We have feral cats here at Secondary Roads. We put out food and water for them each day. In return, they take care of the little rodents that might otherwise be a problem. The population varies from time to time. A couple of years ago, we had about 10 of them that were usually around here.

These days, the population is down to one. A little guy about 8 months old.

I guess you don’t have to wonder why why we call him Midnight. A little bit of white could be a crescent moon and the occassional white hair in his smooth furry coat could be stars.

For months he would run and hide if he saw or heard us. Then his mother (a calico named Chubby Checkers) got in a fight with another queen (female cat) and lost. The winning queen is no longer around, but Checkers is a rare sight for us.

Cats are social, and Midnight is all cat. For a while he played with a stick. It was his best friend, he would pounce on that stick. He would grasp between his paws and roll on the ground with it.

Sylvia and I spent a couple of days working around the garage as we prepared the place for winter. The shy little guy finally came closer on the first day. And closer. Then Sylvia reached out and touched him. He wasn’t sure about that. By the end of the second day, he was there getting in the way like kittens love to do and we were laughing and loving it — and him.

You’ve got to love a little guy like that — especially one with a bent tail.

His confidence grew and he quickly took to us.

Did you know that kittens have tiny little claws (and teeth) that are razor sharp. As I played with Midnight, he brushed the back of my hand with a paw. It felt lighter than a baby’s touch. The next day I felt a stinging sensation on the back of my hand. A teeny little claw had barely brushed my hand, but it removed some skin. It was not his fault — he meant no harm and my hand is mostly healed.

I’ll tell you more about Midnight very soon.