StepAside

the ramshackle old barn full of junk in which he can safely take shelter from what is finally becoming an upstate NY winter (or a reasonable facsimile thereof); the compost pile, on which (because we live in the sticks where there aren't suburban neighbors to offend) we dump everything that will decompose (and in the winter, the pile is frozen, can't be turned, and therefore is a favorite eating establishment for the local varmits); and the bird feeders in the side yard, which occasionally (alas) become cat feeders.

We've been seeing Fred off and on for months. But one day a week or so ago I was heartsick to find him rooting through the rinsed cat food cans in the recycling bag on the back porch, looking for tiny scraps of food. So I put out a bowl of actual cat food for him. Now, Fred won't let us within 50 yards of him (he truly is feral), but as soon as that back door closed, he was on the porch, wolfing down the food. So I've continued to feed him daily, and he has learned my patterns of behavior: he not only knows when to check the compost pile, but he also comes to the food dish the moment I go back indoors from filling it.

I've sent an email to the family vet to find out what else we should be doing for him. I do realize that one very legitimate answer is "Let him starve," on the principle that a long-lived feral cat is making lots of other cats who will lead hard lives. Though I respect that point of view, it's just not an option for me. So I'm wondering whether, for example, we should be providing water for him (a tough task when the temperatures are getting really cold and the water will freeze quickly), or whether he's resourceful enough to get his water from the snow and what not.