My Dog Was in Love With a Feral Cat but We Had to Move

Would Bronco and Feral Fawcett’s love story end when we moved hundreds of miles away?

I knew the stakes were high for Feral Fawcett as I sat motionless next to my trusty feral cat-catching cage, silently pleading with her to enter it with the promise of delicious tuna.

Time was running out. We were moving a couple hundred miles away and if I didn’t trap our feral friend in the next two days, she would be left behind to fend for herself. The feral cat-catching Olympic event was making me sick. I lost sleep over the potential outcome.

My husband and I have been caring for Feral Fawcett for five years — it’s undoubtedly why she survived the harsh Upstate NY winters outside in the mounds of snow and bitter cold. Despite being very much a wild animal, she graciously let us provide her with food and an outdoor shelter. However, we were explicitly warned by her celebrity cattitude not to get too close.

If I couldn’t catch our feral friend before we left, would the new neighbors keep her outdoor cat house and remember to plug in the heated bed when the temperature plummets into single digits?

Would they wake up early to dig a walking path around her house during a snowstorm so she wouldn’t get trapped?

Would they warm up her cat food and set out a heating pad for her paws while she ate her breakfast on cold winter mornings?

Surely, they would run outside screaming and banging pots at all hours of the night to scare the coyotes that got too close to the house. Right?!

Maybe (most definitely) I am as insane about this feral cat as I’ve been accused of being, but the thought of leaving her behind terrified me.

Even if Feral Fawcett could survive without us, how would her heart recover without the love of her life, our dog Bronco? I doubted the new owners would have a Chocolate Lab that would snuggle her and take morning walks with her around the property like Bronco loves to do.

Bronco and Feral Fawcett have formed such a strong bond, separating the two seemed downright cruel.

So, I sat by the cage and waited. I trained for this feral cat-catching Olympic event for the month leading up to our move. I fed Ms. Fawcett in a cage so she got used to the idea, hoping I could eventually close it on her without too much fuss.

Of course, there are traps designed to catch wild animals but Feral Fawcett knew better than to fall for such nonsense again after she was trapped and spayed several years prior.

Truth be told, I had no idea what I was doing but I did spend way too much time trying to plan her relocation and I wasn’t going to give up until the house was no longer in our name.

So I sat. And I waited.

When the big feral cat-catching day finally arrived, Feral Fawcett entered the cage somewhat confidently, given it had become routine. I held my breath and closed the door as quickly as I could with her inside, apologizing as I tried to lock it.

But I didn’t anticipate her strength.

Feral Fawcett broke free before I could latch the door shut and took off into the woods.

Time was running out and I was a clueless mess.

I called my vet, who was on standby to give her a full check-up before the move, and gave him the news.

My attempt had failed.

Would I get another shot at saving her?

The next morning, Ms. Fawcett waited at the door for her morning walk with Bronco. When I saw her nuzzle against him, my heart twisted into a tight knot, knowing this might be their last walk. If she didn’t get into the cage today, they would never see each other again. She would be waiting at the door for a lover who was never coming back. It would be the ultimate tragic ending to their love story.

I put more tuna out after Bronco and his leading feline finished their walk around the property. I wonder what they talked about. I imagine he gave her a heads-up that the humans were acting weird and change was in the air.

It was getting warm and the smell of canned fish was strong. Feral Fawcett circled the cage hungrily but the memory of my betrayal must have flashed in her mind because she ran off again, skipping the meal.

That was it. She wasn’t coming back in time. I could feel it. We’d be gone before she knew what happened.

I began writing a pleading note to the new owners to look after my beloved Feral Fawcett, wondering if they even liked cats and how angry they would be that their house came with a feral diva.

I couldn’t eat dinner that evening. The anxiety gnawed away at my stomach as I sat on the empty dining room floor with Chinese takeout and crushed a fortune cookie in my angry palm. By morning, we would be gone. Would Bronco ever forgive us?

I was disappointed in myself for underestimating the difficulty of catching Feral Fawcett. She has become less fearful of me over the years so I hoped it would be as simple as closing a cage.

Two failed attempts taught me otherwise.

I let Bronco out for his final evening walk, soaking in the views of the woods and our apple orchard, and began reminiscing about finding a starving feral cat under our porch years ago who only stopped hissing at me once she fell in love with my dog.

Suddenly, there was movement in the field. Feral Fawcett was running toward the house, eager for the tuna she passed up earlier.

One more chance. I had one more chance.

I chewed my cheek nervously as she took her time stepping into the cage. Much more skittish now that I had betrayed her trust, Ms. Fawcett jumped at every move I made. This wasn’t going to be easy.

As she lowered her head to the food, I pounced, slamming the cage shut.

I knew she was scared. I felt awful. But I got her. I wished I could explain this was to save her life, but the best I could do was have Bronco lay next to the cage and calm her.

She was officially coming with us!

It has been a month since the big move and the big cat capture. We are staying at my father-in-law’s until we find a house so Feral Fawcett has to be inside temporarily. I can’t risk not being able to capture her again for yet another relocation.

It isn’t ideal but hopefully, it won’t be for long.

While she still won’t let me close to her, Ms. Fawcett seems relaxed in her new living situation.

The move has only strengthened the bond between Bronco and Feral Fawcett. She prefers to hide in the quiet basement and he keeps her company.

First thing in the morning after his breakfast, Bronco heads downstairs and lays next to her, morning snuggles replacing their walk. Evenings are similar.

I think as soon as we find our new home, I need to plan a wedding for these two. Seeing them together confirms we did the right thing by bringing her with us.

I’m aware people have a lot of opinions on moving a feral cat. My husband’s family practically had me committed when I told them my plans to bring her with us.

On the contrary, when I finally did get her to my vet, he thanked me for what I did. We lived in a college town and he said every year feral cats starve because the college students take care of them while they are in school and then abruptly stop once they move on. The cats begin to rely on a food source and then it vanishes.

Call me a crazy cat lady, but I know in my heart, I did the right thing by bringing Feral Fawcett with us.

Now, if you will excuse me, this crazy cat lady has an interspecies wedding to plan. Haters get no invitation.

For the story of how this romance began, read: