In my last post, I told you how a hungry feral kitten got caught stealing food in the kitchen. And how—after watching us carefully from her room for a week or so—she decided we weren’t so bad after all, and stepped over the threshold to start her new life.
So, did she make the right decision?
Once she came out of her room, there was no stopping her.
Just a few days later, she was bothering everyone except me. It took her a little longer to get used to me, but she did, and now she has someone else to pester.
She’s starting to look like any other house cat, and with the amount of white in her coat, I think her father may have been some farmer’s domestic cat sowing his wild oats.
But don’t let that cute, furry, cat-suit fool you.
She’s very vocal (read: loud), very energetic, and no spider or centipede is safe when she’s around. Apparently, spider legs are not good eating. I keep finding little piles of them on the floor.
In fact, no other creature is safe when she’s around. She has no concept of personal space—something my other cats value highly. She gets in everyone’s face. She’s like that bothersome person at the party who just won’t leave people alone—I think we’ve all had one of those.
But she’s also cute, funny, and very affectionate. Just when I’m thinking what an irritating little monster she is and trying to remember why I kept her, she does something so sweet or funny that it all comes back to me. This little girl needed my help, and she received an abundance of it.
She’s come a long way since that last day in February. Her feral mother would be appalled to see her sleek, well-fed daughter wrestling with a dog for fun. When I see her lying in front of the fire all fat, happy, and warm, I know she’s thinking she made the right decision.
And when I see her like that, I know there was never a decision to make. From the moment she crept through the cat door looking for food, she was destined to become part of this happy, furry circus that I call family.
What she didn’t know was that to become part of this furry family, she needed to take a ride in the car to the cat-doctor to have her cat-making equipment removed.
She’s cute and cuddly, but one of her is quite enough. Too much, some days.
Thinking she would transform into a yowling fiend for the entire hour and a half drive to the nearest vet, I steeled myself. She surprised me by being almost normal. Sure, she made a bit of noise for the first ten minutes, but then she settled down in her cat carrier on the seat next to me and dozed off.
She livened up when I took her into the vet’s, so I left her in their capable hands and quickly got out of there.
A few hours later, I enjoyed a peaceful drive home.
That was two weeks ago. I removed her stitches yesterday. They must have been heavy-duty, industrial-strength stitches to have held her together while she raced around wrestling everyone and climbing trees.
Now she’s on her way to becoming a real domestic cat. She’s even learning some manners, and she’s almost stopped bothering my 17-year-old cat: there’s an uneasy truce between them. I spotted them sleeping together on a chair recently; that’s progress, folks.
The other cats are all young enough, and big enough, to lay down the law, and there’s enough room to mostly avoid her.
She’s still a little weirdo sometimes, but it’s my guess that’s the reason she fits in here so well.
Until next time, keep the faith …