Pgh Lesbian Correspondents

This is the story of a very specific feral cat by the name of Tommy. It is also parts of the stories of all feral cats.

It is a farewell tribute. It is a call to action.

Tommy first showed up in our backyard in 2017. He was sturdy and ate a lot of food. Having no idea what we were doing, it would be 2018 before we even considered TNR.

Tommy had a lustrous black coat and a proud stance.

In early 2018, he brought some friends from the space we now call Fort Faulsey. Back then it was a dilapidated house where an unknown neighbor occasionally dumped 20 lb bags of cat food on the rotting porch.

The front room of that house was filled with cat food bags. Some colony members slept between them. That house has its own story for another time. But know that it was home for many, many generations of cats who had nowhere else to live.

In early 2018, Tommy came to our deck with his lady friends, now dubbed Mamma Mia and Maylee, plus Mamma Mia’s kittens. Probably Tommy’s kittens, too.

One day, we found one of the kittens crying in distress near our feeding area. We rushed him to the vet, but he had a severe neurological condition. Mamma Mia and Tommy watched from afar. They brought him to us for help. We couldn’t heal their baby, but we did our best.

Next, we created a plan to TNR. The kittens were probably weaned, so another neighbor was socializing them. We trapped the ladies, but not Tommy.  Maylee came inside. We released Mamma Mia just in case kittens needed her. We retrapped her in July.

Tommy watched from afar.

While we were getting our TNR legs, Tommy was clearly the stud of our block. He’s likely the father of the kitten caboodle, Callie, Tony, EJ, Pretty Girl and more.

But no grandcats to endure the same hardships, thanks to TNR.

In 2019, Tommy stumbled into a trap meant for another cat. Twice.

December 2020 was when we took responsibility for the Fort Faulsey colony. It was a brutal few years. Tommy was always around, using the shelters, eating, but showing no interest in socializing.

He grew a little thinner, moved a little more slowly. His progeny pushed him out of the way to eat.

We established the Fort Faulsey Branch Campus in our backyard when two other cats made it their home base. Soon Tommy was living almost full-time in our yard, too.

He slept in a dog igloo shelter stuffed with straw. On sunny days, he stretched out on the outdoor cat beds or lawn furniture. He ate a lot. Sometimes, he went to Fort Faulsey to visit.

It was his retirement.

He began to drool. Constantly. He ate pate and puree food over dry. We knew it was dental. One of the caregivers set up a space for him in her extra bedroom.

We spent six weeks trying to trap him. We had to ask a very experienced expert. Thankfully, she got him.

He spent ten days inside, living in a three crate area with a cat tree, unlimited food, and clean water. He watched birds in the window. He used his litter box nicely. He even played a bit.

He spent the first 24 hours sound asleep.

The vet day was stressful for me, like I was vibing with the sad outcome. My co-caretaker Marie K. was a rock. The vet sedated him, then turned to us and told us he needed to be euthanized immediately.

Tommy’s tongue abcess had grown into his throat and was choking him to death.

We both caressed his unconscious little body as his heart stilled.

The vet told us more about our little feline warrior. The scars on both ears and all over his body were a testament to his fight to survive. He had to be in constant pain.

Most surprising, the vet put his age at at least 16. AT LEAST. First she said “he’s a day younger than God” but then got more specific.

Tommy went from complete feral life to a calmer colony life then a more peaceful colony and finally a week inside.

Tommy never knew the touch of a kind human being. That breaks me up when I read it. He fought all those years to survive and so little payoff.

It’s easy to focus on the good moments and turn a blind eye to all that he suffered or was denied. He was 12 before he had a straw shelter and clean water.

Most of his offspring died. Yet he and Mamma Mia brought that little kitten to us, they didn’t abandon it like savage beasts. Animals don’t abandon their young out of any moral decision.

I had never known a cat’s throat could choke itself. We think of feral cats dying in car accidents, fights, while giving birth, and from disease. But to know he had to fight just to breathe after all of the other fights. Sigh. And the only way we can do anything is monitor the cats for behavioral changes and take them to a feral friendly vet.

In my mind’s eye, I see Tommy striding across the yard with swagger and confidence, then sitting in the far corner just watching until he deemed it safe to eat. I see Tommy stretched out on the elevated cat bed (such a great thing) with his belly up to the sun and his eyes closed. I see Tommy wriggling out from the dog igloo, bits of straw clinging to his duller coat as he furtively checks his surroundings. Tommy is walking with Callie to eat, to get treats. Tommy has convinced Marie to feed him under the deck table so he doesn’t have to walk in the snow.

Always, he is watching with dark soulful eyes. Watching my every move. Every treat falling from my hand. Counting the steps I take away from the feeding station so he can approach.

He rarely runs, he just stands back, biding his time. He doesn’t dart. He has dignity and self-preservation fused into his being.

We agreed to cremate Tommy, a final gift to confirm that he was a good boy. We’ll spread some ashes at Fort Faulsey, some in the backyard.

Marie sterilized his recovery room until someone else needs it.

I look for him each day when I go out to feed the cats. He usually hung back and rolled into the yard after I had set up most of the feeding stations. Sometimes he’d turn up at Fort Faulsey, maybe needing a break from all those adult kids of his. So I still look for him. I don’t put out canned/wet food in the summer unless someone needs it. Now, there is no such someone. A good thing.

The other cats kept looking for him after he was trapped. He seemed so bashful that his true connections to the other five cats he probably fathered was easy to miss.

Maybe he wasn’t hanging back out of intimidation. Maybe he was a dad making sure his kids ate?

I will always think of him fondly as he taught us so much about community cats. While I am horrified by his partial suffocation, there’s solace knowing he appreciated his final days. There’s a lesson about getting the older cats a dental exam.

And there’s a Tommy sized hole in our colony that will always remind us of this feline patriarch.

I took a photo of his lifeless body lying prone on the veterinary table. It may seem macabre, but we need to educate people about the consequences of their decisions. Spay or neuter your cat. Keep your cat inside. Tommy deserved a better life.

You can help cats like Tommy have better lives.

Spay or neuter your cats (and dogs)

Keep them inside and safe. Outdoors is dangerous.

Donate cat food or supplies

Donate financially to support Callie, Oksana, Mx Pajamas, Tony DiMera, and Pretty Girl. They all need follow-up visits to the vet to check their dental status.

Venmo @PittsburghLGBTQ

Paypal bit.ly/PayPalPLC

Facebook Go to PittsburghLGBTQ and click on Donate.

GoFundMe bit.ly/GivePghCatFolx