Project: BumKitty
As some of you know, SAM and I've been feeding his neighborhood alley cat for some time now. For at least the four years that he has lived in the area, Bum Kitty has been a regular leg-circler and food-beggar at the outdoor tables of Tribute's, subsisting on a variety of substances ranging from philly cheesesteaks to cupcake frosting licked directly off of a kindhearted bum's gnarled finger. The occasional neighbor or kind waitress would often leave out a can of tuna, a slab of deli meat, or similar windfall. For a long time we thought she belonged to the Old Man, since the front porch and stoop of his home seemed to be her official territory. Some months ago he told us that, while he does put out food sometimes, she wasn't his kitty and he exhorted us to take her home every time he saw us. Um, no thanks sir. We'll just keep feeding her daily on your front stoop, thankyouverymuch.
SAM was never allowed to have a pet growing up, and as an adult this prohibition still loomed in his mind as a big Thou Shalt Not. Aside from having a mild cat allergy, every time I got warm fuzzy thoughts about a kitty all I could picture was walking through my front door and seeing shredded furniture and smelling acrid cat urine. And still, we hemmed and hawed about it for months, talking about all of the theoretical problems that a cat might introduce into our lives and what we'd do to solve each one. You know, just theoretically, of course. And in the meantime, we continued buying Only The Finest organic, raw, and free-range foodstuffs to feed her. After seeing us several times in a few weeks, the pet store clerk asked us "So what kind of cat do you have?" We just mumbled something vague about not exactly having a cat, per se.
Since the weather turned warm, the power dynamics have been shifting in CatLand and BumKitty has been fighting hard and often to defend her scrap of territory. Grey Tabby is a timid unsocialized stray who poaches off of the food left out for BumKitty. I think they tangled a few times but in general they tolerated eachother. Some other cats have come and gone, probably just passing through. The most ruthless, though, is the large and well-fed Thug Kitty who lives in a basement apartment in the same building. His owner leaves the window open and he comes out when he pleases to poach food and beat up the other cats. Conveniently, when he's done ravaging the neighborhood he slips back in the window and has a warm bed to sleep in at night.
After weeks of seeing progressively more frequent scratches and gashes, last week we noticed a quarter-sized bright red area of raw flesh on BumKitty's cheek. Our hand forced, on Saturday we made the trip over to a nice locally run store and proceeded to gear up. Which litter box to get? Which kind of litter? No, no, don't buy the big bag, get the small one. What if she doesn't like it? Oh hey, look at this carrier it's got a toploading entry in addition to the front gate, it's clearly superior. To catnip or not to catnip? After much product analysis, we returned back to the apartment laden down with all manner of Cat Gear.
Once his bathroom was converted into a suitable staging room, it was time to go a catcatching. The Old Man had said he tried to put her in a carrier once to take her to the vet, but she wouldn't have any of that. For months I've been practicing picking her up for a few minutes, and then putting her down when she started to wiggle. I felt reasonably confident that I could just go out, pick her up, and stuff her into the carrier that SAM would be holding ready out of sight.
Um, yeah. Well, the first part went as planned. I strolled into her alley and got close enough to pick her up. She knew something was up, and was acting nervous. When I made a clumsy lunge towards her all I got was her tail, but that was enough. Hold the tail, then grab the scruff, then quickly secure two front paws in a vise-like grip of one hand and two back paws in the other hand. When I suddenly rounded the corner holding a pitifully yowling and moaning cat, SAM freaked out a little bit. He didn't think I was going to move that fast and he was not ready for her reaction. As soon as BumKitty saw the cat carrier she actually hissed at it and began bucking wildly. Getting her in was easy enough. Keeping her in successfully while getting my hands out and closing the latch... Not so much. As soon as I released her paws she turned into a whirling dervish. SAM just couldn't bring himself to slam the gate shut on her frantic clawing paws. She got almost halfway out once, but I grabbed ahold and ruthlessly stuffed her back in. Still, we couldn't get the gate closed, and the second time she wriggled completely free and bolted away. Shitshitshit.
After that violent scuffle in the alley, we accepted defeat and took the fur strewn cat carrier back inside to regroup. I figured it was going to take at least a few days of gentle enticement with half-and-half and tender vittles to regain her trust. A few hours later I went out to check on her, and still no sign of her anywhere in the neighborhood. Later around midnight, I decided to put my book down for a second and go down. Just to see if she was around and maybe I could submit a creamy peace offering to her. As soon as she saw me with the familiar white carton she jumped down from her perch immediately. But instead of fleeing on sight, as I had feared she would, she trotted right up to me and squeaked out a meow begging for cream. We commenced the usual routine wherein she greedily laps cream and I pet her head and back vigorously. Oh, dear. She's either very forgiving, or very stupid.
While stroking her and crooning, I quickly called SAM on the phone and whispered to him to get down here. Right now. It's time for Plan B. No cat carrier this time, I would just get her in the death grip and carry her straight into the building, with him opening and closing gates and doors in my path. Within 5 minutes, I was setting her down gently on the bathroom floor. After a few circuits of the small room, she seemed to accept the fact that she was truly trapped. Within minutes the yowling died down to occasional squeaks and she proceeded to huddle behind the toilet for most of the night. However, throughout the whole experience she allowed herself to be petted and scratched, which I took as a very good sign.
Come Sunday morning, we found her crouching in the tub. She was still fairly stressed but no longer creeping about with dilated eyes and flattened ears. We could barely get her to eat any kibbles or canned food, but she did eat a little bit. We don't think she drank much water if at all. Even more worrisome was her fear of the litterbox. Attempts to place her in it to introduce her to the texture suggested that she's about as terrified of boxes as she is of cat carriers. Towards the evening, she was becoming progressively more curious and was starting to get more motivated to explore Beyond The Bathroom. We were mean, and made her stay in. No poopy, no go out. Encouragingly, she did finally pee for the first time and she did it right in the litterbox. Yay.
Monday's big adventure was a trip to Teh Vet. While making the appointment over the phone, I could practically hear the raised eyebrows and suppressed snicker as I clarified that her name is, actually, BumKitty. I was preparing for a big battle when it came time to stuff her into the Evil Carrier, but interestingly enough, she calmly let me place her inside and close the latch. No drama. I think she understood that she was already trapped in the bathroom, so it couldn't get much worse, right? Some minor yowling ensued while walking downstairs, but nothing bad. As soon as I stepped outside and she saw the sunlight and smelled the fresh air she completely flipped out and started thrashing violently like the first time I tried to get her in the carrier. I wonder if she's homesick for her turf and trying to escape. Her ear notch and apparent spayed condition is suggestive of TNR so perhaps she has bad memories of being trapped in a cage outdoors, being held at the mercy of other animals nearby. Once in the car she mellowed down again, and she was just fine at the vet. She handled all of the pokings and proddings amazingly well while at the vet, calm as you please. To my surprise, she's actually negative for FIV and FeLV. I had pretty much resigned myself to the likelihood of her having it, what with her rough and tumble life. The vet thinks that the big gash on her cheek is actually a ruptured abscess from a cat bite. Four hundred bucks worth of vaccines and tests and clipping and swabbing later, our little kitty was cleared to come back home.
This morning SAM came back from his early morning piss and woke me up, beaming with proud cat-daddy news. "She pooped! She finally pooped! Right in the box!" Oh, thank gods. For starters, I'm just glad that things are finally moving in that department after watching her squirm around for 3 constipated days. After all that I've read about Litter Strikes and Poop Wars, I'm quite relieved that she seems to completely understand what the box is and seems perfectly willing to use it. I think we'll keep her confined for another day or so and then open up the rest of his apartment for her to explore. Except for the bedroom, which we've agreed to keep cat-free. So, she is settling in quite nicely. We still feel somewhat guilty for catnapping her and depriving her of all the human company that she used to get on a daily basis. Time will tell whether she'll adapt to being a "retired" indoor cat or not.
Pictures forthcoming...