When You Connect

…even with a feral.

When and if you ever lose faith in a person, or lose a person, feel fortunate if somehow, unexpectedly, someone says to you… “ Here, take this.” I knew I was not to have any more pets, not after my last tiny Yorkie suffered and died, although at 16, almost 17, the little guy had a long and adventurous life, even summers in Colorado where the chipmunks knew how to give him a good chase but still survive.

We all know this story. It is not something I can take lightly since I feel I connect deeply and have an issue even leaving my pets for a weekend. But, a neighborhood person who rescues is all you need to upend your determination to be free and this little kitten wandering around tearing up yards was way too beautiful.

For 6 months this little feral ran around in yards near my daughter’s home and someone was feeding him. He could not be touched. A kind rescuer, Courtney, finally trapped him and yet there was NO taming him. In some way, suggested by my daughter, Courtney thought I might take this little guy. I cannot say that she did not warn me. She said “you may never be able to hold this one, he is not a cuddler, he won’t change.” But, I was going to take a long trip in 6 months and I did not want to board the sweet and very quiet kitten I already had alone. I did take it slowly with much thought. I paid to have him altered and checked out at the vet and thought that after a few more weeks getting used to being somewhat contained at her house, in a room by himself, I would try and see if my Rosie would accept him. I should have known that as difficult as it was to catch him, even confined in a small bathroom, it would be a challenge.

The first night Walter White, Courtney’s name for him, his chipped name always now, who I thought I had barricaded in my laundry room was not there in the morning and so he spent the next few days hiding, coming out to eat, hiding some more. 6 months later when I had to board them, they needed two different multilayered enclosures since they did not like each other at all and, yes, it was hell getting him in the carrier. That involved being cornered and wrapped in a huge towel! I still had not touched him although he sometimes was at the foot of my bed in the morning. He tolerated a hairbrush if I did not look at him and no hands touched him! I felt these two things were a monumental success. He was no longer Walter White, he was Sam, or Sammie. A name change did not help either. Forever bitter about being Walter White perhaps? Is that why he has a weak stomach and throws up often?

In a year and a half we have come a long way. For some reason he loves me. He silently comes onto my bed around 1 am and literally throws himself sideways against my lower legs and rolls, cuddles, then sleeps quietly all night. Rosie comes and sleeps away from him, not touching anyone, and comes onto the table beside my bed to gently touch my face when it’s time to rise. It works. His sensitive stomach is calming down, the shredding of one chair, by Rosie!, has stopped. It needed recovering anyway or so I tell myself.

Sammie sits and keeps his eyes on me, and really, it feels good to have something warm against my legs during the night. He is my “cuddler” and my “watcher of me.” Rosie is still so sweet but bossy, and yes they sort of accept each other.