HOWLER'S STORY  . . . . . .    

June 2009

THE STORY OF HOWLIE BOY

When we moved into the little, heritage home in Lower Lonsdale, North Vancouver in 1999, there were two cats living in cardboard boxes on the wraparound porch.  One of them was big, black, and scruffy.  He had a tough guy attitude, like a boxer who was used to winning most of his fights.  We named him Howlie Boy because at night he would howl relentlessly on the porch, with a cry like a newborn baby.

Poor Howlie Boy was not only scruffy, he had red, infected looking eyes and scabby skin under all that black fur.  We were fortunate to be put in contact with Lana at the Pacific Animal Foundation who, over the years at our little house, assisted us in helping many feral cats and kittens. 

With Lana’s assistance, we trapped poor Howlie Boy in a cage and transported him to a veterinary clinic where he could get the medical attention he needed.  Howlie Boy was not impressed at being confined and transported in the car, and his cries had me in tears.  I entered the clinic like a madwoman, “We’ve got a wild cat here!”  The clinic staff calmly took Howlie Boy from me and we left him there, not knowing when we’d see him again.   Pacific Animal Foundation paid for Howlie Boy to be neutered, he was given antibiotics for his infected eyes, and medicine for his infected flea bitten body. 

Eventually Howlie Boy left the veterinary clinic and was returned to our wraparound porch and his little cardboard box.  We continued to feed him and eventually he felt confident enough to timidly venture inside our home, and then ultimately move in.  One couldn’t blame him – it was much warmer and cosier inside.  Our cat, Barney, was less than impressed at the new house member but eventually adapted, and the two became buddies.  They even found a way to welcome another little feral cat, Moochie, when she found her way into our home a few years later.

Coming from the streets, Howlie had a few issues with food.  He was always on the lookout, and if you left any food related items out on the table, or the counter, he would find a way to track them down.  One afternoon, there was a raw squash on the kitchen counter, waiting to be cooked.  Howlie Boy got a hold of it, saran wrap and all, only leaving a few scraps behind.  He also loved corn on the cob.  Many times we would leave a cob on the table, only to find he had eaten the entire thing when we returned.  My husband, Karl, trained Howlie Boy to beg like a dog for special treats like cooked prawns and steak.  If you were eating, Howlie was at your feet, waiting for a taste.  Needless to say, all these special “human treats” on top of his cat food, led Howlie to develop a rather big belly.  Although he still had his tough guy swagger, he was no longer king of the neighbourhood – he was living the good life now!  

Howlie Boy was also a hunter-he occasionally brought home birds and mice.  Once, in the middle of the night, my husband went down to the basement pantry to get some juice, Howlie Boy at his feet.  Karl opened the pantry door and saw a huge rat!  The rat jumped out and Howlie got him in one big pounce.  Karl opened up the back door and Howlie Boy ran outside with the rat hanging out of his mouth.  Thankfully I slept through the whole ordeal!

In 2007 our family relocated to the East Kootenays.  It was a challenge, but we managed to transport all three cats to our new home.  Howlie Boy travelled in the back of our van for twelve long hours.  When we arrived at our new home, it was January, so he couldn’t go outside like he was used to, but he would look out the window at the gigantic heaps of snow, and the roaming deer, and wonder, I’m sure, where on earth we had brought him!

Howlie Boy lived with us for ten years before he died in May of this year.  He was an amazing cat.  You never would have known he had been feral because he adored cuddles, hugs and kisses. In fact, he drooled with happiness when he was in your arms. There was nothing he liked better than getting as close to you as possible when you were lying on the couch or in the bed.  His purr was like a small motor – he loved pets under his chin and a scratch on the top of his head.  When my mom would visit us, he loved to climb up on her lap and would revel in all her attention and affection.

We buried Howlie Boy under a blossoming apple tree in our back yard.  A circle of rocks and flowers mark Howlie Boy’s Garden.  Somehow it just felt right to keep him close to us.   He was part of our family and we miss him.  But as my four year old daughter, Kayla, reminded me:  “We will always ‘member Howlie in our hearts mama.”

You are loved Howlie Boy -            

Brenda Kraushaar