Missions have faith in their cats

Dominic, one of two resident cats at Mission Espada, walks in front of the chapel on Wednesday, Feb. 20, 2013. Dominic, one of two resident cats at Mission Espada, walks in front of the chapel on Wednesday, Feb. 20, 2013. Photo: Lisa Krantz, San Antonio Express-News Photo: Lisa Krantz, San Antonio Express-News Image 1 of / 96 Caption Close Missions have faith in their cats 1 / 96 Back to Gallery

They're the pros exterminating the vermin that creep past the perimeter of Mission Espada on the South Side.

Cloaked in stealth and silence, they corner mice, snatch snakes from kitchen cupboards and bat away scorpions.

They aren't bonded or insured, but their skill for stalking prey speaks for itself.

The protectors of the 18th-century mission are two large cats — Dominic and Moses — and they're on a mission from God to keep the holy spaces free of pests.

They're the pets of Brother Jerome Wolnik, 65, a Franciscan missionary and gardener who tends to the plush greenery and flowers that bloom around the grounds not far from the San Antonio River.

When he drives through the gates from Mission San José, where he lives, the mousers report for duty.

“These guys take care of everything,” Wolnik said. “Moses has the red collar. Dominic has the blue, and he says the rosary every day.”

Wolnik's order was founded by St. Francis of Assisi, the patron saint of animals and the environment, so it's natural for the cats to coexist peacefully with the church.

In recent months, the mousers have been busy. Wolnik said heavy machinery clearing land around the San Antonio River as part of the $245.7 million Mission Reach restoration project has driven snakes, scorpions, rats and lizards from the riverbanks and toward the mission looking for shelter.

There was a time centuries ago when cats were linked with witchcraft and paganism, beliefs that almost led to their extinction. But over time, parishes began taking them into cathedrals and churches to control rodents.

Wolnik joked that the care for the cats, including vaccinations and sterilizations, is budgeted under rodent control.

He said the two are healthy and hearty because they do their job so well. When Wolnik drives through the gate at 5:30 a.m., they jump on the hood of his pickup, leaving a trail of paw prints, meowing to be fed.

Wolnik has had cats at the mission since 1995, when he found a snake coiled in a kitchen corner.

“I said no way,” he said. “That's it, I got a cat.”

He's had Dominic since he was born in the pantry 13 years ago. Wolnik named the white, black-spotted cat after the Dominican Order, whose followers wear black hoods and white habits.

Three years ago, on the wheel well of a pickup at a Walgreens parking lot, he found Moses — a little white and orange fuzzball barely the size of a blackboard eraser.

It was Aug. 6, on the day of the Feast of the Transfiguration that celebrates when Moses and Elijah appeared with Jesus on Mount Tabor.

“It was either Elijah or Moses, and the vet couldn't spell Elijah,” Wolnik said of naming Dominic's apprentice. “So we named him Moses.”

Leslie Price, business manager of the mission, said Wolnik babies his cats like a proud parent.

“He's one of a kind,” Price said. “They know who their daddy is.”

She said the friary is like a household where everyone shares everything, including feeding the cats. There have been several other cats who tried to make the mission their home, but the lead mouser didn't accept them.

“Dominic takes one look (at them) and says, 'There's the river. You can do your own fishing, and it's better for you to stay on the other side,'” Wolnik said.

So far, Moses is the only cat Dominic has tutored in his catechism.

Wolnik said the cats have become an attraction at the mission, spawning their own fan base.

Increasingly, tourists are snapping pictures of the pair as much as they do the rustic property. When children approach the pair, Wolnik said Moses will roll on his back for a belly rub, as if to say, “Here I am, Lord. I come to do your will.”

Wolnik said Dominic is the opposite; rubs aren't his thing.

St. Francis medals dangle from the collars of both cats, which are big as raccoons. They're outdoor cats and only come inside on the coldest nights. When it rains, they seek cover under the arches of the iconic mission bell tower.

“They like the perching element,” Wolnik said.

Cats aren't unique to just Mission Espada. Nine cats call Mission San Juan home.

Since he arrived 14 years ago, Father Jim Galvin, pastor of Mission San Juan, has had cats to control rodents. He has three inside felines — Chico, 14; Cappuccino, 7; and 18-month-old Lily, who he found abandoned while making a sick call — and six outside cats that appear like a flash mob whenever he opens a bag of food.

He's closest to Chico, who trails him like a dog when he strolls through the woods near the riverbanks.

Sometimes at dusk, while walking and reflecting, he'll hear wild pigs rustle in the brush. And in a rare moment, an armadillo will waddle into view.

“For me, God is everywhere,” Galvin said. “One of the nicest places is in the evening, surrounded by nature and the cat jumps and runs among the flies.”

Father David Garcia, director of the Old Spanish Missions, is familiar with the cats of the missions.

Garcia said it makes sense that the cats are part of the missions, not only to protect, but also add to the tranquility.

“We've tried to make the missions sacred places of prayer and reflection,” Garcia said. “The relationship (Galvin and Wolnik) have with the cats is a part of their peacefulness; the cats help them to connect them to nature. I kind of feel the cats provide a sense of serenity.”

Animal Care Services spokeswoman Lisa Norwood said the missions are setting an example for the community.

“The visitors probably have a more enjoyable experience without the vermin that would probably be there if the cats weren't there,” Norwood said. “They're stepping up, allowing these cats to be cats and providing them with a loving home.”

vtdavis@express-news.net