This post is the second in a series of many where seniors recall all the things that have changed over the course of our time here at Kenyon.
Found in the Kenyon Archives, dated around 2012. JK it was on my phone.
Look, I know I’ve stretched this feral cat bit as far as you’d think it could go. There are days when even I wake up unsure if I really have it in me anymore to spew unfiltered feline enthusiasm to those who expect it of me. But, as a senior staring graduation in its cold, hard face, I’ve found myself looking back as a way of distracting myself. And oh boy, did I realize something startling: Where in the ever-living hell did the feral cats go?
“It’s winter, Kate,” you say to me, shaking your head. “They’re cold and dead under the sheet of ice on Middle Path.” 1) gross and 2) not so.
When I think back before this all-consuming arctic tundra (which is getting more and more difficult by the day) I still can’t think of the last time I was greeted by the friendly Farr Cat, or the orange one that wandered up and down the path by the church.
There used to be a literal mafia of cats behind the bookstore, and someone would leave food out for them by the pillars in the parking lot.
Come to think of it, what happened to the cat that gave birth two years ago? We all watched it happen outside of Gund Commons and my parents wouldn’t let me buy one of her kittens.
All we have left is Bam Bam, who’s been, like, really hot and cold with me recently. He’s also ballooned up to the size of a small beagle–I’d posit that maybe he ate the others if I had ever seen him even five feet away from the Crozier porch.
I guess the only logical conclusion to draw from this is that they’ve all been taken to live on a farm with your aunt Patty and they’re really happy haha okay makes sense thanks, Mom.