Fergus is one of two cats in our household. a grey tabby with an elegant white goatee, a pink nose and worried little eyes. He joined us from the Ottawa Humane Society, just over a year ago.
In the house, Fergus is a confident cat. He marches around with his tail up in the air, and when he meows, he expects answers--now. He's affectionate, athletic and intensely curious. He's at Mommy's side for large parts of the day. In most respects, Fergus is what they call a co-pilot.
Outside the house, Fergus goes feral, immediately hiding away and not recognizing familiar faces. If someone comes to the door when Fergus is down there, we know instantly, because he comes sprinting up the stairs for his life!
Fergus and his buddy, Buddy, enjoy trips onto the balcony. In the summer, there are plants to play in; in winter, there is the snow (dig-dig-dig!); and, always, there is plenty to look at through the railings.
Our balcony is bordered by a continuous wooden rail, about six inches wide. It extends beyond the dividing panels, so that if you sight along it, you'll see all the way to the end.
In recent months, Fergus had taken occasionally to jumping up onto the rail. He'd catch it and scramble up, so I always had plenty of time to retrieve him.
Thursday afternoon, December 31, around 2pm, I took the cats outside. All was going normally, when Fergus, out of the blue, leapt up onto the rail, executed a perfect four-point landing, and crossed and jumped down into the next balcony.
The next little while features a comedy of unfortunate circumstances. Our neighbour was home at the time; he opened his door, to see what the commotion was about, and Fergus ran inside--then right back outside, and up onto the rail again. Realizing then that he was in unfamiliar territory, he began giving off alarm sounds, then jumped down to the balcony at two-over.
We watched, called and shook treat bags for hours. As far as we could tell, Fergus was still up on that balcony. Every couple of days thereafter, we would
check the yards below, for signs of a cat landing. Nothing. On January 2 or thereabouts, we had a good snow, followed by a couple of chilly nights. We still hadn't seen or heard from Fergus, and hopes were beginning to fade.
In the meantime, I had done a bit of reading. American sources say that a indoor-only cat should not stay out for extended periods below about 8 degrees celsius. Well, this is Ottawa; where the temperature starts going below 8 degrees in September. The chances just weren't looking good.
Still, we didn't stop hoping. Every night, we would shout for Fergus and rattle a bag of treats. We kept setting out bowls of food--just in case. We had a night-vision camera rigged to view the balcony. We slept in shifts.
Fast forward to Tuesday. First, I noticed that the kibble bowl was empty. I pointed this out to Tonia, who related that Buddy had had a few outings and had snuck a nibble or two. I counterpointed out, as it were, that the kibble was now gone. Later, I realized that the wet food had been eaten, and that there were kitty prints in the fresh-fallen snow on the balcony rail.
Peeking into neighbouring balconies, I saw clear indications that a cat had been visiting. Thank you, snow, for preserving tracks and landing marks.
Now, in the 30-odd years that I have been living here, I have only once seen a cat up on the balcony rail; about 10 years ago. Also, the nocturnal visits meant a cat was spending its time outdoors. I put two and two together, and came up with Fergus.
He visited again Tuesday night, but not on Wednesday night. Bit of a noisy night, with salt trucks prowling round, people grabbing garbage and recycling off their balconies, etc.; plus it was very lightly snowing/raining.
Last night, we were ready. Tonia took the first shift, until just after midnight. She kept the lights mostly off. As she was getting up from the couch, she spotted him, and they made eye contact for a few seconds; then he skedaddled (that's an old term for "fucked off"). So I came down, maintained the vigil. About two o'clock in the morning, I concluded that I wasn't going to catch him tonight. As I got up, I saw his little head peeking around the corner at me. Shit, thought I. I grabbed the bowl of food off the balcony, threw it into the microwave for about 15 seconds, to warm it up and make it stinkier, then placed it back onto the balcony. I decided just to take a glance down the row.
Fergus was sitting on the rail, two balconies away, just watching.
Forgetting myself, I began faintly calling his name. He started to meow at me. At first, I thought that they were warning meows; but then I realized that he was coming toward me! It took everything I had to keep my cool; yes, hi Fergus, it's me, good kitty; here, smell my fingers, see, you know me; hi, guy, how've you been--grab!
I was expecting an explosion of feline cursing and slashing, but he was quiet. I stepped back inside, and closed the door; and Fergus was home.
The next few minutes were pandemonium. Fergus meowed his face off and ran upstairs to give Mommy cuddles; then he needed to be fed, and plied with treats; now he's getting reacquainted with Buddy, who must be gobsmacked by the whole thing; two weeks and twelve hours ago, Fergus went outside and disappeared; now, two weeks later, he has magically reappeared.
In hindsight, we have realized that Fergus spent two weeks holed up on someone's balcony, probably terrified, not moving, with very little to eat or drink. Thank fate that it has been unseasonably warm for the past two weeks.
*Phew!*
-Bill
