The Feral Cat and the Family Dog: A Love Story

Proof that love knows no boundaries

This is a story about a family man (‘s best friend) and a gypsy soul who fell in love despite their differences. A story of lovers ripped apart and against all odds, brought back together in their special meeting place under a back porch.

This story transcends race, religion, social status, breed, and even species. It’s so filled with love that it will leave Nicholas Sparks himself begging for the book rights.

This is the true love story of Bronco the dog and Feral Fawcett the feral cat.

In order to tell this story, I need to take you back to the fall of 2018. My husband opened our back door to let my dog out and started muttering something about the damn feral cat.

My ears perked up. Living out in the country, I’ve seen my fair share of feral cats come and go from our 50 acres. No matter how hard I tried, I could never get any of these wild beauties to stick around very long. I assumed it was because of our three giant dogs that roam freely on our land.

I peered anxiously over my cup of coffee. Had Will Feral, Captain Jack Feral, Woody Feralson, or one of my other feral friends returned?

No. This was a brand new frisky feline to befriend.

My husband does not share my love of cats, especially ones who decide to take up residency under our back porch. He tried to shoo away whoever this new inhabitant was before I could lay eyes on our little guest. It was a rude thing to do.

How could I name this mystery cat without a formal introduction first?

However, before I could force him to sleep on the couch for being so callous about my deep desire for a cat, the feline was back peeping her head out from under the porch.

After getting a look at her fluffy fur, sassy swagger, and mysterious, deep eyes, I knew exactly what her name was.

“I will call her Feral Fawcett,” I announced over the annoyed groan my husband let out.

I tried to approach Ms. Fawcett slowly but she responded like a typical diva and hissed angrily at me like I was the paparazzi swarming her while she vacationed under my porch. I went back inside but started to panic when I remembered my chocolate lab, Bronco, was out strolling the yard.

I didn’t want him to upset our new guest. I quickly learned my cat celebrity did not like being disturbed while she rested. I held my breath as he walked over to the porch where she was hiding and stuck his nose under to give her a sniff.

To my amazement, Ms. Fawcett came out from under the porch and started nuzzling Bronco.

I stood at the glass door watching like the paparazzi I had become and as soon as I opened it, she went back into hiding. Feral Fawcett was playing hard to get.

The next morning, I let Bronco back outside and he took off into the field for his morning stroll. I watched as he got smaller and smaller in the distance. Suddenly, something was bobbing up and down alongside him.

I grabbed my feral cat spotting binoculars and sure enough, Feral Fawcett and Bronco were leisurely walking next to each other. Every time he stopped to sniff, she rested her body against his and he waited patiently for her to catch her breath before continuing their stroll.

This love affair escalated quickly.

Soon, they were inseparable. Every morning Ms. Fawcett waited with her face pressed against the back door for her breakfast and morning stroll with her hunny, all the while hissing when I got too close.

My other two dogs were not nearly as enamored with Feral Fawcett as Bronco was. They didn’t care that they were in the presence of greatness. They had no interest in celebrity cat pawtagraphs or morning walks and instead chased after her.

It was sad to see such a dignified creature run for her life while being chased by a 10-year-old German Shepherd who could easily be outrun by my 90-year-old grandma and her artificial hip.

Still, she came back. And their love grew.

Now, this wouldn’t be an epic love story without some tragedy, would it?

This is where the sad part comes so grab your box of tissues before reading on, but rest assured no animals were harmed in the making of this love story.

As the weather grew colder, I started worrying about Feral Fawcett’s fate. Living under a porch was not acceptable for someone so refined but she had no interest in living inside even if her boyfriend did. I get it. It’s good to have your space sometimes even when you’re in love.

Winter, where we live, is brutal and unforgiving and it was fast approaching.

My husband and I decided it would be best to contact a local cat rescue to get Ms. Fawcett some medical care and suitable housing. My husband was all too happy when Bronco helped us lure her into a trap and she was taken away to a foster family.

Bronco waited for her on the back porch for weeks. He searched for her and sniffed under the porch, crying for his lost love. It was heartbreaking. I told him that she was somewhere safe and warm, but he just tilted his head to the side, whined, and then started licking himself, because he’s a dog.

Months went by. Bronco continued his morning walks alone, but not before searching for his missing girlfriend first. He lost the pep in his step, his head hung low, and his favorite toy (Pearl the potholder) lost all her allure.

Life didn’t make sense without Feral Fawcett. But what could we do? She was long gone by now. I imagined her with a new family, being carried around on a cat-throne and hand-fed fresh sardines all day.

Then in the middle of winter, the phone rang.

It was the volunteer from the cat rescue. She said Ms. Fawcett was not suitable for rehoming. When I asked why she said flatly, “She’s just very mean.”

I didn’t like the way she spoke of my dog’s girlfriend, but knew deep down she was right, Feral Fawcett could never be locked in a house. But what did she want me to do about it?

The volunteer said Ms. Fawcett was my responsibility since I had brought her in. She had been fixed, vaccinated, and now she was being returned to my backyard.

I looked out at the mounds of snow blowing through our open field. The temperature was barely above freezing. A pit formed in my stomach when I thought of the poor kitty being released outside in the dead of winter.

Luckily I had some time. The annoyed-sounding volunteer told me Feral Fawcett had escaped the confines of the bathroom and was hiding somewhere in the basement. She would be returned once she could be coaxed back out.

My husband was out of town for work and with all the commotion, it must have slipped my mind to tell him Bronco’s feline companion was returning. Besides, I hardly had time to fill him in when I was busy scouring the internet for the best feral cat accommodations.

You’d think it would be a bigger market.

Then I came across a website advertising “feral villas,” little two-story shelters to keep outdoor cats warm and dry. Disregarding the high price, I immediately purchased the fancy cat house and an outdoor heated bed.

No expense should be spared for my dog’s soulmate, I argued.

By the time Feral Fawcett was released out back, the feral villa and heated bed were waiting for her by the porch. My husband shook his fists at the feral cat Gods for returning our celebrity feral friend.

As soon as Ms. Fawcett was back “home” I let Bronco outside and waited nervously. What if they didn’t remember each other? What if her love for him had disappeared when he unknowingly aided in her capture months before?

My fears immediately disappeared when I saw her run right up to Bronco and touch her nose to his. I watched as they rolled in the snow together and enjoyed their familiar leisurely walk in the crisp winter air.

It was like they were never apart.

Five years later, Feral Fawcett still resides in her Feral Villa. She still glares at me and hisses but is kind enough to allow me to feed her. My husband has finally accepted her as part of the family.

She still takes her walks with Bronco and in the summers, they sunbathe together on the porch where their love story began.

This is one love story where I can honestly say, they lived happily ever after.