Feral Cat Behavior

It’s snowing this morning so I opened up the curtains in the front room. While sitting at the computer, I noticed the cat man walking by the house. Although there are bushes in front of the window, part of the window is still exposed. He stared right at me (or so it felt) the entire time he was walking past. He still has his cats.

I talked to a lady yesterday for quite awhile about this. She is also involved in rescuing cats at risk. She told me about an ongoing situation where the group has been trying for three years to take custody of several cats under the care (for lack of a better word) of a women in a fractured mental state. Three years! She said the woman had over 20 cats, and now through everything, there are only four cats left alive. One three year old female cat when they finally did get her to a vet, had NO teeth because of malnutrition. Sue said that this county has no resources to help cats period. NONE! Meetings of the powers to be are just that meetings. Nothing is ever decided as a course of action to help the stray/feral cat problem and abused/neglected cat problem.

Twenty years ago today, I woke up to find snow blocking our living room window, our pipes to the well house were frozen solid and it was our wedding day. A hurried phone call to a friend and neighbor assured me their shower was working and it was perfectly okay to come over and start getting ready for the big event.

Kathy, my good friend now deceased, not one of the lucky breast cancer survivors was instrumental that day in keeping my nerves calm. Her and Judy Travlos (my maid of honor) concentrated their efforts on making me laugh about all the memories Mike and I had stored up till that day.

We met through a personal ad five years prior, writing for several years before I finally decided to leave Southern California fly to Alaska and meet him for a two-week vacation. The girls had me laughing recalling the first fishing trip with Mike, where on the very first cast (after suffering through a long-winded lecture on how to fish properly) I brought in a 16″ rainbow trout! LOL Mike’s face was priceless. He later was overheard saying, it was because of his tackle that this occurred.

By the time Judy and Kath had done their job, I was laughing so hard I was crying. It was hard to put on the make-up. Then I was walking down the aisle, escorted by Dick Jones and my life started.

Has it been easy? Nothing worthwhile is ever easy. Relationships take work, and even though we were best friends first (which helped immensely) we still have been together night and day for twenty years now. I see places where we take each other for granted. I get angry at his lack of helpfulness when it comes to housework but it is an age thing, as he is 17 years older than me. His mother basically raised him up believing the woman does everything around the house.

I look in the mirror now and at times I see my mother reflected back at me. I am striving to be my own person. To make a difference somehow, to leave the world a kinder place if I can. Will me make it another twenty? I hope so, but his inability to deal effectively with his diabetes, makes that prospect a bit iffy. I guess, taking it one day at a time, laughing daily and loving each other is our recipe for making it this far.

I had to laugh this morning when we woke up. He said “Happy Anniversary Honey, do you realize that we have one cat for every year we have been married?” LOL Did we buy presents for each other? Nope, sure didn’t. Instead,we put the money on the outstanding vet bill. For me, that is true love!

Haven’t seen the cat man in a few days. Still waiting to hear if Ben made any headway in rescuing these cats-

In case you think I have given up the fight for these six cats. I haven’t. At all turns I have been told to forget it, that it is a hopeless case. But you know what? Most of the cats that live with me now, I have heard the same thing about them!

My vet is on this now at my request. Come next week, perhaps I will be able to update this story. Inaction is never acceptable when it comes to cats being in danger.

The man isn’t anywhere in the area now. I heard that he is sleeping down by the lake, but there isn’t a sign of him. This photo was taken the last day I had an encounter with him. My hope is that he will go to a larger town where they have the capacity to free these poor cats.

Last night, our newest kitties came out of the kitty tunnel. He was limping and when he finally stopped walking, he lifted his left paw off the ground and started crying. I picked him up and walked around with him a bit. I didn’t want to touch his paw as he is new to the group and doesn’t quite know us very well. Instead, I brought him upstairs to the cat room to confine him and limit his activity.

This morning, when I look at his paw, I see one of his claws protruding where it shouldn’t. Sitting with him quietly and petting him, every time I go to pick up his hurt paw, he snatches it away cries then tries to bite me. We played this game of gently lift paw, look on the bottom of it and then try to part the paw to look at the injured footpad. He stops me quick enough.

Since the paw looks out of the ordinary, a bit swollen and it is hot to the touch, and since the claw is visible all the time. Looks like we are going to the vet today. Sometimes, it never ends around here. Never a dull moment.

Kitty had a rough day. In order for them to examine him, they had to make him drowsy. Turns out he has an abscess in his footpad. They drained and cleaned it, gave him a shot and sent him home with me with pain meds and antibiotic. He is upstairs in the cat room, sleeping in the closet.

*Warning* This article is full of my personal anger. DO NOT read it if you are squeamish, or have a weak stomach. It was therapeutic for me to write it, but will probably not reach mainstream publishing, because the truth is, in rescue, sometimes the truth is unpleasant. There is no “Happily Ever After” no peaceful resolution: You have now been warned…

Homeless Hostages

He would be invisible, this solitary figure, pedaling ahead of me on the side of the darkened highway were it not for the several sets of glowing green eyes caught in the reflection of my headlights. His passengers, six adult cats ride inside two beat-up cat carriers. Five cats crammed inside one carrier. Another, a black female rides solo high in the top carrier. A rite of privilege granted only to her. She’s spared the indignity of sharing the crowded, smelly living conditions endured by the five cats below her. The carriers tip to one side as the rider fights to maintain his balance. Whether intoxicated, under the influence, or simply trying to combat the driving wind and rain, he steadies himself. The carriers remain upright. Swinging wide to the center lane to avoid hitting these night travelers, I realize, I’ve been holding my breath, my face is bathed in tears. This traveler, we know of each other.

He pedals around town on a men’s white ten-speed bicycle. The bike, much like him shows evidence of seeing better days. On one cardboard flap, printed with black marker, uneven, childlike lettering proclaims: “Jesus Saves.” On the other side a single message states “We Need Food.” Both announcements propped up against the two cat carriers, held securely by nylon cord. Strapped between these life messages, on the rear carrier rack,the two cat carriers perch precariously held down with bungee cords. Crushed boxes of Meow Mix and Friskies along with several plastic dishes are stuffed along the back end of the carriers, held firmly in check with frayed rope.

He is new to the area. Routinely seen scrounging for food and discarded treasures in garbage cans and dumpsters. Parked along the main street, he crouches near his bike. I approach, my interest lies within the carriers. Reeling back from the stench, I notice him watching me shrewdly. I ask his name, he tells me “Todd.” When asked his last name, he puts his finger up to his lips in a shushing motion and whispers “C.I.A.” I peer into the bottom carrier. Five kitty faces pressed against the wire. I identify a long-hair tortie, a mackerel tabby, and one golden boy. Two other faces peer out of the darkness. I see a white-faced cat but nothing more revealing. The two cats frantically try to move forward to the front of the carrier. But the three cats hold fast. Their faces clearly signal- “Can you help us?”

I leave an offering nearby on a stoop, a plastic bag containing canned and dry food for the cats along with fruit and soda for him. He tosses the bag into the gutter and sneers at me. A dangerous look flicks across his face. His eyes, earlier narrowed in suspicion at my presence now widen instantly as pupils swallow up any available space; portals into a world seemingly gone mad. Just as quickly, the look fades. I back away, despairing for the cats. For the innocent victims of a world out-of-balance.

I wonder where “Todd” came from. What circumstances led him to this association with six felines. His world, exposed to society consists of him riding along the streets, seeking out shelter. How long has he been homeless? I tried asking him these questions. All the time wanting so badly to fling open up the carriers taking all six cats home with me. I tried to keep my rescue hat on. Not giving in to the despair I felt for these homeless hostages.

He told me these cats were his “friends.” He quoted fractured scripture at me, becoming frantic when I mentioned, I could help him by assisting his cats. Demanding to see my identification, he advanced on me. Fists clenched, face red with rage, spittle flying from his mouth, scriptures flying off his tongue. I backed away slowly, aware of this disconnection from reality.

Todd walked over to the curb, stomping on the bag containing food for himself and his cats. Pieces of apple, Meow Mix fly out of the bag scattering in the street. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice the black cat has come to the front of her carrier. She raises her head, smelling food she will never be entitled to eat.

She does retain certain privileges though. Perhaps she was his “first” rescue. Or maybe he views her as his good luck talisman. When he parks to rest, he clips her leash to the bicycle spokes. Allowing her a brief time out of confinement. The other five wait inside their crowded carrier for their turn at freedom (that never arrives). They eat food he throws inside the carrier. The alpha cats possess the advantage here. Their survival skills prominent, the alphas push the weaker cats away. Left inside the carrier on their own, the cats defecate inside their kitty jail. Examined closely, urine scald is visible on their legs and tails.

Our state doesn’t yet have a statute for this type of living conditions for cats. The law stipulates that cats must have food, shelter and water, which they do. Basic needs met.

Aware of the man’s presence around town, the police quickly show up to move him along. I understand this method of quiet intimidation. Make his existence uncomfortable and he will move on, become someone else’s problem. I find this approach slightly ironic. Some people think along the same lines when it comes to feral and stray cats. Don’t do anything proactive about the cats; instead, scare them off and they will go away. If not seen, then clearly they must not exist.

I spoke with one officer who appeared at the scene, explaining that the five cats were living constantly in filth, forced to breathe foul air. “If they were inside a home living in this condition, you and the health department would do something about it!” I argue.

He pulls out his cell phone to call his superior. Withdrawing a short distance away he talks then listens intently. Ending the call, he came toward me, his eyes apologetic. “They have food water and a roof over their heads. It’s not abuse!” He should have just said “They are just cats!”

I saw Todd again this morning on my drive into town. Taking refuge from a passing rainstorm, he had pulled under the overhang of a local bank. Nearby, his bike with its precious cargo leaned against a pole. Out on Liberty, his black cat pulled fruitlessly against the leash that restrained her. Although the rain slammed down on the pavement, she appeared to prefer a quick dash to freedom over this nomadic life. In my heart, I hoped his other cats huddled together inside their carrier, finding their only comfort from each other. I drove past the bedraggled group, my face as wet as the road outside.

I have never felt such despair, and I have been working with abused cats for over twenty years. But in the last few weeks, I have run across a situation that tears open my heart. There is a new transiet in town. He rides a bicycle and that isn’t a big deal. What is the deal lies in what he has on this bike. Two cat carriers, one with five adult cats inside, and one with one big female (unspayed) inside.

I have attempted to help him. Offered him food for him and his cats which he promptly discarded. Asked him if I could please keep his cats for him until he get help, for which he advanced on me and might have hit me had not the police arrived. I see him around town and my heart breaks. I can’t imagine what those cats are going through being forced to live in such confined spaces, leaning off to one side or another when he parks his bike against a fence post. Huddled together for comfort during our many rain storms.

The authorities won’t help. They state they see no abuse. The cats have shelter, food and water, therefore there is no evidence of abuse. I wonder how they get past the 6 inches of excrement inside the one carrier, mixed with the meager portion of food he throws them. And this is not abuse?

The irony of this situation is if the man was established, had a home, property or articles of value, the health department and animal control would go in, do an inspection and sieze the cats. But because he is homeless, he falls under no one’s jurisdiction. Looks like the plan of action being prepared against him is one of quiet intimidation to make him leave town.

As I sit here and type this, the tears fall. I hear the wind howling outside. Earlier, while feeding the horses, the wind had a bite to it. Coming down from Alaska it nips through my warm clothing.

I wonder where he is now? Has he found adequate shelter from this inclement weather for his cats? After my recent encounters with him, I know I can no longer try to assist him. His world is fueled by madness, whether brought on naturally or chemically, who is to know?

I wrote an article today about my experience with him. I will be sending it off tomorrow and I hope, if it is accepted, that it will make a difference, in some heart, somewhere.

A good friend once told me, “You can’t save them all.” I sure couldn’t save this group. I hope to be able to save the next.

Prowler has left the worst of this sickness behind. This morning I woke up to find her rolling about the carpet rabbit kicking her toy (the toy, courtesy of Catnipetc.com) I was so thrilled to see her playfulness back. She is eating well, using the litter pan and is now lying on top of the dog cage teasing the dog.

I will continue with the medication, haven’t not heard otherwise, she only has a few pills left.

My crew taught me a valuable lesson through all of this. Regardless of how sick one is, they all need attention. I went out to the enclosure a few days ago to straighten up and clean the sandbox. I hadn’t been out there in 48 hours. One or more of the cats had ripped open the large bag of cat litter, spilled it on the ground for the cats to use! I apologized to all of them for this oversight, cleaned up the mess and changed out the sandboxes. That’ll teach me!

After a rocky few days, it has been decided to withdraw from any further testing for this beautiful cat and just see what happens. No answers are really forthcoming about what is wrong. The pee meter is stuck again, the appetitie is decreasing and Prowl isn’t doing well. She didn’t even show interest in a mouse and she is one of my hardiest hunters.

I have several feelers out over the Internet picking the brain of cat experts, but for now, especially after yesterday. No more vet visits, tests or invasive exams. Now, it is truly up to God.

I was so thrilled this morning when I woke up and looked in Prowler’s litter pan. She peed! Not a lot, but a good clump, much better than the dime sized offerings she was leaving before.

I found she has a passion for Alaska Halibut (figures!) I talked to Mike about us sacrificing our Christmas present from Doug and Mo (my stepson and his wife). Mike is agreeable, if Prowler is eating it, than let her have it! She ate a good amount then crawled up on my chest and bit my chin (her customary greeting).

She is no longer flat! She is active, and crawled up on the top of the computer chair meowing to me until I picked her up to cuddle with her. Could it be? Did we finally find that corner and turn it? God I hope so! When the vet called, Prowl crawled on my lap and started chewing on the phone cord, made me laugh.

If she has a set-back, I am to call the vet immediately and schedule a contrast barrium study. For now, she is still confined, so I can monitor her intake and output. Her fever broke- 101.4 this morning!

She is still grinding her teeth when she eats. But she had her last pain med last night. Dr. Sharon said she can renew it if need be, but for right now she wants to see how this goes.

I need to go give her meds now, and yes, I am smiling!

Still smiling at 11:13 p.m. just went upstairs, she is still eating and now she is playing with her mouse!