First of all, Happy Birthday to Alexander H., born on Nevis January 11, 1757. To begin, I will post a quote of his that feels utterly relevant.
"...a dangerous ambition more often lurks behind the specious mask of zeal for the rights of the people than under the forbidden appearance of zeal for the firmness and efficiency of government. History will teach us that ... those men who have overturned the liberties of republics, the greatest number have begun their career by paying an obsequious court to the people; commencing demagogues, and ending tyrants." ~~The Federalist Papers
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The trials of a fluffy kitty...
Here is the "Fluffy Kitty" the day she came to us as a baby, a bitten-up kitten who had just been to the vet so he could drain an abscess from a bite.
My husband and I have learned a lot about her over the years both by observation and by inference. Kimi is the only one who could call us on any of these suppositions, but she's not talking, except for the ever-useful word "meow."
That's what she said to my friend Patti who found her on the porch of her Palmyra house on a cold December day. Kimi was hungry and cold and Patti could see her ribs through the fluff, and also see that she'd been hurt. Hundreds of $$ of vet bills and a few days later, Patti brought Kimi to me. Patti already had three indoor cats in her double wide. She was was still covered with ticks, in her ears, her paws and just everywhere. Patti and I stopped counting after we'd removed thirty.
Life for her improved after that, for, with antibiotics and wounds stitched, she was already on the path to better health. We had a set-back, though, when the abscess had to be drained again. My husband and I soon learned that this little girl had been badly handled by whoever had originally “been responsible” for her -- before they'd decided to throw her away.
I've come to believe that this is her story. As little kitten, she must have been a yellow fluff ball, looking more like a stuffed toy than a living being. This had led some cat-ignorant people to treat her like one. They'd probably allowed their children to tease her, chase her, and handle her far beyond her ability to endure. If Kimi was already a shy kitten, (and some kitties are emotionally fragile) this man-=handling must have pushed her beyond endurance. She became the hissing, clawing, fearful little girl who first came to live with us.
Kimi was definitely not a fan of being touched, not unless she initiated contact herself. If you reached out to pet her, you'd better come at her slowly and touch gently. Otherwise, there there'd be a steam-kettle worthy (dragon worthy?) hiss and she'd speedily decamp, glaring over her shoulder at the clod human who'd displeased her. She distrusted our other cats too, unsurprisingly, as she'd been beaten up and bitten while trying to get food at some stray cat feeding spot.
None of the other cats who lived here liked her. She wouldn't play, she wouldn't accept an introductory sniff or lick; she wouldn't play or share the food bowl or space on the couch or be any fun at all. She was just plain scared, and her obvious fear made her a target for our top cat, a large streetwise male. There were periods when she spent most of her time hiding out in a grungy pile of rags in a basement box. In fact, she came darn close to becoming known as "Basement Cat."
I began to coax her to come upstairs and sit with me, and then into accepting grooming, which her long hair definitely required. I bought a wide-toothed dog brush to start, so that it would pass easily through her thick, matted fur without tugging. This way we began to break the ice.
Gradually, she began to believe my intentions were good. After all, her fluff was too dense for her to care for by herself. As all cat owners should know, hairballs are a standard problem for cats. Nature obliges felines to groom thoroughly every day. All that hair goes in, but if it doesn't come out one end or the other, then the cat will be sick, sometimes fatally. Brushing and combing are a daily must, especially for such a fluffy kitty.
We'd brush until we'd get a growl. Nail clipping was the same--a few at a time. At first, these beauty treatments were all trials for Kimi, but slowly this necessary handling became routine.
We still wait until she approaches us for attention and then obey the message of the tail lash which signals "ENOUGH." Her only significant daily trial is Anthony. He arrived last year, absolutely certain that all the other cats must be dying to play with him—and if they refused, he’d chase them all over the house mercilessly. I think, however, that "still he persisted" might win the day, even faced with her determined suspicion.
Who can say? She may yet learn to enjoy the company of the other cats.
~~Juliet Waldron
