He Looks Serious Doesn't He...
The origin of the term "Tom Cat"
Our Big Guy prefers to be called by the more formal title, "Thomas Cat."
It was popularized by the anonymous 1760 book The Life and Adventures of a Cat, in which the male protagonist cat is named Tom (short for "Tom the Cat"). This book, a satirical novel published in London, helped cement "Tom" as a standard name for male cats, leading to the widespread adoption of "tomcat."
[Why isn't Thomas Cat ear tipped? I've only taken over the colony's care recently. At the moment I'm completely dedicated to building the cats' trust. I'll consider the traumatic action of trapping come spring. Almost all of the other colony cats are already spayed/neutered. - Doug Hines]
A New Covenant with All Life
– Equal Souls, Reciprocal Love, a Revolution Every Animal Deserves
They are not resources, not entertainment, not background.
They are not “pets” in the way we have cheapened the word, nor are they meat, trophies, or disposable lives.
They are our equals in the only way that finally matters: they feel, they fear, they love, they grieve, - they dream in their own languages.
They carry souls as ancient and as sacred as our own.
In this brief moment of cosmic time when one species—ours—holds the keys to the planet, we have a single, nonnegotiable responsibility: To become the first civilization in history that chooses guardianship over domination.
We do not “own” the earth. We are simply the ones currently in charge of the house.
And the house has many rooms, all of them alive. Every stray cat, every songbird, every whale, every insect is our partner in this existence.
They were here long before us. They will be here long after we are gone—unless we decide, in our arrogance, to erase them.
So I have made a vow, quiet but absolute: I will feed them when they are hungry. I will shelter them when they are cold. I will speak for them when they have no voice.
I will never again look at another living being and think, “This one exists for my benefit or convenience.”
And something astonishing has happened. My own life has become richer, deeper, and more joyful than I ever imagined possible.
The trust of a once-wild cat who now sleeps on my porch is worth more than any promotion, any possession, any fleeting human approval.
I have discovered that the more I give to them, the more the universe gives back to me—peace, wonder, a sense that I am finally, truly, home.
This is not sentimentality. This is the next stage of human evolution.
We are being asked, right now, in this generation, to grow up. To stop treating the rest of creation as a storehouse and start treating it as family. To replace the old story—“I am the center of the world”—with a truer one: We are all the center of the world, together.
So I am asking you—yes, you reading this—to join me. Look at the next animal you see, whether it is a backyard squirrel, a shelter dog, a chicken on a truck, or the cat who visits your window at night. Look at them the way you would look at your own child, your own mother, your own soul wearing different fur. Then ask yourself the only question that has ever mattered: What would love do? And then—do it.
The cats started it for me.
But this revolution belongs to every living thing that breathes. Will you come with us? The world is waiting for its kinder, braver, more awake version of humanity. Let’s give it one. With love that does not end at our own species.
Most Sincerely,
Your neighbor who now knows the truth (and the cats who taught it to him).
It happened just last night...
With Chatty-Cat
It was exasperating, concerning and heartbreaking.
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Chatty-Cat
I had, months before in the cat colony, named her 'Chatty-Cat' because she made those funny cat noises constantly, the way an incessant neighbor prattles on-and-on.
Last night had me more than concerned. The woods where the cat colony is located were dark and the wind cut like knives. Twenty-three degrees, thirty-mile-an-hour gusts, and a quarter-mile trek (one way) through snow-dusted pines with a wagon full of kibble, heavy glass bowls of wet food, fresh water, and hand warmers to put under the food bowls, water bowl, and in the cat shelters I had built last fall. My 20-year-old car had died two days earlier (the dealer repair estimate means I'll never be able to afford to repair it), so now every trip to the colony is on foot, boots crunching, breath fogging, heart already heavy with the usual worry: Would they all still be there tomorrow?
Last night well after dark Chatty-Cat followed me home.
I didn’t notice her at first. Just a shadow trailing the wagon’s squeaking wheels, keeping pace in the dark. When I reached my door, over a quarter-mile away via various twisting streets, she was still there—small, orange tabby, ears flat against the cold, eyes wide and bright. Feral, no question.
Inside, my three house cats were restless. Thinking I wanted to leave the front door open for Chatty-Cat, I put my own cats in the back bedroom so I could keep the front door open without chaos. They scratched, they yowled, they gave me the betrayed looks cats are so good at. I felt like I was punishing them for something that wasn’t their fault. The guilt was thick, pressing down harder than the cold.
I opened the door wide, left it that way, went inside and pretended to be busy with dishes and laundry, hoping she’d slip in behind me. She didn’t. She sat three feet outside and cried.
Not a soft meow. A loud, raw, insistent cry that carried over the wind. Chatty-Cat wasn't talking cat-gibberish now... she was clearly distressed.
I tried everything. Sardines, tuna juice warmed in the microwave, a trail of treats right across the threshold. She wouldn’t come closer than the edge of the porch. I had previously built a shelter from a plastic tote, lined it with straw, and set it outside on the porch against the wall out of the wind. She wouldn’t touch it. I left my door cracked, sat on the floor just inside, spoke low and soft. She answered with another series of long, mournful wails, but stayed planted in the snow.
By three in the morning I (stupidly) let my 3 cats out of the back bedroom to enable them to resume their normal life. That's when the situation cracked open worse. I mistakenly opened the front door to call to Chatty-Cat one more time and my boy cat Grady darted out. Grey fur vanished into the night. Panic shot through me. I called, I begged, then I went back inside to quickly put on more clothes to go after him.
Outside, I finally got close enough to scoop him up and hustle him back inside. I very quickly closed the door behind us. House freezing. Three cats now locked in the bedroom once again. Guilt returning and ever present. Chatty-Cat still sitting there, three feet from the threshold, crying like she was trying to tell me something I couldn’t understand.
I was shaking—cold, exhaustion, fear for her, shame about my own cats, the whole night collapsing in on itself. I cracked the door again, set out more food, whispered her name. She stared, answered with another long note of sound, but wouldn’t cross the line.
She never came in.
At six am she was still there, voice hoarse now from constant, continual crying. By seven-fifteen, when I dragged the wagon out for the morning feeding, she was gone. No sign of her along the path, no orange shape in the trees, no answer when I called. The colony cats ate, same as always. Chatty-Cat wasn’t among them.
Now, in my mind I'm at a loss for words. I hope she’s warm somewhere. I hope she found a hollow log, a neighbor’s shed, a place out of the wind. I hope she remembers the man who tried so hard to bring her in from the cold, even if she couldn’t let him.
And if she ever decides the world inside a doorway isn’t so frightening after all, I’ll be here—door open, lights low, food waiting, with three slightly indignant house cats who still haven’t quite forgiven me for that night.
Until then, Chatty-Cat, keep talking.
I’m still listening.
- The moral of the story... Don't let your fears stop you from coming in where there's warm shelter.
Postscript: Two mornings later, when I went to feed the colony, Chatty-Cat was there. Imagine how I felt. And... yes... she followed me home again.
And again, and again.
A Letter to Chewy...
on behalf of cat colony caregivers everywhere
re: The Chewy Wish List Program
Chewy provides qualified animal welfare non-profit 501(c)(3) organizations (shelters & rescues) across the United States the ability to create a custom Wish List on Chewy.com to share with supporters for donations.
I wrote to Chewy to ask that they include colony caregivers in the their Wish List program. Doing so would positively affect hundreds of caregivers and thousands of cats.
I'm posting my letter here to encourage you, the supporters of AbbeyLaneCats.org, as well as the thousands of pet people throughout the Country, to contact Chewy and lend support to this idea.
To Chewy:
I’m writing to ask that, in addition to shelters and rescues, Chewy include colony caregivers in the Chewy Wish List program.
I am the primary caregiver for AbbeyLaneCats.org. AbbeyLaneCats is devoted to the care and well-being of a colony of feral and stray kitties in Hagerstown, Maryland. The work is entirely volunteer-driven, providing fresh food and clean water twice daily, essential supplies, shelters, feeding stations, and arranging for essential veterinary care. We are totally reliant on the generosity of local people for cat food and gift funding.
I depend on donations to feed my colony. I have an active Wish List on Amazon where I can create a list of specific products that donors can access to make orders. That process works, but it isn’t enough. Many people would prefer to purchase products from Chewy rather from Amazon.
Local colony caregivers are essentially volunteers who love cats. Generally, these people do not have the ability to create a 501(c)(3) and become formally recognized as a shelter or rescue. They are just people in the community who answer the call for feeding the cats down the street, in the back alleys, or in the woods.
Obviously, Chewy would need to set parameters for a caregiver’s acceptance into the Wish List program. There would be a need to validate an applicant’s authenticity and program eligibility. One way Chewy could verify a colony applicant’s legitimacy is having the applicant provide pictures of the colony cats, shelters, and feeding stations. In other words, an applicant would need to provide proof that a colony actually exists.
The benefit to Chewy in enabling caregivers access the Wish List program would be enormous. Can you imagine the increase in business? Maybe more importantly, can you imagine the long-term benefits for the colony cats themselves?
Please consider my request, and add colony caregivers to the Chewy Wish List program.
Thank You, Doug Hines, AbbeyLaneCats.org
