I got the fateful text on Saturday: Pokey had lashed out again at his new people, and perhaps it was time to come and pick him up. I was in tears – I had such hopes that this would be a happy outcome for all. But at the end of the day, I didn’t want to force a square peg in a round hole, which is what this seemed to be.
I was concerned that Pokey might have forgotten me in three weeks. But when I entered his room, and asked to be alone with him, he meowed balefully as I approached, then quieted. And when I reached toward him, he rolled his head to the side in a display of recognition, and desire to be petted. Then he started to purr. Oh my.
I got him home and had fenced off my bathroom area, thinking that A) he would need a quiet spot to get his sea legs back under him, and B) my longterm kitties were not going to give up space on my bed so easily. Within 20 minutes he was chirping at the gate, complaining about not having access to his usual space, directing his pointed remarks at Claude, who was sleeping on his heretofore bed throne, utterly ignoring him. So hilarious. He now seems to have completely forgiven me, and is back to his affectionate self.
I don’t know if this disastrous attempted adoption (my first failure in three years and 18 cats) means that Pokey is not adoptable? Or whether he needs a home with people who are truly “cat people” and know the drill with ferals – something I feel like I failed to stress adequately. I don’t know. As much as I adore him, he definitely feels like one cat too many when it comes to my longterm kitties. But I’m done for a little while trying to find him his own home. I feel bad that he clearly was unhappy for three weeks, while everyone tried to make this fluffy square peg fit in a round hole, and think he’s earned a rest. But what of his future?
Saint Francis, a little direction here?