This classic asylum building occupies in the middle of an active campus, and so once again required a predawn entry. It has been sitting disused for more than four decades and certainly shows it, but unlike any other similar institution I've been to in this state, it completely lacks graffiti or discernable vandalism. Instead, it offers all-natural decay, with lovely paint peeling off the irregular fieldstone walls and lots of nice artifacts, although many of the latter are jumbled together and crammed into rooms on the main floor. The name comes from the colony of feral cats which occupies the site, which generated some pretty unsettling noises as I waited in the darkness of the top floor for the sun to come up.
While leaving, I hooked my backpack on a railing and fell flat on my back in front of the building, in broad daylight, just as an employee drove up and parked right next to my car. She didn't spare a single look at me, despite my compromising position, and I left with no issues.