Happy Canada Day, everybody. Today is going to be hot here; the cats have already found their cool spots. I have the day off of work, of course, so will spend most of it with the beasts. They care little for nations and the affairs of mankind, so as long as they receive their rightful portions of food - which are rather less than they actually get, according to them - they will enjoy the holiday, as well.
I and a colleague at my work-place feed and water a small colony of feral cats. We conducted several operations over a few years aimed at spaying and neutering all the ferals we could catch - some may recall reading about those adventures - and we eventually got them all. Most of the kittens were put into homes. A number of the adults eventually disappeared, no doubt dying before their time, as is often the case with ferals; at least they did not reproduce before then. Those in the photographs below comprise the hard-core feral membership. In the first picture are Bijou (grey and white); Bauble (black and white facing the camera); Sonata (very dark tortoiseshell) and Fresca or Shasta (left side toward the camera; differentiating those two is very difficult); Shasta or Fresca is at the second dish, and Mirko is nearest the camera.
In the second photograph is Auvergne, who prefers to dine alone at his table for one. The third image is Auvergne when he was trapped, almost seven years ago. Perhaps tellingly, he was caught because he came to eat the bait before any of the others arrived. Even then, he was eating by himself.
All are male except for Sonata and Bauble, who, despite her slight size, produced the four last kittens I had to trap.
The ferals are doing well, considering their outsider lifestyle. Bijou has some matts but sheds the worst of them. They have suffered some visible infections but have recovered. They get along, though none seems to like Auvergne, and Mirko hisses at everyone. But at meal-times, I can pet them, and this morning, Mirko followed me after I set out the food, and asked for head-scratches. It’s the first time he’s done that. I think several of these, such as Mirk and Bijou, could be insider-cats, given a great deal of time and patience. Unfortunately, we don’t have enough foster-homes for the socialised cats who need them, never mind ferals.
But these ones are being fed, and given clean water. Where they go between meals, I cannot guess. I never see them except when food is in the offing, but I suspect they associate together in their free time. They’ve survived frigid, wet winters and dry, blazing summers, and have lasted longer than most outsiders. We’ll take care of them for as long as we can, and, if need be, and if we are able, we will see them off at the end, when their times have run out. I imagine, however, they will, one by one, simply stop showing up for meals. That will sadden me. But we all stop showing up for our meals sooner or later; it’s what we do until then that matters; whom we meet, how we behave, and whether we abandon some our disadvantageous behaviour along the way. Just like these ferals in the morning.
Since I applied the same policy to the cat-room as I had to the library - blocking off the one wall against which Millie was wetting - she has used the litter-box exclusively. I have started again allowing the other cats into the cat-room while Mills is there, but only permitting one or two at a time, if they are quiet and still. Millie is coming out more and more but still doesn’t care for the other cats, any more than they do for her. The only ones who do not hiss at her are, predictably, Moxy and Neville. However, integration can take as long as it wants; the important thing is that our soft and smooth newcomer uses the litter-boxes, instead of a wall. I hope she doesn’t realize there are three other walls in the room…
In a strange twist, I think Sable is wetting outside the litter-box, too. At first, I blamed it, unfairly I now believe, on Millie. It occurred in the library, after all, but not against a wall. It was in the middle of the floor - much less troublesome to clean up and sanitise, if no less troubling, period. I thought it had occurred when Millie sneaked downstairs during one of her excursions out of the cat-room. I closed the door to the basement thereafter when Mills was free. The second time it happened, I wondered if I had indeed closed off the downstairs. The following times, though, the puddle was under the hammock that Sable often used; indeed, the hammock was a little wet with urine. The latest time, Sabe was still in the hammock, with some fluid under it and, as I saw when she vacated the bed, some on the fabric. This had transpired despite my washing it.
This is quite recent. Whoever is doing it - and I suspect Sable now - just started. I have removed the hammock to the storeroom, and the misdeed has not been repeated. If Sable has been habitually wetting outside the box, I would have found some other examples by now; if under the bed, where she still sometimes lies, I would have smelled it. I think this is a very rare instance, and related somehow to the place (the library) and the item (the hammock). What the cause is, I cannot say. Like Millie’s problem, it will likely be forever cloaked in mystery. But I can live with unsolved puzzles if they don’t recur.
How well Sable is integrating, not just into the gang of beasts but into the house and indoor life, pleases me immensely. In these bad photographs (one takes them quickly when Sable presents the opportunity), one can see recent progress. In the first, Sable is lying just within the sitting room, which is a new spot for her; it’s more comfortable on the carpet than the hard linoleum under the dining table. She even came into the sitting room while I was in it, relaxing on the couch.
The next photo depicts Sable finishing up some left-overs while Moxy looks on. I was at the kitchen basin, just a couple of feet away.
Then there is the image of Sable and the Mixer walking together into the sitting room. A few minutes later, Moxy jumped up onto the carpeted top of the bookcase under the window. Sable didn’t follow him; she as yet lacks the confidence to do so. Mox wasn’t trying to get away from her; he just didn’t think about her not coming with him. Soon, though, I expect to see Sable jumping up to lie under the window, as the other cats do. It wasn’t long ago that she first learned to leap up onto the bed.
With the help of her friend, and the examples of the other cats, Sable continues her journey from the feral life.
Sable is growing less wary of me. She still doesn’t care for me to come near, but her definition of ‘near’ is lessening. I can walk within two feet of her, and she will hurry past me within the same distance while on her way elsewhere. If I am bringing food or water, she will remain sitting or lying close by. She has also taken to lying in the sitting room, albeit close to the entrance from the dining area.
So far, I’ve found only one disadvantage to this reduction of caution. I sometimes mistake her for Imogen, and therefore approach too casually, too suddenly, causing her to take fright. Even if I pause to determine who is the black cat before me, it isn’t always clear. Sabe has a silver-tipped right ear (due to frostbite) and a notched left ear, and her tail has a crook in it. And Sable's face has rather a sad expression much of the time. But in gloom, or when her head is turned at an angle, identity is not always certain.
Though the fact that I can confuse the pair even at close quarters indicates that I can reach close quarters, and thus is a positive development, it still makes for periodic excitement.
What determines friendship among cats? Similar characteristics to those in human friendships?
I’ve written before that Moxy and Sable may have known each other outside the old Cosy Apartment. If they had, then the Mixer’s presence undoubtedly made Sable’s transition to the inside easier. A familiar face, a familiar smell; if they were not friends previously, they are now.
I took this picture this afternoon.
Tomorrow I return to work. It has been an enjoyable time in Idylland; very busy, as my holidays always are. They are the only period during which I have enough time to do many of the things that require doing. I accomplished a lot, from re-roping some of the cat-trees to scrubbing the bathtub to starting on the rescue-group’s calendar. I was able to spend more time with the beasts, though never enough, as far as I am concerned. Nonetheless, I was glad of the holiday, and look forward to next year’s. The way life is passing, that should be in a couple of months…
