Care and feeding of a feral cat

I didn’t realize before now that I had preconceived notions about how a quarter-feral cat would behave, but I see, now, that I did, and that image did not include him being a demanding prima donna.

The survival neurosis I get. Hyper-aware of his surroundings, Tony the cat is afraid of confinement, loud noises, chaos and strangers. When you’re a cat trying to make your way alone in the big world, you need cat-like instincts and reflexes to survive.

At three-quarters tame Tony now comes into the house without us having to beg or bribe him. He does’t run into hiding at hearing a few loud noises or when his two humans and his dog are all in the same room. He will sleep deeply enough to dream. Tony stays off the counter tops, but he now perches on the desk, or whatever papers are on the desk, because that’s the best view out the window. As a bonus, an electronic device is usually around to sit on, using it as a foot-drier-slash-butt-warmer when he comes in from the snow cover.

When he’s thirsty, he prefers filtered water at the shop, not that liquid-garbage that comes straight out of the tap like he gets at the house. Yes, I do think that’s pretty picky for a creature who cleans himself with his tongue, but John is happy catering to the four-leggers.

Tony also has unerring accuracy for knowing which chair someone will want to occupy and make sure he gets there first, fully expecting not to be disturbed until such time as he wished to be outdoors, and that desire is announced with full vocal authority — usually during that sweet spot from 12:30 to 2:30 a.m. Cats have no concept of the term “full night’s sleep.”

Occasionally, the demand to go outside is preceded by a demand for attention. If he gets into the bed at night, he tramples his way up my body until he’s lying a nice short distance from my face, purring. Loudly purring. And if I don’t pet him, he skooches closer to my head and reaches his paws out to touch my face, purring louder. It’s kind of cute, but obnoxious cute, and the next level is just torture with his paws kneading my face like a batch of sourdough bread. In the middle of the night.

Lately he’s had a few run-ins with transient stray cats who seem to wield some killer bacterial weapons. that keep causing infections that require veterinary care. He does pretty well in the cat carrier now, and he’s good at the vet’s office — and by good I mean he’s psychologically shut down so stays quiet and still. But loading him into the carrier — well, that has become a whole new trouble.

It’s like he turns into the crazy feline spawn of the Looney Tunes Tasmanian Devil and Edward Scissorhands. He might be only one-quarter feral, but it all comes out at once, in full whirling-dervish mode. Bloody and exasperated, I finally called in reinforcements this last time. While I held Tony’s legs pinned together in pairs like he was hog-tied, and stuffed him down into the carrier, my trusty assistant had a hand on the cat’s backside and kept pushing him in as I let go of his legs.

I might be weakened and anemic from the blood loss from my wounds, but Tony has forgiven me. As a sign of his good faith he has been demanding more canned salmon liquids than salmon meat for the proper mixture with his liquid antibiotics, like the royal former stray that he is. I live to serve, and to throw away the juiceless fish parts.

——

I think I’ll start studying funny cat videos on the internet to learn how to train this feline at [email protected].