Catscapades

Friday, I introduced you to Max and we talked about his beginnings and his destiny—that is, if we hadn’t jumped in to change it. So how did life go for Max? I have to say, the ride has had its ups and downs.

Max was an adora-dorable kitten with a huge personality and a great sense of humor. There are two things that stick in my mind and still make me laugh when I remember them. Max loved to bat things under the refrigerator where he absolutely couldn’t get to them. He’d wait patiently until I’d come along, then he’d turn in place rather excitedly and maybe mew, to let me know he’d lost a toy, or a bottle cap, or something equally small under the fridge. So I’d grab my 18 inch ruler, get down on my belly and dig it out for him. The funny part was the way he’d get down on his belly right next to me—sometimes cheek-to-cheek—and peer at the toy alongside me, eager to see it appear so he could resume his play.

Every evening we’d play catch. When he’d see me start to head for bed, he’d jump up on

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his cat tree and dance around hoping for a game before bedtime. I’d find his red fuzzy ball and toss it to him. Doggone, if he wouldn’t bat it right back to me. Back and forth we’d go for several minutes. On evenings when I was too tired to play, I’d play anyway. I couldn’t resist his enthusiasm. And I’d always end up laughing at his antics and feeling so glad that I’d accepted his charming invitation.

As Max got older, he became shy and started hiding under the bed when we’d have company. You see, at the time, we had two other cats—Winfield, the friendliest cat ever. He loved people and usually sent our guests home with some of his lush white fur on their clothes and a smile on their face. He was a sweet boy. We also had Katy, a gorgeous Himalayan—my precious Katy. I bought her at a pet store, before I knew any better. Obviously, she’d been raised in a kitten mill and she had a problem with strangers. So Max had two role models. He could have copied Winfield and become a friendly cat, but he chose to follow Katy’s lead, instead. Visitors who wanted to greet Max, had to do so under the bed.

His favorite hiding place in recent years is under the bedspread in the bed. He feels safe there. Even when small children are in the room, or we’re running the vacuum cleaner in there, he remains a relaxed lump in the bed.

There was another problem with Max from the get-go. He never did “get” the concept of the litterbox and this has been a life-long challenge. We read every book and article on the topic, consulted several veterinarians, scoured the Internet for answers and help. I hired a cat psychic, bought pheromone sprays and plug-ins, tried every kind of litter and box placement. Finally a vet I met in passing suggested an empty litter box. That’s when I started using newspaper laid out flat as well as pee pads in the spots where he preferred going. We’ve also removed the majority of the carpeting from our home and we gave up using throw rugs or bathmats. Anything’s fair game for Max.

Thankfully, the two female cats we currently have in addition to Max have never followed in his paw-prints in that regard. They both have impeccable hygiene.

Fast-forward to 2016. Max is 17 years old, which is probably the high-eighties in people years. He’s a lap-sitter. Loves being in my lap. He seems to have dementia. Has he forgotten that he’s afraid to be in the same room with visitors or is he just too weary to go hide? He’s not a scrawny old guy; he’s actually overweight—weighing in at a hefty17 pounds.

Now we’re in his twilight years and we see changes occurring daily. Tomorrow, I’d like to share some of my thoughts, observations, and facts about the aging cat.

Every cat, just as every person, has a story. I’d like to talk about Max today. Like many kittens, his start was rocky. He and his two sisters were born across the fence from us to a very young—only about half-grown—neighborhood cat. I didn’t know this until the day little Momma and her three 4-week old (or so) kittens climbed over the fence into our yard. How fortunate that there was a board leaning up against our side of the fence, creating a perfect ramp into our yard. I don’t know how those little ones scrambled to the top of the six-foot fence on the other side. Maybe young Momma cat carried them to the top one by one.

What a glorious day it was, when I stepped out into my backyard and saw the three adorable kittens—one black, one black-and-white, and one cream-and-brown—making their way down that slanted board into our woodshed. And there they stayed for the next few weeks, hiding. They only came out when they thought no one was looking. No one in that feline family had a sociable bone in their bodies. And believe me, I tried to entice them. I’d sit at the open woodshed gate for hours every day, talking to the kittens, offering them food, etc. Nothing! Well, I can’t say nothing. I was often treated to a glimpse of a kitten scurrying to hide among the logs or a pair of eyes staring out at me. But the kittens were not your ordinary domestic litter. They were as wild and frightened as they come.

So when the kittens began eating on their own, we knew we had to do something. Without human intervention, these kittens, along with their mother, would become wild neighborhood cats. They’d no doubt live in fear and danger for the rest of their life and die a cruel and early death alone.

We borrowed a small cage, donned a pair of heavy gloves and managed to capture the three kittens. But our work had just begun. It took another several weeks to socialize them. I didn’t know a thing about socializing feral cats, but after some quick research and using common sense, I decided to let them live in our bathroom where we could easily work with them. Or course I kitten-proofed the room–closed the toilet lid, removed cleaning chemicals, tied up the blind cords,made sure the window screens were secure, etc. And we moved in some kitty toys, a cat tree, kitty beds, a litter box, and a bowl of water. Then I’d go into the bathroom and talk to the kittens and pet them, against their will, at first. To my dismay, there was little progress.

Finally, I talked to a friend who works with dogs. He suggested that the kittens weren’t bonding with me because they were bonding with each other. Wow! So that day, I separated Max from the others, asked my veterinarian to help me find homes for the two little girls, and that was the true beginning of my relationship with Max, the formerly feral cat.

I’ll never forget the first day I let Max out of the bathroom. He was ultra-cautious of his new surroundings at first. Then he decided there were some fascinating things to explore and play with and explore and play he did for about an hour. Finally, he stopped, looked around for something or someone familiar and he suddenly spotted me. What a heart-warming moment when he raced to where I was sitting and clawed his way up the sofa to my lap, where he lay and purred for a while.

Now at seventeen-and-a-half, and experiencing a few age-appropriate health issues, only Max and I know what he would have missed in life had we not intervened. Here, I must say that it was not all rose petals and pudding for Max. He never quite became fully domesticated. He and I had a lot to deal with and overcome over the years.

Monday, I’d like to review some of the highlights and lowlights of Max’s relatively long life. Then I’d like to share some insights about living with an aging cat. So stay tuned.

Note: If you have a doubt that Max and his sisters were in danger, let me share this with you: After we had the kittens settled in our home, the neighbor behind us spoke to me. She didn’t know I had the kittens and I didn’t tell her. But I did ask about the little momma cat. I wanted to trap her and take her to get her spayed. The woman said, “Oh I couldn’t catch her to have her spayed, so I took her in and had her put to sleep.” No, I’m not making that up.

The reviews are coming in for Klepto Cat Mystery number 14, Meow for the Money. Read the one Michele at Miki’s Hope wrote this morning: http://www.mikishope.com/2016/01/book-review-meow-for-money-klepto-cat.html And the reviews for A Picture-Purrfect Christmas are pouring in at Amazon. We’re up to 35 this morning. The majority of reviewers are quite taken with the stories, the cats, and the characters.

As Michele wrote in her review, some cats are very smart. They can figure things out, they recognize or become somehow conditioned to the time of day, they learn how to get what they want from their people, and cats develop meaningful and working relationships for themselves. Have you ever noticed, a cat might like another household pet or a neighbor’s pet, and not others? They don’t behave the same with all other animals. For example, our cats are indoor pets and there are two outdoor cats who travel through our yard occasionally—Rocket and George. Both cats are orange tabbies. Now our cats rather enjoy watching George through the windows and they’ll touch noses through the glass with her on occasion. But they go into a rage when they see Rocket anywhere near this house. They despise him.

Within the Fry feline family, six-year-old Lily is the nosey Rosie and the caretaker. If she

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hears us scold one of the other cats or laugh at them or simply talk to them, she appears on a dead run, alert and interested in what’s going on. She keeps a close eye on 17-year-old Max. When he’s on the move in the house, she’s on his tail, accompanying him wherever he wanders. When he’s having his nails trimmed, getting combed, or being given medicine, she’s right there watching. I still haven’t figured out if she’s being supportive or nosey.

However, she and 11-year-old Sophie have quite a different relationship. They’re playmates. Before scurrying off through the house together, up and over furniture, they generally have a standoff—each trying to stare down the other, paw with claws at the ready for attack. After several minutes of the stare-down, one will leap at the other and they grapple for a second before racing off together. Those two crack me up—they have so much silly fun.

Sophie

The resident cats have special people in their lives. Lily stays close to me. She’s my shadow, my bed partner, my lap sitter, unless Dennis is in the kitchen, then he’s her favorite—he might drop a piece of cheese or chicken, for heaven’s sake, and she doesn’t want to miss that highlight of the day. She also loves children who visit.

Sophie is Dennis’s cat pure and simple. Oh she’ll let me pet her now and then, but Dennis is her person. She’s totally enamored with him.

Max, being the most deeply feral of the three, bonded with me early on and, to this day, I’m the only one he trusts. He will allow petting from Dennis on his terms and only briefly and he’ll be somewhat cordial to any overnight guest. But he hides from anyone else who steps foot in this house—even those who visit often, our petsitter, for example. Children? Oh my gosh, he’s petrified of them.

As for the other cats, he’s afraid of Sophie (who’s half his size and weight), and he tolerates Lily. Otherwise, he’s a loner—a maverick—and you might even say, eccentric. I say, he’s entitled at his age—we’ll celebrate his eighteenth birthday in April—most likely while he’s hiding under the bed.

George wants to know more about the Klepto Cat

Cats teach us to be real. They don’t put on pretenses. They are who they are every minute of their existence.

They know where they belong. Like the refrigerator magnet at my mom’s house says, “If you want the best seat in the house, move the cat.”

They demonstrate the importance of taking care of their own needs first and foremost. You may need to take a nap, but you’d better feed a hungry cat first, or you won’t get any rest.

And they show us how to get what we need whether it is food or affection. How? Ask for it. In fact, insist upon it.

We’ve all observed the patience of a cat when she’s stalking her prey or simply practicing her prowess with an elusive butterfly. Would that we could all be that patient while waiting in line at the grocery store or when stuck in gridlock.

Not everyone finds cats captivating and not every cat will tolerate those people who don’t.

Max and Lily Sharing Space

Maybe you’ve noticed this: A cat can walk into a room full of people and pick out the ailurophobes (those who fear or dislike cats). You’ll recognize them, too. Just watch to see who your cat gravitates toward. I don’t think it’s that the cat wants to scare or anger the person; rather, perhaps he hopes to change them.

Many a cat has wormed her way into what was once a closed heart. Unsuspecting cat haters throughout the centuries have been taken in by the allure of calculating cats. And most of them say in their own defense, “This cat isn’t like all the others. This cat is different.” In reality, these people just never bothered to acquaint themselves with a cat before. That’s all. To know one is to love him, right?

For more insights about cats and true stories, reach Catscapades, True Cat Tales. http://www.matilijapress.com

Is this a trick question? Not really. But most people would answer DOG. However, some cats also bring slippers to their people. It might not be when you want them or need them or ask for them, but there are cats who will carry slippers to their family members. Maybe a pet pig, large bird, even goat will do the same, if given the opportunity.

I generally wear cozy socks around on chilly days. If Lily sees a pair of them either where they belong–in a basket in my bedroom–or left overnight in the living room, she’ll often pick them up and carry them to me in my office the next morning.

Thank you, sweet Lily.

I also want to let you know that PAWtners in Crime , number 10 in the Klepto Cat Mystery series, is now in print from. Order your Kindle or PRINT copy at amazon.com here: http://www.amazon.com/PAWtners-Crime-Klepto-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B00WFSE646/ref=sr_1_3?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1452772398&sr=1-3&keywords=klepto+cat+mysteries