Freddie

The Healing Continues, The Scars Remain

Freddie first caught our attention in early spring of 2021, when Fay contacted us about him. He had been in the neighbourhood an indeterminate number of years, and she knew that he deserved better. Having fed him from the back deck for well over a year, he had made Bill and Fay’s home his safe spot – for shelter, food, and as much human interaction as a wild boy can handle.

Trapping began with a couple of different approaches, but he was a little too smart for us and, eventually, Fay and Bill felt that he might just be too used to his way of life to change. His reign over the neighbourhood would continue through the winter and spring.

When Fay contacted us again, she told us that Freddie had been through a horrible ordeal; while laying in his safe box, he was set upon by two other ferals who unmercifully tried to kill him. He dragged himself away, in bloody tatters. Fay felt that he had gone to find a quiet place to die.

We assured her that he would be back after he had healed a bit and it was safe for him to come back; this life was all he knew. Truthfully, we didn’t know if he would return – it actually sounded as bad as it gets for a boy on his own. If he came back, it’d be a minor miracle. It was a number of days later before that is what happened.

Between Fay’s resolve and her anguish over the situation, with the help of neighbour Valerie, he was trapped in short order, his injuries having blunted his survival instinct. There wasn’t much fight left in him.

At Mount Brydges Animal Clinic, they asked his name, and knowing that Fay had tried a couple of names – Orangee, Ginger – we went with their suggestion: Freddie – as in Freddie Kreuger, the horror movie character. He was so torn up in his face and neck that his shaved body and sutures rendered him a frightful sight to look at. In short order, he came home to convalesce with the Appin Cats.

As he got his strength back, a bit of the wild that is in him reasserted itself. He was unapproachable, and hid – as they usually do – growling whenever approached. Quite normal for a feral boy on the streets too long. It was his first time indoors, unfamiliar with walls and windows, a steady source of food and drink, and – eek – litterboxes. It became apparent quickly that he was not an indoor cat. After a bit of a learning curve (and the removal and eventual replacement of an overdue carpet), he got the hang of most everything, except being close to people.

We can only guess his past, but his circumstances inferred much. Our best guess is that he was born in the village – in a woodpile, or behind a garage or under a shed – and managed to elude humanity for the duration of his life, save limited visual contact with those who would feed or shoo him away. Never trusting, never bonding, even with his own kind. Frankly, he was surviving and not much more.

His scars are numerous – some you see, some you can’t – and some remain silently within his experience. Past the sheared and broken teeth, the skin-scarred body where the fur sometimes grows back, the frost-bitten triangle ears, the crook of a tail that was broken at some point, there is his lost and sad expression. It’s partly just his look, but there is something to his sadness. To be so close to love and care, but to not achieve it, watching other pets’ lives come true.

His number is 108. That is the number of days it took him to give us a chance to show our care. 108 days, hidden under a table or a futon, not trusting. Growing stronger, feeling better, looking for a way to escape, becoming unbearably bored. On day 108, after countless hours of coaxing and sweet talking, he let us give him that first pet. He immediately leaned into the palm of my hand and began drooling. Freddie had finally broken.

He still won’t come out from underneath the futon, but he cranes himself to my hand, taking pets so ferociously that if he is denied, or a pet session ends before he is ready, those claws come out (actually, he is now mostly paw, no claw). Freddie is now a former feral. but still has a way to go. I have grown terribly attached to him, as I see that face that looks kinda sad becomes a little less knitted with concern, a little more engaged, and a whole lot more ready to make up for the years of lost time, being alone and unloved.

Welcome to the softer world, Freddie. Your forever home is right around the corner, hopefully your softest landing yet. Now available for (sniff) adoption.