By Marsha Porter
You will always be lucky if you know how to make friends with strange cats.
~Proverb
My first glimpse of Rocky's raccoon-striped tail and brindle spotted head and back occurred as he rolled my yellow cat Abe onto his back. I was horrified at the sight of my cat being pinned under Rocky's striking white paws. From that day on, Abe became an indoor cat, and Rocky continued to show up for free meals. When my friend, a vet, saw him at my door, she urged me to get him neutered. She insisted it would cut down on his fighting and risk of disease. Using a humane trap, he was easily enticed into captivity by a plate of tuna. Neutering and initial shots went off without a hitch and I was advised to keep him inside for a day or two.
You will always be lucky if you know how to make friends with strange cats.
~Proverb
My first glimpse of Rocky's raccoon-striped tail and brindle spotted head and back occurred as he rolled my yellow cat Abe onto his back. I was horrified at the sight of my cat being pinned under Rocky's striking white paws. From that day on, Abe became an indoor cat, and Rocky continued to show up for free meals. When my friend, a vet, saw him at my door, she urged me to get him neutered. She insisted it would cut down on his fighting and risk of disease. Using a humane trap, he was easily enticed into captivity by a plate of tuna. Neutering and initial shots went off without a hitch and I was advised to keep him inside for a day or two.
Although Rocky had been feasting at my house on a daily basis for several months, he had never allowed me to get within five feet of him. He would dart off as soon as I approached. I kept him in my garage, sure that when I raised the garage door he'd run out.
Two days passed and Rocky had become a phantom. I would put his food out in the garage and look for him, but he was always hiding behind a box or on a shelf. The only evidence that he was there was when I returned minutes later and picked up the empty plate. The first time I raised the garage door, I watched the threshold to witness his escape. Time passed but I never saw him. Finally I closed the door, wondering if I could have blinked and missed his exit.
The next day I decided to place another meal in my garage. Minutes later I returned to find it licked clean. Clearly he wanted to extend his stay a few days. Days turned into weeks, despite me opening the garage door every afternoon to allow him to check out. Six weeks after his surgery he was firmly entrenched and obviously enjoying the room service. Unfortunately, the weather was changing. As springtime took hold, I knew that the garage would soon be unbearably hot. As each day passed, I became more desperate for Rocky to leave. It was especially strange since he still did not allow me near him. I did, however, catch an occasional glimpse of him perched on a shelf or box watching me change his litter or water. I again tried the humane trap, but this time it didn't work. He had obviously lost his "every meal could be my last" mentality and let the tuna sit in the cage for three days. Frustrated, I went to retrieve the cage and just started talking to my elusive guest.
"What am I going to do with you? It's getting too hot for you in here! You have to go outside," I said. My voice cracked between words and I began to cry, wondering if he'd eventually die from the heat in my garage. Just then I felt something rubbing against my leg. I looked down and he paused. He didn't run away and I didn't move a muscle. Finally he looked up at me and I realized, for the first time, that he was blind in one eye. That did it. I couldn't put him back on the street. I slowly dropped my hand down and patted the top of his head. When I retracted my hand he stood on his hind legs leaning his front paws against my knee. His head now touched my fingertips. He wanted more attention. I continued rubbing between his ears and petting his back. It was a miraculous moment.
Each day after this, he ran up to me when I came out with food, litter, water, and we would repeat our bonding experience. I was able to pick him up and he'd rub his face against mine. Within a week, he was in my house sharing a room with his old rival, Abe. Now that there is plenty of food, the two have lost their need to fight. They often sit atop the hope chest that rests under my window ledge. There they form a neighborhood watch -- between catnaps -- until I return home from work.
Two days passed and Rocky had become a phantom. I would put his food out in the garage and look for him, but he was always hiding behind a box or on a shelf. The only evidence that he was there was when I returned minutes later and picked up the empty plate. The first time I raised the garage door, I watched the threshold to witness his escape. Time passed but I never saw him. Finally I closed the door, wondering if I could have blinked and missed his exit.
The next day I decided to place another meal in my garage. Minutes later I returned to find it licked clean. Clearly he wanted to extend his stay a few days. Days turned into weeks, despite me opening the garage door every afternoon to allow him to check out. Six weeks after his surgery he was firmly entrenched and obviously enjoying the room service. Unfortunately, the weather was changing. As springtime took hold, I knew that the garage would soon be unbearably hot. As each day passed, I became more desperate for Rocky to leave. It was especially strange since he still did not allow me near him. I did, however, catch an occasional glimpse of him perched on a shelf or box watching me change his litter or water. I again tried the humane trap, but this time it didn't work. He had obviously lost his "every meal could be my last" mentality and let the tuna sit in the cage for three days. Frustrated, I went to retrieve the cage and just started talking to my elusive guest.
"What am I going to do with you? It's getting too hot for you in here! You have to go outside," I said. My voice cracked between words and I began to cry, wondering if he'd eventually die from the heat in my garage. Just then I felt something rubbing against my leg. I looked down and he paused. He didn't run away and I didn't move a muscle. Finally he looked up at me and I realized, for the first time, that he was blind in one eye. That did it. I couldn't put him back on the street. I slowly dropped my hand down and patted the top of his head. When I retracted my hand he stood on his hind legs leaning his front paws against my knee. His head now touched my fingertips. He wanted more attention. I continued rubbing between his ears and petting his back. It was a miraculous moment.
Each day after this, he ran up to me when I came out with food, litter, water, and we would repeat our bonding experience. I was able to pick him up and he'd rub his face against mine. Within a week, he was in my house sharing a room with his old rival, Abe. Now that there is plenty of food, the two have lost their need to fight. They often sit atop the hope chest that rests under my window ledge. There they form a neighborhood watch -- between catnaps -- until I return home from work.
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