The Tougher They Are, the Harder They Fall

My semi-feral girl Ivy finally condeded the struggle to remain untouchable this morning.

It was Ivy who caught my eye when I first saw this litter of feral kittens. Tiny and white, probably no more than 6-7 weeks old, she took one look at me, puffed up like a big cotton ball with a bottle-brush stuck in one end, and skittered sideways across the stoop away from me back into the litter's safe hole under one of the concrete steps. "It's time to trap this litter and tame them. And I want that little white one for myself."

(Seven years ago I acquired a fluffy white kitten; four months later she died of FIP. I've always been sad that she didn't get a chance to have a long and healthy life. But in the last couple of years I've come to believe that every animal that comes into my life has something to teach me, and I think now that Vera's lesson was to teach me about FIP at a time when most cat owners had never heard of it, so I'd have the facts and the personal knowledge to help others whose cats developed FIP. When I saw little Ivy, I knew that I had to give her the opportunity for a life I hadn't been able to give Vera.)

I left my live trap with the owner of the house, who wired it open and began feeding in there. After watching them through the window for a few days, she was able to sit on the steps a couple feet away from the trap while they ate. She became such a familiar part of their feeding routine that one evening when all four kittens were in the trap eating, she was able to lean down and untwist the wire holding the door open and get them all at the same time. (She was able to trap Mama cat a couple of days later, and we TNR'd her.)

There were four very unhappy kittens in the trap when I got them home. One at a time I got them out of the trap, clipped their nails, gave them a dose of wormer, treated them for fleas, then put them into the large wire dog crate that was to be their home while I was taming them. I chose the black kitten that seemed to be the calmest first. (That's Doobie, and he's still the calmest.) Then the other black kitten (Amalie) who bit me and then quit struggling and let me treat her. Then the little spitfire tabby girl (Roo) who fought wildly the entire time I was holding her. The little white kitten was last. She bit me twice and then quit struggling, frozen with fear.

After about a week of forced handling Amalie was the first one to give in, though Doobie was neck and neck with her the whole time. After Amalie had gotten away from me one afternoon while I was holding her on my lap and petting her and letting her explore my lap and the arm of the sofa, I figured she was taming down well enough that I'd be able to catch her easily and just let her go and explore. I fell asleep on the sofa, and when I woke up she was snuggled up next to me, purring. Doobie gave in a day later. Roo continued to hiss and spit and fight me, but Ivy just froze in fear every time I touched her. I've been working on them ever since.

At about 17 months of age now, Amalie and Doobie are so loving and friendly you'd never guess they were feral kittens. Roo is still untouchable and wary, though she's very, very slowly relaxing more all the time as she becomes more confident that I'm not going to try to touch her. She's comfortable enough to take food from my fingers, and will even come looking for treats when she knows I'm doling them out. Ivy has also been very wary and doesn't want me to touch her, but sometimes she's OK with touching me if she thinks I don't know about it. I've awakened more than one morning to find her curled next to my ankle/shin, though she takes off the instant she realizes I'm awake. A couple of months ago, she didn't move when I woke up. Some of the other cats were on the bed sleeping, but when I woke up they did too and started asking to be petted. I sat up very slowly, trying to get myself into a position where I could reach her while not moving the lower half of my body so I didn't spook her. Once she was within reach, I just casually began petting the cats closest to her and, when she didn't move, I started sneaking little strokes on her hindquarters between strokes on the other cats. I was eventually able to lengthen my stroke when I touched her - from her shoulders to her rump, instead of just on her rump. She stayed on the bed for a good 5 minutes, allowing me to stroke her in rotation with the other cats. Then I sneezed, and she was gone.

She's been watching me very studiously ever since. About a month ago, she started coming to curl up with other cats in one of the cradles on the cat tree behind my computer chair. If I sit in my recliner, she often comes to sit on the end of the coffee table, about three feet away from me, and just watch me. Sometimes she sits on the floor a couple feet away from my feet, and watches me. When I use my half-bath, she'll often stick her little head around the doorway so she can see what I'm up to. She's been watching me scoop litterboxes, lately; I guess I'm not as threatening when I'm bent over digging in her "dirt". I always greet her, but never reach out toward her. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting to feel that she would be open to being touched.

This morning when I woke, Ivy was snuggled up to my shin just below my knee, facing the bottom of the bed. Within reach. The dry food dish had been emptied during the night; when that happens, I have a lot of company on the bed in the morning. They want to know the instant I wake up, so they can alert me to the dire hunger situation. Doobie, Amalie, Misu, Gertie, and Mookie were all sleeping on the bed with me. They were awake a split-second after I was, and immediately began clamoring for attention. I was hoping to be able to include Ivy as I'd done before. Well, not only could I include her, she wanted me to. After I'd stroked the length of her back a couple of times she began to knead and purr. Emboldened, I stretched forward and began gently skritching behind her ears. She began rolling her head on my hand, so I began stroking the sides of her head and even up her face, over the top of her head, and down her back to her tail. She rolled onto her back, so I skritched her tummy. Then a dog barked, and she was gone.

Two minutes later, she was back. First sitting below my feet, then lying down and putting a front paw over one of my ankles. After a minute, she moved up to my thigh and flopped down next to me. Her body was relaxed, but there was still a speculative look in her eyes - "is she going to grab me?" She wants to trust me and, finally, the need for love is conquering fear. This morning was pivotal, I think the scales were tilted from fear to trust with enough momentum to prevent them from tilting back.

Perhaps Ivy's lesson for me is a review course on the virtue of Patience.