You rarely hear anyone dismiss the canine species by saying an individual is “just a dog.” And yet you hear it all the time about cats. Why bother feeding homeless kitties? Why keep their population down? Why not just exterminate them like one East Bay animal control department tried to do?
I think it’s because cats are such an enigma to so many people, they are not truly SEEN, let alone understood. What we can’t easily understand, we dismiss. And yet each one is as different as every child, with its own complicated set of genes – and whatever nature has thrown at it.
Two perfect examples showed up in vivid color these last couple months, as I was deep into my busy fall of trapping and rescuing. One very unhappy feline was Archie, a two-year-old blond tabby who ended up having to remain in a dog crate for several days thanks to the scarcity of neutering clinics. He was fierce – hissing and growling at me, not moving an iota in my direction during that long week.
I would carefully push food into his crate, closing the door quickly, then retreat to my happy place: the double-sized armchair I share with Big Mike. As he would nestle close and rest his head on my arm, I remembered how he was in the exact same situation as Archie: a two-year-old feral with no experience of humans or indoor living. And yet, unlike Archie, Mike took to his new life with lightning speed.
And more recently, I agreed to take in a kitten who had not only crashed a friend’s garage, but had climbed up inside her car engine seeking warmth and had to be roughly extricated by a firefighter – a kind person who came away from the experience with deep scratches. At only 10 weeks or so, Pippin was a spitfire – literally – hissing and lashing out, his tiny body convulsing with rage. I didn’t blame him; his short life on this planet and only contact with humans had been cold and terrifying.
And yet I still fell prey to the group-think I rail against: this is just a KITTEN, the likes of which I’ve had dozens of over the years. In one week, I told myself, Pippin will be purring, letting me pet him, and well on his way to a lap of his own. EVERY kitten can be socialized.
That was… uh… six weeks ago. Where the other kittens I’d socialized this last year were sleeping in my lap after mere days, Pippin has been recoiling and hissing if I even tried to get near. It got to the point where I was wondering if I’d made a mistake – if maybe this would be the first kitten I would have to release him to a barn existence and forget about him someday enjoying a lap. It grieved me to think of it, so I stubbornly kept going, offering food on outstretched fingers… which he whacked.
What made Pippin different? Genetics for sure (I’m quite certain Pip comes from a long line of ferals) but if nature played a big role, so did nurture. I kept reminding myself it was just going to take a while (and maybe a little magic) for Pip to get past his early weeks of starvation, fear, car engines and cages.
Thankfully, I have a magic cat at home. Ready to “try anything” after six weeks of no progress, I thought I would see if being around another cat would model domestic behavior to him. So opened the door to my bathroom and walk-in closet, and let him out into my upstairs area where Pokey hangs out. (My reluctance had been based on fear that Pip could burrow under my bed, where I couldn’t reach him, and never come out.)
Pokey, my old, fat, sick boy who was plucked from a parking lot at 7 after being hit by a car, has always had a knack with kittens. He grooms them, gives them a gentle thump when they get too rowdy, and generally brings out the best in them. Pip took to Pokey immediately, and has absolutely blossomed under his tutelage. After only three days in his company, the transformation has been amazing. Pip has stopped hiding, has become a confident and playful monkey like most kittens… and is driving Pokey crazy with fan-boy affection, pestering and leaning on him hilariously.
CAN SOMEONE REMOVE THIS BARNACLE FROM MY BUTT?
TELL ME AGAIN WHY YOU BROUGHT THIS MONSTER HOME?
I get choked up when I watch their interplay; it seems Pip (who was likely separated from mama too early) was just starved for feline affection. And the best magic of all: today as I was petting Pokey on my bed, Pippin came close, started to purr, and then tentatively accepted some gentle pets on his back. Big corner turned, future lap nap ensured.
Now, how to find a super special home where they see Pippin as the unique, rare flower he is, where they want to tend and nurture him as I have? That will take a little more magic. But it will happen, as beautifully as Pippin’s first purr.