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I purr, therefore, I am. Anonymous
Eileen, the lady next door who feeds the neighborhood strays, has returned to her native Canada for a couple weeks and her friend Tina is taking care of her brood while she’s gone. The strays aren’t going hungry but mama ain’t here to spoil ‘em for another week or so.
Abour 4 years ago Eileen adopted a large gray male after his guardian died. Max is declawed but loves to be outside so he’s an indoor/outdoor tiger. Out during the day, much of which he spends sacked out on the cool concrete of my carport, in at night. Shortly after she adopted Max a neighbor came to my place and said that Max was all tangled up in a rope and would I come and help him. Eileen was off somewhere and had used a cotton clothesline as a long leash to keep Max from wandering off. I had yet to meet Max so I didn’t know what I was in for. I go over and here’s Max, wrapped with this line and not too far from strangling himself struggling to get away from it. One huge, mad cat and I’m supposed to unwrap this guy. Oh well, here goes. I leaned down and started looking for somewhere to start. I didn’t want to whip out my Swiss Army knife and possibly cut Max while trying to free him. As soon as I touched him he settled down. Got the granny knot untied and just unwound him. He was just as gentle and calm as he could be and I made a friend for life. Even the squirrels have gotten used to him. Many times he’ll sit beside me while I hand feed them in the tree. Not that he doesn’t go after one every once in a while but he’s never caught one and they just chatter at him. Have another nut, Huey, the big cat can’t jump this high.
Indoor. Outdoor. There was some talk of coyotes on PUAC yesterday. They lurvs ‘em some tigers. And small dogs. Any small animal. As with many other things, keeping the tigers indoors is the best way to ensure their safety.
For years I allowed my tigers to roam during the day. Tiye (II) rode all over the country with me in my little green VW bug without a carrier. She was remarkable in a harness. I could sack out on the grass at rest stops, secure her leash to my wrist and she’d sleep next to me. When I settled in Florida many an evening I came home to find her sacked out, spread eagle, in the empty bird bath across the street. Tigers sleep a lot, ever notice that? After Tiye’s passing I adopted Min, who would follow me when I walked to the library if I didn’t lock her in the apartment. The event that turned me into a strictly indoor person though was Yang’s capture of a fruit rat.
I know I’ve told this story on the threads before but…. One morning I was standing in the kitchen and Yang, great hunter that she was, brought in a dead fruit rat and deposited it at my feet. Good girl, I said, as I’m thinkin’ now I gotta go bury this thing. About 3 days later I noticed Yang staggering around like she was drunk. Luckily it was a weekday so I rushed her to my vet instead of having to go to the much more expensive emergency clinic. She spent a week in the hospital on IV antibiotics due to the nasty bacteria in the rat. Not a scratch on Yang but just the bacteria in the rat’s body fluids damn near killed her. My tigers haven’t been outside since, with the exception of Bapu’s escape which I recounted last week. I discovered I didn’t have to worry about them being run over by a car, stolen or injured/killed by somebody. Or eaten by coyotes.
Speaking of the neighborhood strays. We’ve found a vet in Tampa who will spay/neuter and vaccinate for $25. We’re gonna start catching them next weekend. They’ll be returned after the normal time at the vet’s. It’ll take a few weeks doing it only on the weekends but we’ll get them all eventually. One of the neighbors has a friend who is going to transport them to and from Tampa.
Do you like the big cats? You might want to check out Big Cat Rescue’s site. They’re just north of Tampa and the place is awesome.
Share your stories with us. We’d love to hear them.
The truth knocks on the door and you say, "Go away, I’m looking for the truth" and so it goes away. Robert Pirsig
18 Comments
Kitteh Haz Smarts Wurds on Helth Kare
I have a Gumbie Cat in mind, her name is Jennyanydots;
The curtain-cord she likes to wind, and tie it into sailor-knots.
T.S. Eliot knows cats.
Hi Elliott. Socks was such a pretty girl.
Almost finished with The Looting of America, which I ordered during last week’s Book Saloon.
My BFF and I are going to Shamabala Wild Animal Preserve next week to visit the big cats who have been rescued from private homes and zoos (including a pair from Michael Jackson’s Neverland Ranch–Jackson didnt give a dime for their care either, he just had them dropped off).
Right now we have have new used cat, Mr Bruce, who was liberated from his job as a sex slave in a cattery. Considering he had no interest in mating, his eye color was not breed standard and he has ocular cloudiness –a congenital defect–he wasn’t much use at Happy Furre Cat Farms,aka the Pussy Ranch, just another mouth to feed who wouldnt breed. He also arrived with a huge gash in his right cornea from one of the other cats. Now he’s fixed in all ways and a very wonderful beast.
Before Mr Bruce I took in Judy (RIP) a 17 yr old declawed little lady whose family was moving to Australia; she was with me for a year until her batteries ran out.
The trio before–Pete, Buddy and Little Guy–trained my 70+lb pit bull mix how to behave around cats. As a result Dexter has no prey drive for small furry things–handy during skunk season.
Little Guy was an awesome hunter. He caught a humming bird once, but I told him never again and he listened. Valentines Day brought a dove with its heart ripped out; Mothers Day a dead rat. So thoughtful. One day as I unlocked the front door I heard the dog yelp– I walked in and there perfectly centered in the medallion of the entry way rug, lined up nose to west, tail to east was a dead rat and Little proudly beside it, the dog nursing a slight gash because he’d had the temerity to get near the gift meant for me.
Of course he lost a couple things in the house too. Like rodents. Luckily Judy eventually caught the last damn mouse that escaped the exterminators traps (no poison allowed). Seventeen years old, a lifelong indoor cat, never hunted in her life, she caught the rodent and scared it out of the house.
Pete who was 12 and had seen me single in one condo then another, then married in a house, died within weeks of my moving to here. Little roamed further and further a field looking for rats and mice and I while we like to think he found a new home, I suspect he made his way up the food chain into a coyote or owl’s meal plan; his disappearance toowas a demarcation of a phase in my life.
Buddy, suffering from kidney failure, died just days before I left on a life changing trip to Ireland. Judy’s death preceded my best friend moving into my house.
Pets are road marks in our lives and their passing lets us know we are moving to a new phase. My Dexter dog is starting to fade a bit at 12, his hearing is a little off, he is not so sure-footed, can no longer get on the bed, and tires more easily. But his sweet puppy nature is omnipresent and he loves Mr Bruce who at 3 as an indoor cat has long road ahead with us.
Thanks, Lisa. That’s quite the journey.
Oh, my, what stories today, even though they’re few. Did everyone go away for the long weekedn?
I treated myself (and my sore wrists) to a day off the computer, and now I’m falling asleep. Just had to check out Caturday, though.
My only new story is that one of my guys who never let me brush him (just wanted to grab the brush) has started showing up when he hears me brushing my one long-haired. He appears from nowhere, sits in a certain way with a certain expression on the cedar chest/coffee table in front of me, and waits for his turn with his brush. Awesome. His short-lived sister was the same way – she only had to see/hear the brush to come sit on the end of the sofa for hers, which she took with her eyes closed, purring. But Patchy never was interested until a few weeks ago, and now here he is, all but wearing a light bulb with the label “Brush me!”
and that’s my big story of the week. Off to bed. Darn this working thing; needing to get up early means I gotta go to bed early, too!
… all but wearing a light bulb with the label “Brush me!”
yep! i’ve had that experience with my little ferals.
there’s one who can’t be touched for any reason, though she’ll take canned salmon from my fingers if i’m very patient, and there’s another who can be momentarily touched but not caught, though she’ll let me brush her endlessly.
momcat was probably a pet at one time who was abandoned, and while she was more or less happy to move into the house with her first litter [discovered when they were about 6 weeks old] and would let me handle them [or try to, some of them are wilder than others], she herself was leery of any contact. it was brushing that won her over. now she’s such a pest when i’m at the computer, repeatedly shoving her out of the way so i can see the monitor does nothing nothing to dampen her begging for more brushing.
all of the second litter were jointly raised from day one by me and momcat, so they’re all friendly and cuddly and easy to handle, but it was still cute to see the light bulb go on when they discovered brushing. they were already very people-oriented before, but they love brushing so much they’ll leave even the tastiest of treats lying untouched in their food bowls and come running when i bring out the cat brushes.
they purr, therefore i am.
srsly, this is my very favorite thing about cats. everything else a cat can do [or be], i’ve had a dog or horse or gerbil or fish that could do [or be] that too. zen? fish. acrobat? gerbil. living art, poetry in motion? horses. cuddly and warm companion? dog. purr? ha.
Thanks for the link to the Big Cat Rescue site :)
Missed Caturday this week, too much going on. I don’t yet have my new tiger cub, I’m supposed to get her today. Next week all will be revealed.
One rainy night, when I lived in Manassas next to an enormous field next to a good sized creek, I opened the front door to let the dog in and 2 sopping wets streaks dashed into the house and dove under the sofa. I let them be and went to bed. Next morning I discovered two tabby kittens huddled under the kitchen table. Sefrunda and Billy White Shoes(later just Shoes) had, we think, been dumped in the park or even tossed into the creek. Clever tigers managed to find a friend in a storm. They were survivors.
Billy went to live with a lady down the street, as I couldn’t keep them both. It’s hard enough to hide one dog from the landlord; two tigers were impossible. Billy was so gregarious, he’d walk right up meowling to perfect strangers. Sefrunda, whose name in Sicilian means shy one, dove under the sofa at the slightest new sound, so she was safe.
When I drove cross country to my new home in CA I had Sefrunda in the cat carrier. She drove me crazy with her non-stop yowling, so I made a deal with her: no trying to escape and you can be out. She agreed and after one turn of the car, sniffing at everything, she made a bed on the shelf in the back seat and there she rode the whole time – except for driving thru Zion in the middle of a moonless night. She was so freaked out for some reason that she hung upside down from the ceiling until we got out of the mountains.
The first night, I stayed at a small motel recommended by the truck stop lady (Are you alone?!? No, you do NOT want to stay here, doll). I was pretty bushed, having driven 12 hours trying to escape the heat. At 4 am the dog nudged me to go out. Half asleep I staggered to the door, left it slightly ajar and staggered back to bed. A few hours later I bolted upright and wailed Oh, no, Sefrunda!! Certain I would never see her again, I called the dog. He came trotting out of the woods behind the motel, Sefrunda right behind him. For the rest or the trip, whenever I let the dog out she was his shadow. People at the rest stops would watch in amused astonishment.
My dad was allergic to cats. I stayed with my folks for a couple of months while I got settled. Sefrunda stayed in the open-air deck on the second floor. It seemed like the perfect arrangement until the night an owl got her. My poor, brave baby. Nature is hard.
Oh, Mommybrai – what a great story – right up to the tragic end. Can’t believe it- I’m so sad, and I didn’t even know Sefrunda. She sounds wonderful.
SD – love your story about your ferals, and brushing.
I care for an elderly feral who was born under the rental 3-family where I live. Her care was turned over to me by the then 90-yr old lady in the apt. next door who had fed and cared for her since she was a tiny kitten. Ann had to go to assisted living, and asked me to take care of Itsa, so I have ever since. (her name? itsa cat — Ann couldn’t tell if she was female or male – says she never had any litters – but she is female)
Itsa is still very jumpy – it’s how she’s lived so long, I’m sure – but she now allows me to stroke her back, and sometimes even rubs against my leg. I had to learn never to make any too-quick movements with her.
Never thought of trying to brush her.
She’s at least 20 yrs old now…dark gray originally, the fur on her face, chest, and front legs is getting whiter all the time.
I’ve been thinking about one of those feral houses you linked to recently for her — she used to shelter under the house, but the new landlord sealed up the loose screen over the crawlspace (he hates animals, near as I can tell, tho’ I doubt he knew about Itsa’s use of it).
Not sure she would use it – I know Ann put out boxes in bad weather, but on the patio (shared by all, our back doors open in a semicircle around it) it’s just too exposed.
Oh, SD, I only heard about Caturday a couple of days ago … checked out last week’s and then got busy … so here I am, Caturday on Monday.
My little Colette was scared silent after her second dumping at the shelter in her first year of life. First snowfall on her first year anniversary with me she freaked a bit too. Apparently she wondered if her fate was a third trip back to the shelter, since the snow was back and all. Who says they don’t have a memory.
Fourteen years later she purrs louder than my giant boy kitties and she’s so close to me sometimes that’s what keeps me going. She yells at me from downstairs too: I still remember the night she first started calling and her silent trembling purring. She would only come on the bed at first until someone moved. She’s blind now, but we’ve figured that out well enough. I get mega points for taking her out on late night walks in the grass.
My Gigi used to bring mice (and the occasional bird) in to chase and eat under the dining room table. NOT ON MY KARMA, please!
You have a huge heart for the kittehs, SD, no one can miss that! I love the stories about the brushing: see, they learn from each other too.
Yup, they purr, therefore I am. I just don’t know what I would do without all the kittehs.
One of my tigers, Nicki, didn’t purr the first 3 years he lived with us. He was 5 when he picked us and we have little knowledge of his former life.
This summer he started purring and now he sleeps all curled up against me, without jumping off at each little movement.
Also, all my tigers like to be brushed while they are eating. Is that weird? I think it reminds them of mom.
Sprout petted the feral Madison yesterday and he didn’t run away.
Great stories. They are special critters. If ya can get a brush on ‘em they usually give in. Kismet’s first brushing, from me, she was stretched out all over the dining table, her purring so loud the table reverberated it and she pushed a stack of books onto the floor. She doesn’t like to be brushed, no siree.
I did my semi-weekly cat scritching yesterday. Adopted by a friend when cat was trying to nurse kittens on scrounged food; the kids were weaned way-the-hell early because of that. Momma adopted me, but the one that my friend kept, while not liking her mother (it’s mutual), is fond of me also. Both of them like just about anyone who will scritch them right. The cat lives with friends because I had to move and could only find no-pets places.
There’s pictures out there (www.shabbytabby.com), but the server they live on was down and still hasn’t reconnected to the web.
my five housemates all got brushed today (claws clipped too!). four of them love it (and will tolerate having their claws clipped with rarely a problem and sometimes even some purring) but the oldest one still hates it (so she only got a half assed brushing).
best cat brush i’ve found is the furimator (cool vid at the link)
thanks to SD and all the commenters. caturday diaries are such a treat!
Ahhhh, Mommybrain. I’ve got wet stuff in my eyes.
One night I came back from a whole Saturday at a special class and plopped on the bed to watch tv and veg out ~ after driving 2 hours each way … and Colette jumped on my back and started “dancing” with all fours, kneading! I was astonished. Did everything I could to encourage her: like NOT move or talk. She does it at least once a day ever since ~ now mostly on my tummy. {{Heaven.}}
We do trim claws here though, as a matter of necessity.
Cat companionship is a highly trained specialty, PJ! One must study carefully and know exactly the right way to scritch!!!!!
My Gigi HATED HATED HATED having her claws clipped and I had to figure out how to neutralize these weapons on my own. I finally started holding her between my thighs crouching on the floor, pulling out each paw and clipping. The second time I tried this she didn’t scratch me … but she howled and screeched like I was murdering her. That went on for about a year and finally she calmed down. She never purred though …
Cats are VERY political! As for brushing, I think mine like it well enough but it’s just not considered catly to SHOW that you like it! Or something …