Feral Cat Behavior

When the four kittens first arrived here at our home, they couldn’t find places to hide fast enough. Discovered in an abandoned campground on the Oregon coast by two Good Samaritans, we quickly whisked the kittens off to the vet’s office. Found to be extremely malnourished, dehydrated and flea -infested, the kittens were treated here in our home with subcutaneous fluids and antibiotics. When they first arrived, they wouldn’t eat anything. Not cat food, dry food, or baby food.

Racking my brain, I decided since they lived their early years in a campground, they might eat camp food. Sure enough, they devoured hot dogs, potato salad, cold beans and hard cooked eggs. Slowly over time, they started the weaning process off the campground food. Now they eat both dry and canned food (though I feed them small sausages from time-to-time for treats).

Christened: Chaplain, Dash, Tipster and India, the kittens were ingenious in finding hiding places within the confines of the cat room. Every time I entered the room, the kittens fled, scattering in four directions looking for the safest place away from the human invasion.

Chaplain became a formidable force. Cornered during “medicine moments” (also known as pilling a cat) he would puff up like a poison adder from head to tail, arch his back hissing and growling his warning of “Back Off!”

One day, tired of his charades, I knelt down before his hiding place. I took a deep breath a large leap of faith and closed my eyes. I gently snaked my bare hand into this cubicle and made contact!

Once my hand touched his sides, he snarled his distrust. I will admit to being scared of being nailed, but keeping my breathing even and my eyes shut, I stroked his soft fur. I felt him visibly relaxing. We stayed that way for about five minutes, and then I withdrew my hand. I repeated this process over the matter of the next few weeks, until one day he found his courage and began to trust me, coming out into the room whenever I entered.

As the kittens grew, it became clear that Dash was not part of the litter; she was the mom-cat. Once the kittens had stable weight and good health they were neutered and spayed.

Dash- named because she has a small-dash of white on her face, stayed true to her name and dashed out of the room every time we entered. Chappy however, stands his ground. He will stay out in the room as long as we don’t glance in his direction, or begin to walk toward him. This has became his standard method of operation. We resigned ourselves to the fact that until they truly felt safe, these two kittens wouldn’t be easily approachable. They got along fine with the rest of the cats; the human element became something they were unsure about.

The kittens grew into lovely cats. One summer I was struck with a bad cold. Taking to the couch at night to sleep, so that Mike wouldn’t get sick, I began to have nocturnal visits from Chappy! The minute the lights went out and I lay down on the couch; he would leap up on the back of the couch and nudge my shoulder. Gently moving my arm up, he allowed me to pet him. He loved being clucked under the chin and having his ears rubbed. Stroking his sides bothered him. He would reach over and take my forearm gently in his teeth- not breaking skin and reposition my hand toward his head. This became a normal occurrence. If I turned on the light and tried to pet him, he would flee. His security comes from the darkness, perhaps a way of reconnecting with that first bonding moment, when I touched him with my eyes shut?

Today, he and his mom and brother continue to live among us. His affection and snuggling times are late at night when I lie down on the couch for about an hour and we go through the petting ritual. We lost his sister to illness some months back. She turned out to be the most affectionate of the group and we miss her to this day. But Chappy, Dash and Tipster are thriving.

They no longer hide, but they are wary in the daytime. Their protective shields lower as the sun sinks in the sky and darkness arrives. I know the minute the lights go out, and I lay my head down for a snuggling session that Chappy will arrive. He has never been late for a performance yet! The other night, I heard a large cat creep into the room during the Chappy performance. Turned out to be Ms. Dash. Apparently, he told her about the kind human interactionwe both share. Perhaps she just wanted front row viewing so she could see for herself!

This entry was posted on Saturday, October 28th, 2006 at 8:01 pm and is filed under Uncategorized. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.