Surprises

My cats are always surprising me in the things they do. Sometimes, it's an instructive surprise, telling me something new about one's character. Sometimes, it's an annoying surprise. Sometimes, it's even a pleasant surprise. No, really, that happens. Sometimes.

I was asked recently if cats will use a litter-box even if they are shown it just once. They do. It's instinctive for them, as it is for a dog to ask in his own way to go out when he needs to use his litter-box, which is nature. I've seen a cat outside relieve himself and scrape dead leaves over the spot. My foster cat, Devon, uses two litter-boxes. Since he sleeps in the library, he will use the box that is kept there for his convenience. Other times, he likes to use the litter-box in the store-room, the one all the other cats use. I think it makes him feel part of the group. He will, in fact, go a whole night without relief, then use the common litter-box as soon as he is released in the morning. But it's good to know that he will also use the box in the library, if need be.

When a cat relieves himself outside the litter-box, there is generally a reason for it, one that can be corrected with a little deduction. Perhaps the cat is in physical difficulty and needs medical attention. Perhaps he is suffering from stress, and this is a symptom. Once in a while, it's as simple as being repulsed by the litter with which the box is filled. But they are compelled by their natures to use the litter-box. This brings me to the surprise. I was emptying the store-room litter-box the other day. Ren went into the store-room and started crying. He cries and sings and yowls once in a while, but rarely while stationary. I hurried in my task and replaced the litter-box, which he promptly used. He was waiting for it to be returned.

Ren also likes lying on my slippers. He seems to do it only while waiting for my return from work. He greets me at the door, as do the other cats, and there are my slippers, flattened and covered with long, fine hair.

Tungsten has taken to waking me by licking my face. If this were at the time I had to get up, it wouldn't be so bad. She'll do it, however, in the middle of the night. Not every night, though, and she will often do it when I am just on the verge of sleep, not quite there but not awake, either. One may ask what she wants, why she is doing it. I don't. She purrs while doing it. I push her away and she purrs more. She does it because she thinks it's funny.

Then there is the reaction to the comb. I have tried brushing my cats, but each and every one hated it. It was a struggle to get them to sit still. Tungsten would yowl as if I were murdering her and Josie would throw all her weight into the fight for freedom - and with her, that's quite a weapon. Then she developed a mat in her hair, and another was coming. So I was given a comb to use on her. What a difference her reaction was from the brush. My Chubs lie down on her side, purred, stood, roamed about bumping her head against things, came over for more combing. Now her hair is smoother and she's happier. Devon, Ren and Tungsten all enjoy being combed. Perhaps the brush's tines were too fine; perhaps they grated; who can say? But this was a good surprise.

And finally, a startling surprise. I was preparing dinner one day last week, standing at a counter in the kitchen. Suddenly, a clattering bang resounded, so loud I thought someone had dumped pots and pans at my apartment door. Then I saw, from the corner of my eye, Devon literally bounce off the window. He had jumped onto the stove, rattling across the burners (thank goodness they were not on) and against the window (thank goodness (again) it was closed; the force of his propulsion would have carried him through a mere screen), hit the floor and ran off, hiding under a chair with a puffed up tail. What had startled him so? I'd heard nothing unusual; the other cats were alert and startled but it was obvious that they were reacting to Devon, and not to what he'd heard - well, that applied to Josie and Ren. Tungsten of course snoozed through it all. A few minutes later, Devon was fine, roaming about and bothering my Chubs, as if nothing had happened.

All together, a week of surprises with my cats. As usual.

The Spirit of Morris

I have at last devised a formula for getting my cats to eat a decent amount of soft food. This is perhaps the fifth or sixth winning formula with which I’ve come up in the three short years in which I have had cats living with me.

As cat-owners know, Morris, from the 9Lives brand commercials, is not that much of an exaggeration. It’s true that most real cats don’t give voice-over narrations to their lives, but otherwise, real cats are as finicky as Morris, who won’t eat anything but 9Lives. One may wonder why his television owners bother having him try anything else. I don’t. I’ve been attempting to get just the right mix for a long time.

All four of the cats living with me like Fancy Feast, to varying degrees. Tungsten doesn’t eat much as it is, but she seems to enjoy that brand. Why don’t I simply buy a pantry-full of that, then? Well, I don’t have a pantry; beyond that, I don’t think Fancy Feast is the best soft food to feed cats. The ingredients list a great many chemicals and dyes which, not good for humans in the food we eat, aren’t any better for cats. And just as humans find that the best tasting food isn’t always the healthiest, so it is with pets.

I have tested numerous kinds of food on my animals, and in numerous combinations. I don’t care to do that, because a constant change of diet can’t be good for them. I have found a brand called Wellness, the turkey and salmon flavour of which seems to appeal to the majority of them the most.

One of the problems is that, being fussy, like the fictional Morris, few of them will eat Wellness after the tin has been opened and the contents refrigerated. I’m uncomfortable with simply leaving the remains of an opened tin in a cupboard, uncooled, until the next meal-time. The others would be unaffected by any mild spoliation that occurred, but Josie has a very sensitive stomach. In case one thinks I’m being too considerate, one must remember that a vomiting cat has a practical affect on its owner’s time and activities. And his carpet.

Fancy Feast is a favourite even in an open tin and out of the fridge, though the best scenario is a new tin of that brand at room temperature.

It is, strange to relate, the fact that I am now caring for four cats that has resulted in the best solution to the food problem so far. A tin of Wellness, which is a denser food than others, will suffice for four feline dinners. Even Josie will cry for her plate of newly opened Wellness, and Tungsten, my tiny-eater, does a good job with her portion. Having Ren and Devon present and hungry will help empty a complete tin. That solves the refrigeration dilemma. For the cats' evening snack, provided at about eight-thirty or nine, I serve out a portion of Fancy Feast which, as I mentioned, is enjoyed even from an older tin, and therefore I needn’t give it all out at once, and can refrigerate the remains for the next day.

One may wonder what all the fuss is about. After all, I also serve hard food, California Natural, which is reputedly a very good brand. All the cats crunch away at that, and, indeed, they get most of their nutrition from it, I imagine. But cats never seem to get enough moisture, which of course is vital. My cats are no different: they don’t drink enough water - they want less than they need - so obtaining it through soft food is important. In turn, finding the right incentive and/or combination to get them to eat that soft food is also important, even if one must resort to less than the best brands.

Besides, if one saw Josie hurrying in front of an approaching dish of soft food, squeaking with delight at the prospect of her imminent dinner, one would know why I like to give my cats something they enjoy.

Devon, the Fourth of My Three Cats

No, my arithmetical skills aren’t suffering. I still have three cats, but, for the moment, I have a fourth. His name is Devon.

Devon arrived on the last Friday of August. I had been contacted by the PAW Society a couple of days before that, asking if I could take a cat in as he had no where else to go. Devon had been living in a foster-home with a woman who had taken excellent and affectionate care of him, but who was moving to a new home which didn’t allow pets. This was very short notice. I considered the situation at my apartment to be still in transition, with Ren, also a foster-cat, having come to me exactly three months previously. He was still getting used to his new home, and certainly my two permanent cats were still getting used to him. However, Devon was an emergency, so I agreed to take him in.

What a wealth of personalities cats have – if, as a friend wondered, ‘person’ality is the right word. I suspect that as one advances in the evolutionary chain of species, the more character each species has. Dogs and cats are the most easily observed by humans, for obvious reasons, but horses and other farm animals have, I’ve been assured, distinct traits that could be described as personalities. Devon has demonstrated to me yet another in a cat.

He was shy at first, and I made him the usual hiding spot behind the bookcase in the library. He used it once. Then he made it clear that he was an explorer; true, a timid one, cautious, and ready to run back to the base camp at the first sign of trouble. But his expeditions became longer, and if he was driven back to his safe spot, he left it again a minute later. He wanted to see this new environment. First, of course, he examined the library – and me. He didn’t find them stupendous, but neither were they completely without interest.

Since every cat is different, so too is their method and speed of integration into a household. I had a feeling that Devon wouldn’t benefit from being cooped up. As early as Saturday, I let him out into the wider apartment. The three cats already here spent the majority of the day staring at him. No doubt intimidating for the newcomer. But I was most worried about Ren. He is new himself, and I was anxious that he would feel threatened. Tungsten was simply getting fed up with these new cats coming and going, so one more was just another to growl and hiss at for a while. Josie was intrigued but, as she does, wanted to keep her personal space inviolate.

But things have proceeded more smoothly than I had anticipated. By the next day, all three cats already resident were returning to their routines. True, Devon upset them whenever he appeared. After all, one can’t relax completely when one must swat at a new cat and threaten his life. After initially respecting the hierarchy, Devon then tried to get the others to play. He would chase the girls and jump on Ren when he wasn’t looking. This was not appreciated, and even the gentle Josie grew annoyed, growling in a particularly cranky manner.

That phase passed and, though it’s still early days, Devon is taking a more measured approach, settling for sniffing noses, or slowly approaching one his new roommates rather than charging in. So far, the situation is reminiscent of Ren’s progress. And, except for a short period when Tungsten hissed at Ren as much as at Devon (“I hate you, new cat,” she seemed to say, “and I don’t yet care much for you, either, Ren, while I’m at it.”), the apartment is remarkably peaceful. As cat-owners know, however, that may change tomorrow.

To humans, Devon is friendly and gentle. It didn’t take him long to roll over (a la Ren) to get a chest-rub. Unlike my big boy, though, Devon likes to play Nibble the Finger. Tungsten will do that as well sometimes, but, eight years older than Devon, she has fewer teeth, and those she has are duller. But Devon means no harm and never breaks the skin. He does indent it somewhat. What’s important is that, like Ren, he appears to want to be friends with people, and that makes a great pet. He likes to play, whether by himself or with others. He especially loves his squeezable ball with which he rolls about.

Devon is a strange-looking fellow, with the most uncat-like face I’ve seen on a feline. He’s obviously part-Siamese. The colouring of his fur and much of his wide countenance resembles that breed. But one of his parents was just as obviously from a bulkier sort. Devon isn’t heavy, though: a compact and strong little body. He’s energetic, running as much as walking, and throwing himself into play-time with enthusiasm. I realised today that only Tungsten of my cats makes a sound that approaches a meow. Devon issues squeaks and squeals closer to a dolphin’s ‘ack’ than a cat’s sound – but he’s the quietest guest you’ll ever have in your home. His tail is short and bent, and may have been broken at some point, though it’s still full of life, and his eyes, which show a tinge of red in the pupils in certain light (and in every photograph – when he doesn’t close them all together) are crossed.

Devon has now been released from his incarceration in the library, put there every night to sleep and let out when I go to work. Until then, he had spent his day, no doubt bored to tears, isolated, but safe. I counted the cats before I left that first morning of freedom; I hoped to have the same number – and in the same condition – when I returned. So far so good.

Ren (Renfrew Foster), My Third Cat

Ren came to live with me at the end of May, 2010. Like the other foster-cats I've looked after, his was an emergency re-location. He and his brother, Charlie, were living without problems in a nice couple's household, when Ren bit the woman who was caring for him. She was cleaning his rear end which, being that of a medium-haired cat, sometimes needs cleaning. I've no idea why he bit her. I doubt that his handling was rough yet he is hardly a naturally aggressive cat. Anyway, it was a hard bite and the couple decided that Ren had to go.

I can't say I blame Ren's former guardians. They had taken good care of him and to them, his action must have seemed an inexplicable attack. I can't blame Ren, either, for, having come to know him, I can't understand why he would have bitten anyone. The only thing I can imagine is that it was an accidental provocation which the woman didn't recognize as such, and which Ren felt needed retaliation. Under such conditions, the couple taking care of him considered it impossible for Ren to stay.

So Ren came to live with me. As is often (though not universally) the case, he was frightened and confused at the sudden change in his surroundings. He had been well cared for in his previous home and must have wished he was back there. I made him a hiding spot behind a bookcase and he used it immediately. But after a couple of hours of observing me, he came out, tentatively. Over the next week, he came out more and more, though he was quick to resort to his hiding spot when he felt frightened.

Relatively swiftly, though, he adapted to his new environment. I let him out to explore the apartment and meet his roommates. His energetic attempts to make friends did not meet with approval from the more reticent cats in my household. But he persevered. So did they. No one was going to make them become friends with any new interloper so quickly. He found me a more positive subject.

Ren is a big black and white boy with medium-length hair. It seemingly doesn't shed easily, but he leaves much of it behind whenever he lies on cloth or upholstery. He is gentle and passive with me, his sounds small for a fellow so big. His greatest protests come in the form of a drawn-out whine - and when I need to remove him from where he wants to be, he'll appear to add weight to his fifteen or sixteen pounds. He's as heavy as my Josie, but spreads it better.

Over time, Ren has managed to ingratiate himself with my first cat, Tungsten. I suspect it's because he respects the tiny orange one's dominance, retreating at a growl or hiss. One time, Tungsten dealt Ren a blow on the top of the head that, if converted to human terms, would have stunned a man. Ren is respectful but still tries to be friends. With Josie, he figures he can be a bit more exuberant. As a result, though I have seen them play, they also fight. Since Ren initiates the interaction, he gets the blame and is incarcerated in the library for a few minutes. Upon emerging, he immediately rubs up against me, telling me he's sorry and asking if I still like him. Unlike human prisoners just released, he means it.

Ren is a scientist. An empiricist, he likes to watch things to determine how they work, what they do, how they affect their surroundings. His favourite subject is water. He's taken to coming into the bathroom after I have a shower and observing the drops of water roll down the sides of the tub. And the sight of water running from the tap astounds him; perhaps he's never seen vertical water. He had to reach out and  touch it, try to draw it toward him. I've seen him examining a moth and a fly; unlike other cats, his first instinct was to watch them, rather than kill them. They were new and therefore interesting.

This characteristic impels Ren to meet new people. Countered by his natural timidity, it's a struggle for him when new humans appear. He will hide. He may hide for their entire initial visit. He'll listen, collecting evidence, determining if the visitor is friendly. He'll venture out the next time. And once he knows a person is friendly, he hides for a shorter period each time the person shows up.

But as well, he wants to meet people because loves companionship. He loves to have his chest rubbed, lying still, purring roughly and deeply. But when your hand is tired or you need it for something else, you may withdraw it, and Ren will remain, lying against you. I've seen him play with fuzzy toys, zoom through a nylon tunnel for the fun of it; I've seen him watch birds and falling leaves; I've seen him knead the air in joy while being petted. But his love of company strikes me the most about him. He craves it, and it brought him out from his hiding place when he first came to live with me. The way of "The Cat that Walked by Himself" is not Ren's way.

Foster Cats I Have Known

Before I talk about my third cat, Ren, I thought I should describe the others who have lived with me as foster-cats. Providing shelter to cats who need temporary homes can be interesting. The PAW Society here in Lethbridge, Alberta, takes care of many cats until they can find them permanent homes; in the meantime, the cats go into foster-care. There are never enough foster-homes.

I've fostered four cats for the Society so far. I've found that explaining to my resident cats that the new addition will be subtracted soon does nothing. They still resent the interloper.

My first foster-cat was a black one named Lincoln. He was an easy-going fellow who was cordially fought by Josie and largely ignored by Tungsten, though she would hiss and growl when she did come upon him. But Lincoln didn't seem to mind much. He was talkative. He would yowl and sing from one end of the apartment to the other. I've no idea what he was saying, and the other cats didn't enlighten me. They simply wished he would shut up. He wasn't that bad, though. He hid for a couple of days in the room in which I kept him, but started coming out of his safe spot to explore his room, not long afterward. Soon he was out all day, though back in his room for the night. Josie would threaten him, but it wasn't taken too seriously - she's simply not a fighter; my Chubs just wanted to make sure her place was secure. Lincoln was adopted fairly quickly.

Then came two who will long be remembered by my resident cats. Wixie and Mystery, both female, had to be removed rapidly from their adopted home, at the request of their owners. Their permanence there was not as long-lasting as it had been hoped, though they were evidently loved and there was no complaint ever made against them. Wixie was the more frightened of the two, though Mystery was probably much upset by being thrust into a strange world. She was a little tortoise shell creature with an insistent meow. Wixie was a two-tone girl, solidly built, with a mask of grey fur over her otherwise white face. Mystery was dominant and ate less than Wixie, who loved her soft food. It was over that that their personalities switched. Wixie (the 'Masked Marvel') would push Mystery aside to get at the latter's soft food, and Mystery would let her. I suppose the principle is the same as when a person drives a car, very much in control of it, but gets out of its way if it starts rolling down a hill at her.

Though (or perhaps because) Mystery would boss Wixie about, sometimes cornering her, literally, and slapping or growling at her, Wixie took to asserting herself with Tungsten. I wanted Tungsten to stand up to the newcomer, but there is a morose streak to my orange one, and she would simply seek out a quiet place and sulk, though she'd scrap if she had no where to go. Josie was left alone, perhaps because Wixie sensed that Tungsten was the one in charge, and therefore the one to defeat.

Wixie and Mystery were typical of cats in that they learned a routine quickly. They loved their play time, and started letting me know they were ready for it hours before I was. Mystery enjoyed chasing a stick, around and around, until she grew tired, after which she would lie on the floor and expect it to come to her. Of course it did. Wixie liked trying to grab the stick as it poked out from under a quilt. They knew their dinner and snack-times, too, the Masked Marvel growing so excited at the prospect of her gourmand feast that she would spin about in circles, crying with delight.

But Wixie was actually quite shy. When called to come over for a petting, she would arch her back, rub her face along a wall and shuffle over with a diffident air. But she was purring the while.

Mystery and Wixie were adopted together. Though they were never best pals, going somewhere new as a pair would have helped them tremendously. It's always nice to have someone familiar in an unfamiliar place.

And now, there's Ren...

Josie (Josefina von Chubs), My Second Cat

Josie is my second cat. She came to live with me as a companion to Tungsten. But Tungsten didn't want a companion, other than me, that is. My orange one guarded her domain jealously, and she and Josie fought on and off for weeks. Thus are good intentions used for paving stones.

When I met her, Josie was a very excited cat. She purred and purred, couldn't sit still and butted her head against everyone and everything. I didn't want a cat that would try to dominate Tungsten. Josie was and is an easy-going girl with a friendly attitude. Even when being assaulted by Tungsten, my new cat's expression was one of incomprehension as to why someone would want to hurt her. The fighting was so bad that I despaired at keeping Josie. She had come from a caring but crowded environment, and I think that, despite the hostility from the queen of the apartment, Josie liked her new semi-loneliness. So I persevered, and so did she. A few months later, she and Tungsten were sniffing noses and the white one was sneaking on to the bed early in the mornings to sleep there.

Josie is a fat cat. She isn't tremendously big, but she weighs almost two and a half times as much as Tungsten. Chubs loves her soft food, and I try to restrict that diet a bit, but I hate to take away something that means so much to her.

Her weight doesn't keep her sedentary, however - being a cat does that. No, she can be quite active, and she will chase and be chased in a game as fast as the next cat. She likes being on the top platform of the highest cat-tree I have, usually jumping there from the top of a lower one. That's where she will settle, snoozing, gazing out the window or simply watching what goes on in the apartment.

Early on, I found her a nervous animal. My Chubs would start at every noise, no matter how small. This was a contrast to Tungsten, who wouldn't worry if a grenade exploded next to her. Playing with Josie was frustrating because she was so easily distracted. Gradually, she relaxed and came to jump at only every second sound. That's how she has remained. She can see me approaching from across the room, yet still give her trademark squeak when, as if by magic, I appear beside her.

Like most cats, however, she can be silent when she wants, vanishing and materializing when the need arising. I wouldn't have thought such bulk could be teleported so simply. Yet most of the time, she can be seen ambling into a room, her round sides wobbling. If spoken to kindly or coyly, she will pause and rub up against furniture, as if she's embarrassed.

She's always been friendly. She is often the first to greet visitors; she loves to smell the insides of their shoes. But it has only been over the last few months that I have received the impression that my Chubs has become my friend. She now will roll over when I come near her; that's her way of asking for a face-rub. She purrs more than she used to, and more audibly. She's still not a lap-cat and may never be, but she does like stepping onto someone while they are sitting or lying, and kneading with her forepaws. Why she gets so happy at such a situation, I don't know, but I encourage it, despite the damage her weight and periodically unclipped claws will do to a person.

She sleeps at night with her big rear end against my side, and facing one edge of the bed. She annoyingly gets up whenever I do, but her ponderous return, usually after I've fallen asleep again, no longer wakes me up.

Tungsten is now most tolerant of her, and though they may never be friends, they are companions, and play together. While my orange one may look devious at times, may use her influence to selfish purposes, Josie never appears sly or mischievous. Her eyes narrow only in sleepiness, never in anger; even her hisses and growls - at foster-cats, for instance - are the least menacing sounds you will hear. I understand Tungsten more, and she has the more human face. But Josie's usually wears a very satisfied expression.

Tungsten, My First Cat

I believe that the more intelligent an animal is, the more personality it has. Dogs, cats, horses, each member of these species has its own characteristics. It can be as basic as what it likes to eat, which is why many people who have more than one cat also have more than one type of cat-food in their homes.

Tungsten, for example, started showing her personality soon after I brought her to live with me. She loves her comfort, for one thing. A few days after she came to live with me, she was curled on my armchair; I wanted to sit there. I thought that we could share. She was fine with that, as long as I didn’t move her. I decided to lift her up and replace her on my lap. She bit me. Well, no, she didn’t bite me, but I thought she was trying to. I was convinced that I’d brought home a malevolent animal that would become vicious whenever she didn’t get her way.

It was ‘her way’ all right, but her way of showing displeasure. If I try to move her from a comfortable spot – which usually coincides with somewhere I want to sit – she will put her teeth around my fingers as if she’s about to tear them apart. But she doesn’t close her mouth. She will do the same with her claws: they will come up, but she won’t use them. It’s a manner of protest. How good natured must a cat be to demonstrate that she could hurt you, but won’t? Whynot? It’s just her way.

Sometimes, the claws come out for fun. One day, I was petting her and her paws gently grabbed my finger; the claws came out and she looked at me, purring. “Go on, take your finger away, I dare you. Hehehe.” Cat humour and human humour don’t always meet.

She’s a bit of a whiner. I didn’t realise this until Josie came to live with us. Until then, most disputes could be indicated in a quieter fashion. When Josie arrived, Tungsten wanted to kill her. I’ll discuss that another time. After she grew used to the new cat, Tungsten still didn’t care for her proximity, so she would whine, as if to say, “There’s that fat white cat again. Get her away!” Tungsten often did this when I would lift her up, as if she suspected that I would deposit her closer to the unwanted roommate.

My orange one is a light eater. She weighs about six and a half pounds, so there is little stomach to fill. She eats half the soft food that I give her, as long as I put the dish in front of her four or five times in a row. She will drink from a bowl if she must, but she would prefer a thin stream falling from a tap, and will wait by the bathroom basin for hours to receive it, if need be. Is that patience or stubbornness?

When she sleeps at night, it is usually on my legs, in the crook of a knee, though sometimes she crawls up toward my face, turns around and lies against my nose, nearly suffocating me with that orange fur. The feeling, when one is half-asleep, of something light and unidentified, creeping up toward one, can be startling. Once in a while, when a few inches from my face, she’ll purr and put her paw on my cheek or mouth. Perhaps I was snoring. But I like to think she’s petting me. Tungsten is a bit of a baby, even though she’s now ten years old. She’ll wake suddenly during the day and cry out, not stopping until I come to see what the matter is. My opinion is that she’s had a nightmare and wants to be comforted. Alternatively, she may just like to see me run when she calls.

As you can read, the motives for much of what she does are open to interpretation. But I’ve learned to know my cat over the past three years of living with her. I’ve learned what the different meows mean, the one for water, the one for lap-time, the one for unspecified attention. She even has one to let me know she wants the closet door opened, a box moved and the top of a dresser cleared so she can jump onto a high shelf without interference. It takes less time for her to say it than it does for me to write it. There are disadvantages to living with someone who is sometimes a surly, middle-aged whiner. (Yes, I’m still referring to the cat.) But these pale when Tungsten greets me, purring, as I return at the end of the day; when she asks to lie on my lap though there are a dozen more comfortable places; when water goes down the wrong way and I have a coughing fit and she hurries in from wherever she was to meow with concern.

That’s the sort of cat I can live with. That’s the sort of cat I do live with.