I no longer recall the year a feral cat snuck into my fenced yard and had three kittens under the deck. 2009? 2010?

One kitten was clearly not well. His nose was always clogged up and, when he finally opened his eyes, they, too, kept clogging up. Over and over, I kept taking the tiny little creature to the vet.

I did not expect him to live long.

Stevie (as I called him), decided to confound my assumptions.

His various maladies eventually cleared up but he was never fully right. At one point his left eye went wonky and never unwonked.

But Stevie marched on.

As soon as mama cat had weaned her kittens, she abandoned them, escaped from the fenced yard, but is to this day daily on my front porch for food. I call her Singer. I can, sometimes, pet her.

At no point during all the ensuing years did Stevie seem healthy. And every year, at some point, I became convinced that he would soon die.

But Stevie marched on: 2011, 2012, 2013….2019, 2020, and 2021.

Recently though something significant happened. He stopped coming to the deck for food. This was profoundly out of character for Stevie.

I first noticed his absence yesterday morning. I figured that he was sleeping in the tall grasses, and gave it no thought. Last evening though, I stood outside, food all around me on the deck, and many cats happily munching away, but…no Stevie.

OK. This was sooooooo not right.

I called out. And called out again. From the corner of my eye I saw movement way far to the rear of the fenced yard. Stevie? What I had seen sure appeared like a cat, and it had moved from a trashcan and then out-of-sight behind a huge black walnut tree. I assume this was Stevie. But, why was he not coming forward? Then, I saw what was definitely a cat reverse and walk back behind the trash can.

Huh?

Walking over to the can, I peered behind it. And there was Stevie. And, I think, this was the first time I had seen him in several days.

 

During his many, many “declines” he had never acted like this. And even though I had thought this many, many times over the years—and was always proved wrong—Stevie was clearly…transitioning.

This morning I booked him a flight to Florida. When the time was ready to depart to the airport I walked over to the garbage can. He was there. He was still alive. I called out: “Stevie!” He shocked me by bolting! “Stevie!” He ran farther away!

What was going on? A thought popped into my brain: He doesn’t know who you are. You’re scaring him. Stop calling out to him.

As soon as I stopped calling out, Stevie stopped running. I slowly walked over to him, reached down, and picked him up. He did not protest.

This was all…so very odd.

He offered no complaint about being put in a cage. Zero. During the twenty-minute drive, he barely moved. His head was up but he seemed wholly uninterested in what was happening.

In the airport waiting room, I removed the top of the cage. He looked around but made no move otherwise. He offered no response to my calling his name.

The pilot soon came in. We talked briefly, and then she startled me by picking Stevie up very gently, placing him over her shoulder, and walking to the door.

I let out a confused little squeak. She said: “Oh, I misunderstood. I thought you wanted me to take him.”

I played back our conversation just moments previously, and understood the confusion. “No, I misunderstood your question. But, I think this will be best. I aways think being present when they depart helps them. However, I’m pretty sure Stevie has no idea of who I am. And he looks so peaceful draped on your shoulder. So…thank you.”

My eyes watered up. The pilot smiled, and walked out. With Stevie.

Soon, I knew that Stevie would be in the cockpit with the pilot. What a privilege!

And then, on his way to Florida.