North Ohio is a country lane on the edge of town, a sleepy branch off of a crossroads on the coast highway. It’s narrow gently rolling passage winds along cranberry bogs and stands of ancient trees. Old homes are tucked away between thickets, sometimes hidden in the cool shade. Driveways each have mailboxes, some gaily festooned with old boat rope and fishing floats. Others are painted with flowers and whales. Bicyclists glide along, the street being a favorite place to pedal on nice days.
Along the way, onshore breezes sway Coastal Cypress and Doug Fir giants, rubbing shoulders in the sky, often catching low clouds or slowing the fog. They shelter big dry patches on the ground if it’s only lightly raining. Higher, hushed winds lift hawks and osprey aloft on their commutes. Seagulls, lost in their way finding away from shore, negotiate their flights haphazardly.
Ohio street’s brushy edges along the road are home to countless newts, little snakes and squirrels. They are perfect widened roughs for dogs to wiggle, wag and sniff. Owners wait as they update their pee-mail and dig holes in endless pursuit of moles and voles. Doggies trade sticks along the way for chase or chew.
The evergreen undergrowth covers secret trails – little paths worn into the the sparse grass between blackberry thorns and mushrooms by careful pussy-footing. I imagine kitties stealing away from their homes, making up kitty adventure stories as they sneak their way north, toward Ohio’s end.
A friendly, simple, bench that waits to one side at the end of the lane. It’s very private, concealed behind a tangle of little Red Alder trees. You reach it by a path, a few steps through the bushy edge, over an broken masonry wall into a grassy clearing called the Fen. It looks westward, to the sunset and a seasonal pond where a Fairy Fort grows in tangles on an island. When water is runs in the winter and spring, it flows under Ohio’s end in a little culvert. Then it tumbles away down a steepening hill into a little lake where egrets stalk fish and frogs in the shallows. When the pond is watered, frogs kick and thrust their way up the stream crowding together in the pond. They sing so loud that once a neighbor complained!
No one sits on the bench very often, but the kitties do. They know when the sun is cutting through the shadows and warming those old boards. When the grass is wet, the bench is a dry place to groom themselves. They can see from the bench too, dozing and watching sparrows until the the evening chill comes.
Calling the seat a bench is an exaggeration. Really, it’s a series of old planks cut to length and balanced across timber blocks at the end. These raise the seat to the proper height. Proper being higher than a regular table chair, so that when you sit down on the bench it’s easier to get up. Having a stick to lean on helps, though. And this is the way I assembled all of its random parts. No nails or screws just a nice, purposefully stacked pile of old lumber. It’s not meant to be there forever.
My wife, being much more artisanally constituted, saw immediately that the bench had room for pots of summer flowers. The flowers frame the open spot to sit and the cats don’t mind. Neither do I. An old watering can is stored under the bench, along with a dish for the kitties so they can have a drink when things are dry. Treats are kept in a plastic prescription vial stashed in one of the flower pots.
And so by just sitting there, the most furtive of kitties eventually get curious. Little by little they come closer. You talk to them. And they nudge closer. Until they realize there is nothing to fear. The ultimate confirmation that you’ve been adopted is when they start to follow you around. They won’t go far with you at first, but eventually they’ll cross the whole breadth of the Fen to see where you go. After that, it’s entirely up to them.
They’ll surprise you by being found napping in the greenhouse. Or by occupying the picnic table. Often they’re content to sit on the tractor seat. The roof of the car becomes a favorite sunbathing spot. The top of the workshop is the ultimate high vulture perch to observe the property from.
We’ve had 50 odd pets share our lives over the years at our tiny farm. We’ve tried to keep count. But the definition is blurry. We’ve enjoyed dogs and cats that live closely with us. But there have been many more cats who prefer their independence. Like the little family of crows we have known who greet us from the treetops most mornings, waiting for popcorn(another story for another time), some kitties remain independent. They seem to need their freedom like the crows. They need their unknown haunts for adventure and fun. As long as they frequent our place for snacks and cuddles, we’ll be happy to share our joy at being together.
So how do you meet a new kitty? Well, don’t try to follow them or chase them or trap them in the garage!
The way to meet strange kitties requires enormous patience. It begins with the most occasional sightings. In those first moments, if you acknowledge their presence by meeting their eye or calling to them “kitty, kitty” they disappear.
We live in such an impatient culture. Time is seems to be so valuable! We’re so grateful that our little corner of the world has afforded us the opportunity to put aside the schedule and wait for kitties.
Leave your watch, bring a book. Loose track of time. That’s how you can attract kitty visits from the ones that venture all the way up the lane to Ohio’s end. Sit and be quiet on the Bench in the Fen at Ohio’s end.
And don’t forget to bring kitty treats.
Narrow Way Cafe 