He was a wild cat. He lived in the yard when I moved in. And I’d see him up on the neighbor’s roof. Stalking around the grass. Handsome. I’d ask around. I needed a cat. Do you know who owns that gray cat. The neighbors said he was feral.
I started putting out water for him. I needed a cat. He needed a home. How about it, I told him. He wouldn’t get near me. I started putting out food. Eventually he’d come eat it. Recoil and run away when I got close. I brought the food inside. He’d come in the house. I had a girl who thought she could touch him. She’d slowly crawl over to him in starts and stops while he crunched on Friskies Seafood Sensations. He ran.
I just kept sitting with him while he ate. Put out my hand, and got closer and closer. And one day he let me touch him.
That would have been 2019. I named him Woodrow. People ask if it was because of Woodrow Wilson. I thought of it from Beavis and Butthead. But I didn’t mean it that way. It was a good name for a cat. A cat should have a dignified name.
Woodrow was my cat. When I took him to the vet they gave me a piece of paper that said Woodrow Tacos. He was getting old. And I was bringing him inside. Leaving the door open so he could stay here. Little bits at a time. Let him do it at his pace. So he could retire sleeping by the heater on a blanket. Get old and be lazy. But he was a wild cat.
Woodrow would come sit with me on my bench while I typed on this computer. Roll over to have his belly rubbed. He’d come sit with me in the yard and rub his face on me. He loved to be brushed. His favorite thing was to be petted while eating grass.
Woodrow came running up when I walked out every morning for my cigarette. You’re a blessing Woodrow, I would tell him. While he smacked on his chicken Fancy Feast. You’re an excellent cat.
He had half his ear chopped off. The city captures cats. Gives them shots, neuters them. Then lets them go with the ear tipped so they don’t get them twice. Now they catch these cats and try to get them adopted. I saw a thing in the news where these tough wild cats are put in warehouses for rat control. But I’m glad they used to let them go. So Woodrow could find my yard. Become my cat.
I heard a noise at night. At 430AM. Animals fighting. Which happens all the time, and I didn’t get up. In the morning he didn’t come in. I found a bone and remains in the yard. No blood, no fur. And it could have been he ate a rabbit. Got sick and hid. But it’s been five days. I think he’s gone.
We’re going to have a funeral for him. My neighbor Susannah took care of him too. He was a charming clever cat. He found a nice place to live. Two families. When I’d come home at night he’d run up to meet me. Call me in his high gentle voice. Run up the stairs ahead of me. He was my cat.
And I knew this would happen. I didn’t know how. What I hoped was he’d soften up. Let himself get old inside. But he was wild.
I love you buddy. I miss you. You were an excellent cat. You were my cat.
delicioustacos 
This is why I can’t have a pet anymore. If they lived to be 200, then good, I can be a selfish jerk and have a pet and I’ll die before them and because I’m a selfish jerk like I said, I don’t have to worry about who will take care of them.
Unless they get squished by a car. Fucking cats always getting squished.
Pretty irresponsible to let an old cat out at night in an area obliviously infested by coyotes.
You don’t understand feral cats- but that’s ok, you judged someone, and THATS what’s important 🙄
two kittehs gone in 10 yrs, and not from old age. at this point dtacos needs to consider getting a pet with better self-d skills. falcon. tortoise. porcupine. anything but another feline.
I love who you are when you write about cats
Your cat isn’t dead. Woodrow AKA Woodbury joined a polycule of other coyotes and feral cats. That sound you heard was not of animals fighting, but of them f*cking. You can trust me, I’m an expert.
Not funny and basically nothing.
you basically described yourself.
sorry to read it, man — but that cat probably had a good life, and you contributed to it, so you have reason to be happy & grateful for both. he’ll be remembered
How you met Woodrow is how I met my cat Bulkhead. He got caught by the city and had his ear clipped too. Came walking up to me one cold November evening in 2018 all emaciated and yeowling for love and food.
He’s sleeping next to me on my desk right now, fat and happy, lightly snoring and twitching his tail as he dreams his little kitty dreams. I imagine Woodrow did the same when he was spending the days with you, happy to have a friend.
My deepest condolences.
–Matt the Mechanic
So sorry to read this, I said a prayer for Woodrow.
Y’know, you’re more like Samuel Johnson than I’d previously thought.
Fag