When a Cat Learns to Love You.

 

It's been about a year and two months since Grendel became a permanent member of our family. A year and two months since we brought Grendel inside and got his broken leg fixed.  No regrets. 

He's a sweet. happy and loud boy. I don't mind when he yells at both two and five o'clock in the morning. Okay--I mind a little bit, but it sure beats staying up late worrying and keeping an ear open for him at the door. 

Freya used to hiss at him. He was always following her around, getting in her space. 

He bonded with Dan immediately, shouting for his attention and jumping on his desk. He would boop Dan's hands while he pet him, and Dan would call him Sweetie-Doodle and tell Grendel how happy he was that he was here. 

It was me Grendel wasn't quite sure of. He liked me well enough, but I hadn't earned his trust yet. I always seemed to startle him. I'd let him sniff my hand, and sometimes he would tolerate my petting. Sometimes I'd get a kiss. Sometimes he would back away from my touch. Dan was his rescuer and I was the human that lived with his rescuer. 

I tried to give him space, tried not to be too handsy. According to Jackson Galaxy, trust equals love to a cat, and trust takes time. I did my best to learn what Grendel needed. When he sat at the window, I opened it for him so he could smell outside. When he cried and paced at two in the morning, I learned that a small snack would calm him down. If he ran around the house trilling, it meant he was bored and he wanted to play, so we learned what he liked to play with. 

His favorite toys are the green ball that dispenses crunchy treats if he rolls it right. He loves to stalk and pounce on Mr. Bug, a pink spider on a string. Dan puts the string under his shoe and drags it around the kitchen table.

I have a close friend who trapped three feral cats from her garage eight years ago. She brought them in because she was sure they'd never survive the dropping temperatures. She told me it took years to earn their trust.  They are Mama, (RIP)  Baby and Lookie. Mama eventually became a friendly cat to other humans, but Lookie still hides from company and I can count on one hand how many times I've seen Baby. 

My friend told me some cats never warm up to humans, and maybe Grendel might not accept me. I was okay with that. I knew he got along well with Dan--they make each other so happy-- and now that she feels better, Freya has started playing Chase with him. That might just have to be enough and that was okay. I love him anyway.

But something happened yesterday. It was like a flipped switch. Grendel jumped up on my desk and chirped at me and looked me in the eye. That was a surprise. He never jumps on my desk, only Dan's. I said, "Hello, Sweet Boy."  I extended my hand to him and he rubbed his face all over my fingers. I pet his nose and head and he leaned into it hard.  He let me cradle his face in the palm of my hand. I tried not to get too excited. 

But this was a new day. I opened a window for him and together we looked out at Squirrel and Bird TV.  When I looked over at him, he leaned in and booped me. I was so delighted, I kissed his nose. I worried that I may have offended him, but he didn't seem to mind. I decided not to push my luck and let him be. 

Later that night, Dan and I were sitting on the couch. Grendel jumped into Dan's lap and asked for love. It's not the first time he's jumped into Dan's lap, but it's the first time he's done it while I was sitting there too. Dan stroked his ears and I reached out and hoped my affection would be accepted. Grendel responded by purring louder than I've ever heard him and nuzzling into both of our hands. 

I'm writing this because I need to tell you, in that moment it felt like our family was whole again. For the first time since we lost Spartacus, I felt like our little family was complete and at peace.  I was hoping Grendel would eventually love me, and now I believe that he does. 

When he grew tired of Cuddletime, he crawled up on Freya's towel and fell asleep next to her, and I snapped that picture. I think he understands now that he truly belongs here and he knows how much he is loved by all of us. 

The world has become a comic book, but I have a corner of happiness.  It's a fantastic feeling that I thought I'd share. The world feels just a little brighter, just because I've earned the love of a cat. 

Week Eight and it's Not Over Yet

 

My poor sweet Grendel. Two weeks ago, we went to my vet, sure that the cast could come off. We got a disturbing x-ray. What was that leg bone doing floating unattached to anything? What  does it mean?

So we got an appointment with Dr. Fowler, the same guy who did his surgery. Because I couldn't understand...How is Grendel able to jump and run and play with that one bone just hanging out in the middle of nowhere? 

He was doing so well...He was darting around like crazy, with not even a limp. He'd declared war on the shower curtain, and he and Freya were starting to play with each other. 

So, it turns out that the gap I saw is fine. That's actually a fifth bone, (!)  and it's okay to float there. Over the course of the year it will evolve and adapt to his body. He will grow a callus and Grendel will still walk normally. 

I was excited for Grendel. I honestly believed that once that cast came off, he'd be ripping around this house like a cat reveling in his freedom. I thought there would be no stopping him, and my biggest worry was how we'd keep him inside for another month. 

I opened the carrier on the floor, waiting for Grendel's triumphant entrance. He crawled out, shaking his leg hard. We were told he had sores. There were raw spots where the cast had chafed, we expected that. They said if he licks to put a cone on him. I figured maybe I'd put some Polysporin on the bald spots. 

Minutes later I checked on him, He'd torn skin and fur away with his teeth, and had a small pile going on the bed. His leg looked like a half raw, half eaten drumstick. On with the cone!!  But as for the Polysporin? Forget it. That leg IS raw, don't even touch it. Grendel hasn't hissed or growled at me in months. I was saddened to hear his pain and anger, but don't blame him for his outburst.

I called my vet and explained the new situation, as they all know and love Grendel. I begged for pain meds and the very sympathetic vet tech  said she'd text when they were ready. I walked into the bedroom to see Freya kindly vacate her favorite bed on the dresser so Grendel could crawl in. She did it without hurry or fuss...just got up and stepped out, as if to say, "Yes, of course. You look like you need it more."

He's resting there now. I noticed he was awake, so I put a couple of  Tuna Squeeze-Ups on a plate and mixed a dose of painkiller in. Then I held it up to his face, inside his cone so he didn't have to move. Freya got some too, not just because Grendel got treats, but because she willingly gave her spot to her brother. 

He'll be okay. We know. As soon as the skin scabs over, Grendel will feel better. It's only a couple more days. It's almost over and Grendel can have a happy, pain-free life again. Soon. Sigh. Also: Thank you Guardian Veterinary Hospital and Mayfield Veterinary Hospital. We can't wait until this is over.

The Cat Who Devours

It's an odd thing courting a stray cat. Spartacus was so easy. I asked him to come inside and he did. This time I'm learning patience. Here's the story so far. This is the short version.

My husband likes to leave Freya's leftovers outside for any creature who needs it--birds, cats, whatever. He just leaves the dish under the patio table and in the morning, it's always gone. 

In the last week of July, we began to notice a black cat always came. As he became bolder, Dan got a good look at him. He was thin and had no collar, and was always hungry, so we made it a nightly thing to leave food out. 

I talked to our neighbors. Ladonna said he lived at the end of her street. Joyce said he lived across the street from us, in the green house three doors down. Hmmmm...Still we left food out. He seemed to need it.

One day, I was about to water the garden and when I opened the door, the black cat was standing on the porch. He looked eager and gave me a quiet little meow. So of course I went back inside and filled a plate for him. He must have been a bit desperate, because he had to pass Freya to get to our door. For her part, Freya didn't pay him much mind. Later that night, we had the screen door open, and he jumped right inside and asked again. 

If this cat belongs to someone, they can't be feeding him very well. He's skinny and devours everything we give him. He started searching around the house for more, so we gave him seconds. Now we leave the screen door open, and he just comes inside and explores the house while we fix him a dish of kibble and wet food mixed. 

We try not to get our hopes up. Maybe he DOES belong to someone. But like I said, he's skinny, scruffy,  dirty, scratched up,always super hungry and when he lifted his tail, we discovered he's an unfixed male. 

So we've named him. At first, I wanted to name him Hades. My husband wanted to name him Imhotep, or maybe Apophis. (Huge Stargate fan.) We had a small list going. I thought about his appetite, and watched him skulk out of our house in the dark, and it hit me. Grendel. Yes! He's the devourer who hunts in the dark and only comes inside to EAT. Dan reminds me that Grendel was an ugly beast. I remind him that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and Grendel had a mother who loved him. (I'd like to be his Mom. I'm beast enough.)

I worried out loud on Facebook. My yard doesn't have many good places for a cat to hide from the weather. Someone suggested I make one from a Rubbermaid bin. I can tell you from experience, that doesn't work. After you cut any part of the plastic, it begins to rip, creating jagged edges, and it continues to rip, even after you tape it back up. Cold weather makes it snap into shards at the slightest touch. It's not that important to the story, but yeah, don't use a Rubbermaid bin for a homemade cat shelter. Anyway, we improvised. 

We have a shed. There's nothing valuable in it, just tomato cages, old pots and bits and pieces that should be tossed. We left the doors slightly ajar--just wide enough for a cat to sneak into. It's good because it retains warmth and it's a good wind break.

It worked! Dan told me yesterday that he saw Grendel peeking at him from the shed doors and Grendel came out to greet him. I checked for myself today, and sure enough, Grendel came out to greet me too. He lay down on the sidewalk and let me pet him a little bit. Then he followed me inside the house for a snack. 

I'm excited for the weirdest reason. After this last feeding, he roamed the house again, BUT this time, he used the upstairs litter box. Yay! What a wacky thing to be excited about. Now I understand what the big deal is for parents.

We're trying to give him space. He's already made it clear he's not ready to stay inside with us. We think that might change once it gets cold, there's still time. He and Freya seem to be okay. There's no growling or hissing. Once we can get him inside, and once he's comfortable, we'll get him to a vet and check for a microchip. He'll need shots. Eventually he'll have to get fixed. My worry now is that he'll get a cat pregnant, and we'll be on the hook for it even though he's not our cat yet. 

So, wish us luck. We promised ourselves that we would help a cat in need if ever another one came to us, and so we have. Whatever happens, we'll do what is best for Grendel. Not just in memory of Spartacus Jones, but because it's the right thing to do. We promise.

Sorry for the odd photo placement. I'm learning how to use Google Photos and Blogger changed too.

While you're here, check out Donna Milward, Author on Facebook and look for my contest.

Spartacus Jones is Seven

Seven years old. We think.

It's my sweet boy's birthday, and I am determined to make it a good one. He's an angel, and he's had a hard month. He made a new friend named Luna, and one day she left in a cat carrier and never returned. Sometimes he still leaves a bit of his wet food, and looks for her. It breaks my heart. Maybe we SHOULD get another cat....

But like I said, this birthday will be special. It starts with tuna for breakfast, and new toys. We bought him a new laser pointer and a 'Kicker.' A Kicker is a long stuffed toy filled with cat nip. The cat generally wraps their paws around it, biting and kicking the crap out of it. Thank you Paws Cat Cafe in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada for that. It's filled with Meowauna, a blend of Valerian, cat nip, honeysuckle and cat mint--all the good stuff.

Speaking of good stuff, there will be other treats, all day long. There are the Squeezables....That's essentially chicken or tuna flavored baby food in tubes like squeezable yogurt--but for cats. Available at various department stores, grocery stores and pet places.

I still have some cat nip wine I've been saving. The last time they had it was Freya's birthday in December, and I have embarrassing pictures to prove it.

Freya had a bit too much nip wine last year.

I've been growing catnip from seed, and I intend to give them each a bowlful.

When I get home from work, I will engage in The Basement Cuddle. Spartacus prefers the quiet coolness of the basement, and frequently asks me to join him. It is a great bonding experience where we lie down on the downstairs futon and I cradle him until his purrs turn to snores. I will ignore how cold it is down there, and the fact that the house creaks and groans and there are spiders.

Bowl of homegrown nip.

Finally, just when we are all settling in for the night, I will present him with his favorite thing in the whole world.....A roll of paper towel. I will place it on the floor and call him. (I did get video, but wasn't able to download it here.If you want to see it, check my Instagram donnamilward6)

I'd like to say thank you to Paw's Pet Cafe. They do great work getting cats adopted and they also sell the very best cat merchandise. Does anyone know a good recipe for a cat birthday cake...?

Slave to the Furballs

It's NOT  a shrine. It's a recently started collection.

A good friend once told me that when he dies, he wants to be reincarnated as one of my cats. Of course I laughed. He's just as obsessed with his cats as I am. And every bit as much of a mush as me.

But Spartacus Jones has got me thinking...Am I a Cat-Mom? Or a Cat-Slave?

When we got Freya, we knew we were being manipulated. She made it very clear to us that she didn't want to be in that alcove with the other cats, and that she wanted to come with us. She purred, she nuzzled and gave us sad eyes when we almost left. She was a determined kitty, and she's had us both under her paw ever since.

She has her own favorite spots, her favorite foods, foods she WON'T eat--which must be replaced with something different, specific places to eat and specific cuddling preferences. She's like Hitgirl. She never plays.

I thought she was just a particularly smart and strange cat, and we were gullible because she was our first kitty.

Freya is also perfect. And this is her favoritespot.

Spartacus Jones isn't as smart as Freya, but I think I've underestimated him.  He was SUPPOSED to go to the Humane Society when we found him. Then he made a sneaky, adorable bid to stay that completely suckered us (Mostly me) into keeping him.

Now I wake up between 4:30 to 5:30 a.m. every morning. That's when Spartacus Jones swats lovingly at my nose until I get up and feed him the wet stuff. (Oh--and I alternate the flavors of the wet food--so their palates don't get bored.)  If I don't? He pokes at  Freya. Who, as I mentioned, never plays. Swats to the nose? Or constant hissing and growling from Hitcat? If I shut him outside the room? He cries like he's starving to death. There's dry food, Sweetie. Can't you just eat the fucking kibble?

He's decided he likes brushing. A lot. Every time I walk past the table, he jumps on it, and lounges suggestively. Brush me. Brush me! BRUSH ME MEOW!

Hi Babieeee!

I've decided all his demands on my time are for meditation purposes. When he demands that I brush him, I do it, and he rewards me with purrs and cute faces, and gives me  direction on where to brush him next. When he tries to lure me downstairs for his own prefered cuddle time, (That's his territory) I tell myself it's not so cold, and there's not that many spiders and capitulate. I mean, he's just so sweet. Plus I can get some laundry done, right?

When did this happen? How did I come to this? A weird woman (Okay, I was always weird--BUT) who baby-talks and caters to the whims of CATS? Sigh...I am a cat slave after all.

Here's a photo of our late boy, Sully. This is the face that destroyed the rule of 'no cats on the table'.I couldn't resist him. Sigh...

One Year Later...

April 29th, 2013 Our first photo of Spartacus Jones

On April 29th, 2013 a little grey and white cat followed my husband and my best friend home from a cigarette run. I remember that it was raining and snowing, because that was the reason I didn't go with them.

They told me about him when they got home, and I could hear him crying outside the window, so I asked them to bring him in. I wasn't about to leave an animal out in weather I wasn't willing to go for a short walk in.

It turned out to be one of those really awesome decisions one makes in their lifetime. It's right up there with convincing the troll I would be a good girlfriend and buying a house when interest rates dropped to 5%. (3 or 4 months after we bought our house Edmonton housing prices skyrocketed)

I was soooo ticked at my best friend for bringing the responsibility of this stray cat upon me. I regret telling her that. Now I know that not only was it absolutely meant to be, but it was the right thing to do. And I would do it again. In half a heartbeat. No more questions asked.

The photo above is the one I took so I could put him on Petlynx and various 'found' posters. Poor baby looks so scared and so thin. What if Darci hadn't found him? What if we hadn't taken him in?

We wouldn't have experienced the pure love that is Spartacus Jones. He is loyal like a dog. When we go outside, he follows, staying within sight at all times.  When I cry, he cuddles close and comforts me. He makes us laugh everyday. I can't believe someone somewhere just let him go, not even caring what happened to him. It hurts to think how people discard innocent pets, family members. Where is the compassion?

Last Thursday, I found a receipt from my vet, pinned to my bulletin board, dated for May of 2013....I was like "What is it doing here? That's a decent chunk of change, what is it for?" I remember now.  I took Spartacus Jones to my vet, looking for a tattoo or a microchip. While I was there, I had his shots updated, including one for outside cats, just in case. I had his ear mite infection taken care of.

He sat as close to me as he could, as in rightbesideme. My vet said "Look how much he loves you already." I said, "The feeling is already mutual." I think I knew when I brought him to the veterinary clinic that I was going to keep him.

I could go on and on, I could tell you how he chirps with joy when I join him outside, or how he tosses his head when I goad him into a game of tag, as if to say, "Oh, it's on now!" I could tell you how he loves to nap on and under my broomstick skirts while I'm wearing them. I could go on and on. Rest assured this is his forever home, and there will be more stories to tell.

Spartacus Jones one year later.

So Happy First Anniversary to my boy Spartacus Jones, my cosmic gift. So happy here's here.