and a few minutes' walk through the woods alongside and to a beautiful cove. We three would sit on our own personal little floating dock for hours.

They explored everything and everywhere. They learned how to mingle carefully and safely beside and among deer, possum, raccoons, and Red Slider turtles from the cove, sometimes while the turtles were laying eggs in a hole they'd dug in the woods. I'd sometimes see the egg-laying because I'd wondered what the cats were looking at in woods nearby.

They brought me to see tiny fawns curled up in camouflaged spots out of sight of the cabin waiting for their mothers to return, which they always did. They learned about life and themselves directly by observing days' and evenings' activities through the tall cabin windows, from our covered deck, and being out in the bountiful wild. They learned how to detect and avoid coyotes.

I learned and enjoyed hundreds of things about nature and wildlife just by following their line of sight toward things that had caught or commanded their attention. For instance, in the mornings if anything outside the cabin or even well beyond it had changed from the day before, they'd usually notice it upon first venturing outside and very quickly gravitate to it.

It could have been a two- or three-inch deep upside down perfectly conical hole in some dusty ground that an armadillo, possum, ringtail or raccoon excavated in search of food. Among invisible things they'd notice were fresh scents which were especially attractive to them. I could almost imagine the invisible wafts of scent floating their way. It could have been from a twig on the ground next to a well-worn path where someone may have brushed against it or just from the animal's proximity. It could have been a familiar scent wafting in from across the creek from where deer and coyote would sometimes emerge.

If they'd look up, I might follow their lead and see a cardinal couple about to sing an alternating duet or launch from perches very nearby each other. If there were deer about, they'd know it long before I did and indicate their presence by looking in the direction from which they were approaching. I'd see them looking at what appeared to be empty woods, Then suddenly comes from around the corner of the cabin a big strapping Doe leading a couple of Fawns or small group of juvenile and other adult group members.

More than a few times, even in daytime, their glances would soon reveal to me a nearly legendary presence unnoticed by me that quickly became the sudden entirely silent launch from a low-stretching Oak branch of a full wingspan takeoff by a Great Horned or Barred Owl, each looking every bit as large as the two-foot height and four- to five-foot wingspan of which they are biologically capable.

I usually was one to two seconds late to see the moment their massive muscular talons relinquished their grip on the Oak bark and the instant the Owls began their skillful flight outward on air, but I'd shiver a bit and quietly gasp to see those long and broad dark gliding wings flexibly navigating among and between thick clusters of tree trunks and tall saplings as the Owls made their way toward a creekside Sycamore or Cypress or to the steep wooded slope across the creek, either place a safer vantage point away from unpredictable humans. Sometimes they'd leave the entire visible area for strictky Owl reasons. The sighting would feel most amazing when those powerful fully outstretched wings would turn entirely vertical between two trees tightly close together and then bank back toward the horizontal as needed as spaces opened wider and at that point were beginning to flap again after the required gliding had gotten them to where they needed to tactically be. I do wonder if the cats were feeling awed like I was or if they were maybe only a little bit less nonchalant than usual when these very close-by Owl events occurred.

Once I was even able to literally save a fellow cabin neighbor's cat from the jaws of a coyote clamped around the cat's head as his neck and shoulders were pinned against a tree trunk. Inside my cabin, all three of us heard the cat's two long, loud and frightened sorrowful cries for help, about five seconds apart, but I only knew for sure exactly where the attack was specifically happening when I looked down and saw my cats' four ears and two faces, with determined eyes fixed, directly pointing to where I'd immediately need to dash.

Surely enough, the intense activity was exactly in the direction they'd thought it to be, about twenty-five yards from the cabin front door across the wide lower stone patio and into the woods, and I'd guess they were accurate about the range too, and the intensity lightened and relief began to flood in as the Coyote finally opened its jaws and peeled then melted away into the woods toward the creek as I, running and screaming as experts said I should be doing, reached within ten feet away.

My cats excitedly enjoyed exploring the crime scene after the lucky cat was safely back with my neighbor and being placed in their car for the trip to the vet to stitch up the big gash across his handsome right cheek. His self-bitten tongue would heal over time. His shoulder was dislocated and recovered nicely. He was back exploring the woods after two months of mandatory rabies quarantine.

I think my cats found enough sensorial circumstantial evidence to recreate the crime in their potentially four-dimensional minds. I was glad they were reminded to stay cautious out in the wild. My favorite way to describe their natural guidance of me is this: If I've seen something interesting in the woods, it's because the cats saw it first. In this case they were looking with their ears.

Their togetherness had grown immensely close after a beginning of distrust and territorial disputes in the cabin. The second cat had been introduced to the first cat after the first had been my only cat for a year. They soon negotiated wisely a truce that blossomed into a life of acceptance, love, and a deeply intertwined mutually beneficial companionship.

They had individual adventures and ones together, and many with all three of us. They had tweir own tastes and preferences. One cat loved rooftops and climbing trees for sport. The other loved being in the cool air under the raised cabin's breezeway in summer or under a chair on the patio out of the sunlight. One cat loved walking into open doors of other cabins and making himself at home and accompanying strangers down the trail by himself to the floating dock on the cove. The other cat was very content with the one cabin he finally could call his own and wanted as little to do with other people as he possibly could.

One cat, once when on the deck and catching the scent of a coyote lying in wait nearby, would do a startled double-take of his head and hurry into the cabin. The other cat remained sitting up on the deck in the Sphinx position staring intently at the coyote down the slope toward the creek hiding behind some trees, as if thinking, "I dare you" or “just try and catch me”.

On our group walks to the creek, always in the daytime, one cat always made certain that the first thing he'd do was drink from the fresh water. He'd head straight for it. The other cat, standing alongside me, would join me in watching the other cat drinking with pleasure the cool quenching laps of creek before we'd all start walking along it in one direction or the other. One way leads upstream to deeper woods and large boulders strewn like an island chain in the stream bed. The other leads to where the creek joins the cove and where the cove begins to spread out into its great width.

Before we began walking the creek, the thirsty cat would take long drinks, then look up, down, and across the creek, and then take second and sometimes third drinks. He was in no hurry. This cat had previously been homeless in the city not far from downtown but had a creek nearby to help sustain and refresh him. It was very dear to see him cherishing his own creek moment with us.

I wondered while drinking then if he experienced any trace of a welcome subliminal emotional return to those precious quieter moments when his urban yet wild creek quenched his thirst and provided him treasured quietude and at least temporary relief from risk. I do know he warmly welcomed finally having a home he could gladly call his own, regular meals, safe loyal companionship, and a different kind of interesting life that still allowed him access to living wild when he felt like it and also living well.

Both cats loved to wander the woods by themselves, with purpose I'm certain, and upon their returns to the immediate cabin area, their bastion of shared territory and creature comforts, they would always, to me who grew to learn to interpret aspects of their feelings, and even of beliefs about their lives, it would seem even before stepping up onto the deck they would begin basking in if not cherishing the comfort and familiarity of their own lair again, a safe haven after risking confronting who knows what while off in the woods somewhere.

It seemed they were feeling a proprietor's belonging to the place, and not of an ownership of the cabin proper and immediate surroundings, but actually more like an overall pride that they feel fortunate to live with and contribute to, like a pride of lions, lions who only happen to be of a different size, but no less proud and assured of who they are. They felt very proud and assured actually. They were blessed. I don’t know if they knew it, but I’m sure they felt the cat equivalent, which may even humble our own human experience of gratitude, for all we know.

These two kind old gents - their visiting vet called them golden bachelor lions - were my comfort, joy and sustenance. Together they made my early golden years an era of soulful found treasure through the pleasures of their inestimable company, the thoughtful habits and casual intricacies of their cat livelihoods, and their good and sweet natures. Nature herself embraced and enfolded our time together, and freed us up to enjoy each other, and I was happy largely because they were too.