The first time I saw Braveheart was May 22, 2016. He came and sat by our back door. I snapped a photo of him just in case he kept coming around. I would need a photo to place an ad through the cat shelter's social media to see if anyone had lost him. But he never came back again. The next time I saw him I couldn't believe how much he had changed from a cute young cat to a roughed-up hungry stray.

The next time I saw him was in late February 2017. He started eating from the food bowls I left out to catch strays. I recognised him right away despite his ragged appearance. I was so sad I hadn't caught him the previous May, since seeing him hungry and scarred told me he was most certainly homeless. I wondered how he had survived the cold weather and snow. I bought extra food for him and made sure to wait up to feed him every evening, even if he arrived late. I needed to be certain he was getting fed. He came every night and then started coming at breakfast too, but when I tried to touch him, he became very defensive. I realized I would have to spend some time gaining his trust.

This is a photo of Braveheart eating just outside the back door (taken through the window) on March 3, 2017. Originally the cat food bowls were at the opposite end of the deck, but I was working on a plan to get him to come nearer to the back door so I could catch him. Each day the bowls were moved a little bit closer until I was able to sit on the other side of the window while he ate and he could see no harm would come to him from me.

As soon as he arrived and began to eat from the food bowls I contacted my friend at the cat shelter, planning to catch him and bring him in. But it wasn't to be. My friend told me the cat shelter had rescued a litter of kittens from a bad situation and all the kittens had been infected with a parasite called guardia which is 1) terribly contagious, 2) hard to contain and 3) very hard to get rid of. They were scrubbing the walls and floors every single day with disinfectant and had had to close their doors to new arrivals until the disease was throughly overcome. I asked how long that could take, she said maybe two months. I asked what I could do for little Braveheart in the meantime. She said I wouldn't be the first person feeding a stray until the shelter could take cats in again, so her advice was to keep an eye on him as long as he looked healthy enough, and just keep feeding him. She expected as the weather got warmer things would be easier for him and then once they could take him in, they would.

Well, things didn't quite work out that way. Poor Braveheart was a very unlucky little guy. One of the cats in the neighbourhood took an extreme dislike to him and on the morning of April 4 I got up to find him waiting at the back door for his breakfast with a deep wound just beside his left eye and his legs cut up and wounded. I hurried to prepare his breakfast bowl and opened the door. Fortunately by then he trusted me quite well, so I was able to place the food down. He ate with me beside him but before he got too full I scooped him up and brought him inside into our 'emergency' cat shelter aka the main bathroom. He was so docile, I half-expected him to panic, try to escape, scratch or even bite me, but he did none of those things. He just accepted his new surroundings quite well and ate the rest of his breakfast. After, he seemed to be exhausted. I called my friend at the cat shelter, explaining we couldn't continue with Plan A anymore since Braveheart needed to go to the vet, it was suggested that while he was there I should get him neutered and tattooed as well, so we could register him to the cat shelter. The vets took him in almost right away. Later on that day I was able to pick him up and bring him home. 

Below are photos of him after he came home after his care.

He was a really good boy, he slept a lot. I was thinking he was going to be easier to look after than I had feared, it's never certain how things will go when one brings a stray into confinement. Ha! Was I wrong! That little guy had an incredible ability to heal and get his strength back and the very next morning he escaped despite my barrier shown in the photo below. (The bathroom door is the one on the right, the door to Mimou's room is on the left, she arrived the day after I caught Braveheart).

Well, Braveheart was determined to get out and he managed to push past the edge of the folding screen, even with the cat carrier wedged against it, and woe was me, but I had left the back door open for my own cats to go outside and he went straight out the door. Thank goodness I had taken his Elizabethan collar off for him to eat and use the litter, or he would have been loose with that on. I went straight after him, and it looked for a moment like he would come back to me, but no, the call of freedom was stronger than my worried cries for him to come back. And then he was gone. I had at least one consolation, that he would come back for his dinner, his routine had been quite consistent over the past two months, plus I had bought him very expensive tinned food from Science Plan which he loved, so I hoped he would return at dinner time. But he didn't. I waited up until the early hours of the morning by the back door, but he didn't show. Finally I gave up and went to bed consoling myself with the meager thought that at least it wasn't cold outside.

Just a few hours later I was up again, sick with worry, but there he was waiting at the back door, waiting for his breakfast. But he had been attacked again! This time his muzzle had been torn open. Sick with guilt, I got him straight back to the vet who stitched him up and gave me a good scolding (well deserved) for letting him escape. I promised her I had since fortified the barrier so not even the Hulk could get out and would be extremely cautious about making sure the back door was closed whenever I would go into Braveheart's room.

There was a concern that perhaps his spleen had been damaged, the vets wondered if he had in fact been hit by a car and not attacked by a cat. They said I should get that checked but I would have to take him to a hospital an hour's drive away where they had the right equipment. My husband and I took him in where he was x-rayed and checked over but they were pretty certain he had not been hit by a car after all and his spleen was fine.  

We went home and settled Braveheart into a nice routine, the days passed, I cleaned his wounds and gave him his medicine, and his muzzle healed nicely.

After ten days, Braveheart had his stitches out and he began to look bright-eyed and happy. I would spend quite a lot of time with him during the day since that was when he was active, I would go in and brush him, pet him, play with him or just hang out reading while he slept. I began to become very attached to him. At this point in time I had learned the cat shelter was still not going to be a solution, the infection was still out of control, and my friend said it might not be until the end of the year before they could take any new cats again.   

Here he is in his room safe and sound again, having his dinner. He really loved that pink tennis ball!    

I asked my husband if he was ok about us keeping him. He said yes. So then I started the long process of trying to introduce him to our own four cats. It was a slow process, but went quite okay, my cats didn't really warm to him despite his chirps and friendly overtures, but they didn't hurt him either, they just kept their distance. I was sad for him because he was the sweetest, most loving, undemanding little boy. He wandered around the house exploring, but in the end he seemed to feel happiest in his own room, even with the door open. He would just go back in there and sleep. After some more time spent healing he started to be quite well and began to ask to be let back outside. I was a little scared to give him that freedom, but he really asked, and it felt cruel to keep him in, especially when he could see the other cats playing outside. By then he was vaccinated, and his castration had cleanly healed, his muzzle completely closed over. I thought, ok, but I am going to be careful. 

He went outside and sat on the sofa right by the back door. I brought the other four cats in and kept an eye on him, giving him the space to be alone and undisturbed, watching as he enjoyed the warm sunshine, happy to see him happy and content. And then it happened again. He got attacked, right on our terrace at the back by another cat. Braveheart had lost the points of his fangs somewhere along the way in his hard life so he really had no defenses. The other cat really hurt him, biting him. It happened so fast. It was just awful. I couldn't believe it.

I got him inside right away but he was bleeding hard from both his front legs. I managed to get an emergency appointment at another vet hospital 20 minutes drive away, and brought him in. They were amazing, they did a lot of extra diagnostics on him while he was there having his legs tended to (he had to have drainage tubes put in, poor thing). But they were very kind and wanted to give him every chance to be well and happy again. He had x-rays, a blood test, his kidneys checked, and his urine checked as well since he was peeing frequently. They didn't find anything serious, but he did need antibiotics for the wounds on his legs. They said the meds would also clear whatever was upsetting his kidneys. (They did!)

I had to leave him there for several hours because they had to give him anaesthetic to clean his legs and put the drainage tubes in, but when I came back he looked a lot better, they had done a really good job. We went back home again, and I settled him in, starting the long work all over again to heal him. It was heartbreaking. I felt so bad for him, though he never complained or felt sorry for himself. He was such a perfect boy.

We soldiered on, I gave him his painkillers and antibiotics around the clock, kept him company and reassured him, but in my heart I knew we couldn't keep him, that cat who kept attacking him lived in the neighbourhood and I could tell he wasn't going to stop until he killed our little Braveheart. With a heavy heart I contacted my friend at the cat shelter and explained the situation. She decided it would be best if she started contacting potential foster homes where he would be far away from the area to protect him from being hurt again. Finally, after several people showed interest but needed to be declined since they weren't a good fit, a miracle happened.

My friend got a call from a man who fostered cats for the cat shelter. He lived in the forest, with lots and lots of land around him. He was looking for a cat to live in the house with him, who would catch mice. My friend asked if he might be interested in Braveheart. He said yes!

Braveheart with his new toy we bought at the vet hospital, for being so brave. It was one of his favourites.

Photos of Braveheart on the day he would leave to go to his new home. Bright-eyed, healed, and playful.

On May 5, 2017 almost a year after I first saw him at my back door, Braveheart left our home, along with his big box of toys and the tall scratching post/house he loved to sit on. I was very sad to see him go, I had become terribly attached to him. He was an absolute sweetheart. Every night at bedtime I would go in to the bathroom and brush my teeth and wash my face. He soon learned that this meant the big lights would go out and the night light would go on. He would wait for me while I washed up, sitting beside me on the counter by the sink. When I was done, I would wipe it down for him. Then he would go into the sink and curl up to sleep. I would give him a goodnight kiss and turn off the lights, the room warm and safe in the glow of the nightlight. For several days after he left, the house felt empty without his presence, but I was so gratified to learn that he was very happy at his new home. His new human companion adored him (who couldn't!?) and was so happy to have him in his life. My friend from the cat shelter was the one who took Braveheart to him and she stayed for two hours going through everything. Below are photos of him getting used to his new home. 

Three weeks later I followed up with my friend on how things were going and she said it was going incredibly well, that Braveheart was very attached to his new dad and that the man was constructing a cat flap for him to go in and out as he pleased. I couldn't have imagined a happier ending for such a lovely little boy. After everything he had suffered, Braveheart deserved nothing less than a life of love and happiness for the rest of his days.