Vendor Writing

Feral: Little Pal

Part 1 of 3 of the true story of a wild (feral) cat colony over a 3-year time period. My observations and involvement.

BY KEITH D., CONTRIBUTOR VENDOR

I started selling The Contributor nearly 14 years ago. There are many fields, lines of brush and trees and large drainage tunnels under the busy roads near my spot.

From the time I first started selling the paper, in 2011, once or twice a year I would see a large calico cat leading a line of two, three or four kittens, tails up in the air as she taught her offspring how to safely navigate the area without getting run over or snatched up by a hawk.

I would muse over the sight for a moment, then quickly forget it.

***

On one of the last days of February 2022, I heard a repeated noise across the street near a line of brush and trees. Investigating, I found an eight-week-old shaggy yellow kitten with a potato chip bag stuck over its head. I snatched it off, and it gave me a wild look before disappearing into the bushes. Looking around, I saw just a few feet away a shorthaired yellowish kitten trying to gnaw a frozen discarded biscuit — and yet another, pure white with a solid black tail, a black mustache and a perfect black ring around one eye, glaring at me warily from the base of a bush.

Quickly buying a can of cat pâté, I spread it on a piece of cardboard and put it well into the bushes. Half an hour later, the food was gone, as were the kittens.

But no, the next morning — and ever after — at least one hopeful face at a time would peep at me from the bushes. Old Calico’s last weaned litter.

I set up a feeding station 15 feet away from me, eight feet from the street near a large sixfoot circumference rock and under a low hanging cedar tree where they would feel safe, but I could still see them. They would never come to the food until I was well away, but after eating, they would forget about me selling papers 15-20 feet away as they cavorted and played, never venturing closer than two feet from the road.

I named the white one with the striking markings Pirate, the shaggy haired yellowish one Ragamuffin and the shorthaired yellowish one Little Pal. Pirate was stand-offish from his siblings, rarely joining in play. He would swat viciously at them around the food plate until he had his fill. Little Pal would let Ragamuffin take a few bites before joining her.

Little Pal and Ragamuffin were inseparable soulmates. See one, the other would be less than three feet away. After chasing each other, wrestling and going up and down small trees together, they would rest side by side. Little Pal would constantly pat Ragamuffin gently with his paw on her head and back, as if reassuring himself that his little friend was still there.

Hence his name, Little Pal.

Pirate grew huge quickly. By five months old, he was disappearing for days at a time. His visits to the food grew more and more rare, until he no longer showed up again. My thinking is someone saw him prowling around their house or apartment, noticed his striking markings and wooed him until he became a pet.

By six months old, Little Pal was nearly twice as big as Ragamuffin. He was always very gentle with his soulmate, letting her win the wrestling matches though she was half his size.

One day in mid-June, as usual at sunrise, I went to the feeding spot, and Ragamuffin was sitting on the spot where I typically put the plate. In plain view! I’d never been that close to her. She was a skeleton under all that fur! Her eyes were rheumy and filled with mucus. “You poor thing,” I cried and reached to her.

She looked at me, gave a plaintive meow — the first vocalization I’d ever heard from any of them, turned around and tottered off into a big field of tall grass. Before she disappeared, I saw Little Pal following her.

The food went uneaten that day. Sunrise the next morning, I dumped out the crusty, bug-covered food and put down fresh food. Nobody came. Finally, at about 3 p.m., Little Pal showed up, alone. For the first time in his life, his little soulmate wasn’t with him. He ate a few hurried bites and left.

I’m pretty sure Ragamuffin died the day before, and Little Pal sat next to her for over 24 hours waiting for her to get up and play again, explore and keep on being his best friend. I imagine he kept gently patting her with his paw as she grew stiff and cold. He probably cried out mournfully on occasion as he finally realized Ragamuffin was gone for good.

After she was gone, and every morning since, I talk to Little Pal while he eats, gentle-voiced and including the name Pal in every sentence I say. In September, when Little Pal was nine months old, he didn’t come to the feeding spot when I called his name. Finally, I saw Pal 50 feet away at the entrance of a drainage tunnel.

He looked frightened when I walked toward him and raced away from me. He did this for four days. On the fourth day, I saw him in front of Walgreens staring at me intently. I grabbed a can of food, walking toward him as I called his name. He trotted away from me, stopping and looking back at me as if to make sure I was following. Finally, behind the strip mall next to Walgreens where there’s a clump of tall pines and a line of bushes, he crouched down facing me and lashed his tail. He had led me to his new home!

About a week later I learned from customers that the addicts with cardboard signs had been yelling into the bushes and throwing rocks and sticks at something, tormenting a lonely, nine-month-old kitten.

I’m glad Little Pal realized I was a Good Guy.

Little Pal went back to his childhood home right before the Christmas snowstorm in 2022. Two below 0°F and windchill at -20°F, he still came immediately when I called his name to feed him. I’ve never missed a day for any reason.

On Apr. 1, 2023, Little Pal disappeared right after I fed him. He stayed gone a full seven days. I worried about him, checking drainage tunnels, looking on the sides of the road. On April 8, about when I’d resigned myself to the fact Little Pal was gone for good, there he was. He waited barely a foot from me as I fixed his plate, looking healthy, fit and trim. I had thought he was getting a little plump.

His routine changed. For the next two months he showed up at sunrise, gobbled chicken and three cans of food in rapid succession and disappeared for the rest of the day.

On June 1, 2023, while he was eating, he looked … lumpy. As I walked toward him, his left side turned around and disappeared! The right side immediately did the same! Little Pal had brought HER kittens for their first solid food!

Now, she was Mama Pal. For the next six hours she kept the two kittens in my direct sight, as if putting on a show. They played with each other, hid under Mama’s front legs. Mama Pal would grab one, give it a brisk cleaning and let it go. She turned her back to them, lashing her tail until they jumped on it. She lay on her back, letting them leap on and off her.

She kept looking at me frequently throughout the “show” as if saying, “See how happy I am?”

I did, and was happy for my Little Mama Pal.

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Homeless since 1970

BY BILL B., CONTRIBUTOR VENDOR

I’ve been homeless since Sept. 29, 1970 — longer than anybody else out here. In those nearly 55 years, I’ve learned: Don’t ask for stuff from people on the street. It’s heartbreaking when they say no, it’s rejection. You don’t wanna ask nobody else, they’re gonna say the same thing.

I grew up in Sellersburg, Indiana, a town that had as many people as Nashville has homeless people. I left my mom and dad’s house because I told my mom I was quitting school. I got tired of going through what I did at school and having to put up with a mouth from a cop’s son all the time, and I wasn’t allowed to shut it no more. I had to quit beating him up, but I was still getting beat up when I got home. And then if I was lucky, I got to go in the house and take a bath and go to bed. If not, I slept in the garage. Sometimes it was warm, sometimes it wasn’t — all depended on if mom left the door open.

My mom said, “You quit school, you’ll leave this house.” I said, “You pack my suitcase, and I’ll leave.” She called my bluff and packed it. I called hers, so I picked it up and walked out.

Now I stay in a tent next to the railroad track. I’ve been in a tent almost this entire time, whenever I had one or could get one. I’ve had an apartment three times, but each time didn’t last even 30 days. I was in jail at least three months waiting to go to court. Rent had been due for two months. So, what was left in my apartment when I got out? Nothing.

In all this time, Nashville is the most interesting place I’ve ever been. I love country music. There used to be a stage in Paradise Park, which is now Garth Brooks’ Friends in Low Places, and I wanted to play there. Other people did, and all they had was a guitar. So, I went and asked. He said, “I got an opening on Thursday night.” I took it.

I played country music on the guitar — the classics like old Hank Sr., Jim Reeves. Reeves’ “Four Walls” hit the charts in 1957, the year I was born. I love that song. But a lot has changed since the 70s.

These days, I wish I had a guitar. I can still play. I also like to fish. Just like that Brad Paisley song, “But today she met me at the door. Said I would have to choose. If I hit that fishing hole today. She'd be packing all her things. And she'd be gone by noon. Well, I’m gonna miss her.”

That’s what I say, “I’m gonna miss you.”

If you ever go fishing, one of the most important things is where to cast your bait and to fish with live bait, not artificial bait. You’ll catch more fish that way. When it’s raining, where do you cast your bait? Out in the middle of the pond? No, you cast it under the trees, along the edge. Rain hits the leaves. Bugs are still on those leaves, so bugs hit that water. Fish’ll snatch them.

On a typical day, I’m out there selling the paper on a corner somewhere, usually in Madison on Gallatin Pike. I’ve been selling the paper since 2019. I like the selling paper because I get to smile at people. And a lot of times, I might not get any buyers, but I get a smile back. Then sometimes they pull up the next time to buy a paper.

Three words to remember: persistence, persistence, persistence. You gotta be known first in that area, so keep going back. Because the more they see you there, the more they get to know you. You keep smiling, you keep waving. They wonder, “He’s always in a happy mood. Why?” And they pull over to find out.