The Trials of a Fluffy Kitty

First of all, Happy Birthday to Alexander H., born on Nevis January 11, 1757. To begin, I will post a quote of his that feels utterly relevant.

"...a dangerous ambition more often lurks behind the specious mask of zeal for the rights of the people than under the forbidden appearance of zeal for the firmness and efficiency of government. History will teach us that ... those men who have overturned the liberties of republics, the greatest number have begun their career by paying an obsequious court to the people; commencing demagogues, and ending tyrants."  ~~The Federalist Papers


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Now to the less fraught subject, the trials of a fluffy kitty...

Here is the aforesaid "Fluffy Kitty" the day she came to us, a rescue baby, a bitten-up kitten who had just been to the vet for an abscess from a bite to be drained. My husband and I have learned a lot about her over the years, by observation and inference. Kimi is the only one who could call us on any of my suppositions, but she's not talking, except for the ever-useful word "meow," used only when speaking to humans.

That's what she said to my friend Patti who found her on the porch of her Palmyra house one cold December day. Kimi was hungry and cold and Patti could see her ribs through the fluff, and also that she'd been wounded. Hundreds of $$ of vet bills and a few days later, she ended at my house. Patti already has three indoor cats in her double wide and no room for another. Despite all the care, she was still covered with ticks, in her ears, her paws and just everywhere. Patti and I stopped counting after we'd drowned thirty.

Things improved after that, for with antibiotics and wounds stitched, she was already on the path to better health. We had a set-back, though, when the abscess had to be drained again. My husband and I soon learned, that this little girl had been badly handled by whoever had originally owned her -- before they'd decided to dump her in Patti's neighborhood. 

I've come to believe that this the fact that this little yellow fluff ball looked like a stuffed toy had led some cat-ignorant folks to treat her like one. They'd probably allowed their children to tease her, chase her, and handle her far beyond her ability to endure. If Kimi had already started life as a shy kitten, (and some kitties are emotionally fragile) this overdose of hands must have pushed her beyond endurance, turning her into the hissing, clawing, fearful little girl who came into our home.

Kimi was definitely not a fan of being touched, not unless she initiated contact herself. If you reached out to pet her, you'd better come at her slowly and be very gentle. Otherwise, there there'd be a steam-kettle worthy hiss (dragon worthy?) and she'd speedily decamp, glaring over her shoulder at the clod human who'd displeased her. She distrusted our other cats too, unsurprisingly, as she'd been beaten up and bitten while trying to get food at some feral cat feeding spot. 

None of the other cats in the house liked her. She wouldn't play, she wouldn't accept introductory sniffing or grooming; she wouldn't play or share the food bowl or space on the couch or be any fun at all. She was just plain scared, and her obvious fear made her a target for our top cat, a no-nonsense streetwise male. There were periods when she spent most of her time hiding out in a grungy pile of rags in a basement box. In fact, she came darn close to becoming "Basement Cat."  

I began to coax her to come upstairs and sit with me, and then coax her into accepting grooming, which her long hair definitely required. I bought a wide-toothed dog brush to start, so that it would pass easily through her thick matted fur without tugging.  This way I began to gain Kimi's trust. Gradually, she began to believe my intentions were good. After all, all that fluff was too dense for her to groom off by herself. As all cat owners should know, hairballs are a standard problem for cats. Nature obliges felines to groom thoroughly every day. All that hair goes in, but if it doesn't come out one end or the other, then the cat will be sick, sometimes fatally. Brushing and combing are a daily must, especially for a fluffy cat kitty. 

We'd brush until we'd get a growl. Nail clipping was the same--a few at a time. At first, these beauty treatments were all trials for Kimi, but slowly this necessary handling became routine. 

We still wait until she approaches us for attention and then watch and obey the message of the lashing tail which signals "ENOUGH." These days her only significant daily trial is Anthony. He arrived last year, absolutely certain that all the other cats must want to play with him. I think, however, that "still he persisted" might win the day, even over her determined resistance.  

Who knows? Before her demise, she may yet learn to enjoy the company of the other cats, too.

~~Juliet Waldron