Delilah was what my landlords called a ‘wildcat’: a feral cat, Felis catus, not a Bobcat or Mountain Lion. She was also a well-known terror on the mountain ridge where I lived while a professor at Green Mountain College in Vermont. I was told she was the only known survivor of a cat colony up the road in an abandoned farm house. Apparently the colony vanished over the previous winter. Delilah had caught people’s notice as a wide-ranged adolescent the previous fall, visually distinctive and bold beyond measure. I first noticed her skirting the edge of fields, or dragging game into the forest. A swirly, swishy and seriously deadly feline of small proportions.

At some point she took an interest in me. I would catch glimpses of her observing me from the high grass of a field, or high above from the limb of a tree. Over several months time she came closer, especially at dusk. I would come home to find her on the deck (she would scoot the moment she saw me). Sometimes she’d leave a head or wing or inedible part at the very top of the stairs. Like a gift. We went through a period where she would appear on the far end of the deck while I was having my morning coffee and reading. We’d gaze at each other a bit, and then settle down into shared space. As I later learned, all this is common behaviours for cats getting to know one another in overlapping territories. Back then, when I spoke to her, she was simply ‘Babe’.

It was perhaps six months after she started watching me, that we both took a great risk. I slept outside most nights when I lived in Vermont. I had a second story deck, and the stars were incredible. As long as it wasn’t pouring or below zero, how could one resist? (OK. Recall that I’m from Canada and love winter. Anyway….) I awoke one cold November morning about 03.00 to find her nestled in my sleeping bag. Not surprisingly I startled and she bolted. But she came back the next night, purring up a storm and bumping her head on mine, and with much trepidation, I welcomed her into the bag. This is how she became known as Delilah, from the ancient tale of that bold and beautiful seductress by the same name.

She fed herself for the first year, generally bringing something home for me to discover. It was another six months before she would come inside. In late 2000 we moved into the NYC metro area, and she’s adjusted to living inside quite well. She still has a surprising habit of leaving the heads of little beasties in front of a door, arranged with the eyes and nose pointing toward the entering visitor.

Even so, we are learning how to live together. She had to discover that affection was not an affront or attack. I earned quite a few skin-piercing bites during this time. For my part, I’ve had to learn how to slowly introduce greater trust in our relationship, generally by waiting for signals from her. Her first visit to the vet was a tad traumatic, with everyone wearing gauntlets. In 2001 she discovered that ‘chase and tag’ with humans could be a game. And it was in the fall of 2003 that she suddenly plunked down on her side and invited me to rub her tummy for the first time.

And from the first night in that sleeping bag, we have spent virtually every night together since.