Our new home came with a fresh start, and a house guest who refused to leave

When my partner received a call in February saying he was the successful candidate for a job in the remote Northern Territory, my initial reaction was anxiety. As someone who had exclusively lived in major cities, could I cope living six hours from the nearest Woolies? Ten hours from the nearest shopping centre? What would I do with my exquisite collection of 1970s vintage coats in a region where temperatures regularly top 45 degrees?

I had expected a culture shock, the homesickness of missing friends and family, and daily city life. And given remote communities are renowned for “camp dogs” – pets that roam free in the streets but have loving owners – I had also anticipated a wealth of wildlife and domestic animals.

Melissa Mason with her house’s cat, Jorny.

As a lifelong dog lover, and with our beloved terrier Ted in tow, I was ready to open our new home to whichever four-legged friend wandered our way. What I didn’t expect, though, was to immediately adopt a cat.

On our first day there, the gate creaked open to our dust-covered cottage, and we slowly drove our four-wheel-drive through the narrow entrance. I quickly focused on heaving boxes of pots, pans, and all the other paraphernalia inside as fast as possible to get out of the heat.

That’s when I first heard the gentle mewing coming from underneath the porch.

“Did you hear that?” I asked my partner. We paused to listen, wiping sweat from our brows and swatting flies away, as Ted inspected his new domain. Then there it was again.

I peered under the porch, checking for snakes and critters before getting onto my hands and knees. Staring back at me was a black and white face, peering out from the shadows.

Initially, we assumed it was someone else’s pet who just happened to be visiting us. But by 6pm on the dot, we heard insistent meowing coming from the front door.

This time, waiting impatiently at the screen, the cat stared at us, clearly demanding its dinner. Used to being the only pet in the house, Ted was unimpressed and raced to scare the cat away with some (not so) terrifying yapping.

Jorny at home in the Northern Territory.

Within minutes, though, the cat was back, and I took pity – offering him some water and dog food. As he gobbled it up, I noticed a ragged towel on an old wooden shelf on the porch that was covered in hair. Sure enough, the next morning, that’s where we found him curled up fast asleep.

Over the next week, we fell into a routine. In the morning, we’d find the cat on the porch, then he would disappear during the day, and re-emerge at 6pm, in time for dinner.

Despite his seemingly homeless status, he looked healthy and had a tattoo in his ear (a sign he had been desexed). His fur was healthy, and he was far from being skin and bones.

According to Dr Sarah Zito, a senior scientific officer at the RSPCA, there are ethics around caring for animals that show up and declare your home theirs. “It’s a good idea to check with any neighbours to see if they are missing the cat or know who the cat may belong to,” Zito says. You should also check with the local shelter and vet, she says, to see if animals are microchipped or have been reported missing.

After we asked around town (a great way to meet the locals while still settling in), no one claimed the cat. It seemed everyone knew of him more as a town cat, but not as someone’s pet.

Unsurprisingly, I quickly became attached. We drove the six hours to Katherine to buy him a cat bed and some toys, and I asked my friend’s three-year-old what we should name him. She chose “Jorny” (her version of “Johnny”). I began spending my mornings on the porch, giving Jorny head scratches as I drank my coffee, trying to ignore Ted inside, peering out at me with a look of betrayal.

Quickly, we became Jorny’s family. He isn’t “our” pet exactly, but he is certainly part of our house. It was clear that he lived here before our arrival, and I get the impression that when we leave, he will stay on and await the next tenants.

For now, giving him some creature comforts and extra care feels like it’s part of being good additions to the town.

Melissa Mason is a freelance writer and contributor to The Age.

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