battle wounds

He is simply wild. I can see that now; missing patches of fur and a bleeding nose. I had hoped at one point he could be tamed by our love and care but now it is quite clear that he won't be. 

He isn't like the other cats here symbiotic with the farm, content with the food. He never comes when he is called. Isn't around when he is needed. Aloof, eating from the dog's bowl and drinking from the toilets. Dragging small birds in through Beach's bedroom window to eat them under her bed.

Defiantly prowling down a hard road. It will likely be a shorter one too (at the rate he is going). Hunting or fighting anything that moves- including us.

Growling & glaring from dark corners as if he has forgotten who we are. How we rescued and cared for him. His eyes fixed. His stare hard. Then I joke, "...he's caught a touch of the Radies again." But I really wonder about the depth of his madness.

In Its own way, it is lovely. An animal being an animal. Alluringly beautiful in his wildness. 

But I wonder if he "understands" his "choice" or if like some people, for him there never was one. He was always meant to be this way. Nothing anyone might do or could have done would have changed it. Living only for himself, no loyalties, no ties, nothing to guide him but raw instinct. 

Free to race feverishly moment by moment. Alone trapped in his own wild head.