Just so we’re clear, I am still a three cat household.
Some background in case you don’t know that Legba is now living with my parents: So last month, my parents hired the son of family friends to drive up to Wisconsin with a bunch of my stuff that had been in storage at their house, including my cats. I got a phone call at about 7:30 the day that this was supposed to happen, informing me that Legba would not be arriving that afternoon because my father was unable to get him into a carrier. I was a little snippy in response to this news, but I’d like to note that a) the phone call woke me up, and b) I didn’t know at the time that Dad’s valiant ATTEMPT to get Legba into the carrier ended up costing him a course of antibiotics and a tetanus shot.
So Bart and Dora arrived safe and sound at the end of August,* and Legba stayed at my parents’ house. Since he was the only remaining cat in the basement, my parents decided to let him come upstairs and mingle with the rest of the household. Now, Legba has always gotten along fine with Bart and mostly been tormented by Pandora, although occasionally he would refuse to cower when she swatted him and then she would go into paroxysms of feline rage. But apparently, he gets on with my parents’ two female cats, Finch and Darwin, like a house on fire. He loves them. He loves my mother;** apparently, when she goes to the bathroom, he and Finch and Darwin all hang around outside the door waiting for her to come back. He pays no mind to the dog. He also kind of terrorizes their older male cat, but Gurgi only spent like 30 minutes a day inside before, anyway.
My mother was lobbying for custody almost immediately. I was heartbroken, but when even my generally anti-extra cat father allowed as how he thought Legba was really fitting into the household and would probably be psychically scarred by yet another upheaval, I realized that I was going to have to leave him there. It’s not that life with me before was untenable, but making him come live with Pandora again after spending months with two sweet young things who worship him seemed borderline abusive.
And now we come to the upshot: I am not accustomed to a mere two cats in my home. I specifically sought out an apartment where I would be allowed to have three, so it’s on my lease. I love Bart and Dora, but I just felt bereft. I thought about it for awhile. As Travis pointed out, I didn’t want to go adopting a Rebound Kitten.
But I thought about it for a month and I still wanted a third cat, so I went out looking for one. The problem was that it’s not really kitten season anymore; the rescue groups have some strays and former ferals between 4 and 6 months old, but there’s really nothing much younger available in early fall. In general, the younger a cat is, the easier it is to introduce it into a household with adult cats, but I wasn’t sure how much of an advantage I’d have with a juvenile, and the only one that really struck me already had an application ahead of me.
So on Monday night, Keely and I went to the Humane Society, thinking they might have a bigger selection. As it turned out, they had no kittens at all, and so I thought some more about how MUCH of an advantage a kitten would really have, over an older cat, with winning the approval of a cat as inherently bitchy as Pandora. Then I thought about how, actually, I didn’t even WANT a kitten, because they are babies and they cry all the time and jump on your back with all their claws out and need special food that you have to prevent your already overweight bitchy cat from eating.
Then I asked the Humane Society people to bring out one male adult who seemed pretty cute and had all his original claws–this is a big issue at the Humane Society, where most of the animals are surrendered and I would estimate more than half of the adults are front declawed***–and was only two years old, and they told me that he’d only been surrendered three days ago, so they had his intake paperwork for me to look at first. The first thing the forms said was that he had been quarantined for biting a child, to which both Keely and I reacted immediately and identically: What the hell did the child DO to him?
So the former owners reported that he was a “chronic biter” and “gives no warning signal” and that they feared for the safety of their seven-month-old infant. Probably you shouldn’t leave your seven-month-old alone with the family pet regardless, but whatever–they also lamented that “he likes to go outside but he can’t in this neighborhood,” to which one might reply that a cat is not, say, a human adolescent, and can be contained pretty effectively in most cases, but you know, again, whatever.
Then I noticed that although the cat’s attitude toward other cats was unknown, the paperwork also said that he “got along well with former owner’s dog.”
At this point, I’m going, “Jesus Christ, how many owners has this two-year-old cat HAD?”
“Oh,” says the shelter person, “The people who surrendered him only had him for three weeks.”
Of course! I’d been figuring that these people had a cat, then they had a baby and the cat got kind of territorial, as they do, but no! There you are, with a six-month-old infant, and you think to yourself, What is this household missing? I know! A strange adult animal! An exciting unknown quantity! Some people are idiots.
But wait! It gets better.
“They got him,” says the shelter person, “at an estate sale.”
“WHAT.” is basically my and Keely’s simultaneous reaction.
That’s right. An ESTATE SALE. Apparently you can get cats at estate sales. Maybe he was inside an armoire or something. I’ll note at this point that this is a cute but unremarkable domestic shorthair. He is not a Persian or a Manx or a freaking Bengal or something. Just a brown tabby with extensive white splotches (see photos below).
So they bring in the cat, and we play with him for awhile, and okay, I’ll admit it: he bites. He’s not an AGGRESSIVE biter. It’s playful biting, but if you are an idiot–say, the kind of idiot who picks up a cat at an estate sale to watch their infant–and don’t, as it were, nip it in the bud, it can escalate into pretty intense biting. Still playful, from the cat’s perspective, but not so much fun for us tender little humans.
Also, it is extremely easy to tell when he might be about to bite you: if he has just been chasing toys around and is all hopped up, exercise caution. And if he DOES bite you, squirt him with a water bottle and watch him run like hell. (Unfortunately, Keely didn’t have one of those in the little room assigned for making his acquaintance at the Humane Society, but I don’t think she concluded that he was incorrigible, either.)
So yeah, as you might imagine, I adopted the two-year-old child-biting two-time loser estate sale refugee. I’ve named him Robert of Loxley, Loxley for short.**** Right now he is staying in the bathroom, with a blanket shoved up against the crack under the door since Pandora hissed at his paw when he was able to stick it out. I put another litterbox under the kitchen table,***** and when I’m home but not getting in bed, I put the other two in the bedroom and let him run around the apartment. For the time being I’m just trying to get everyone’s smells everywhere; I may try to introduce him to Bart in a week or so.
He’s two years old, but I think he probably didn’t get enough attention as a kitten–one assumes that his original owner was elderly, since he was SOLD OFF THE BLOCK AT AN ESTATE SALE.
Anyway, he’s two years old and has the adult cat physique, but he is CRAZY energetic. He basically acts like a kitten, but with less crying, and I actually think he’ll be pretty open to meeting other cats just based on his behavior so far. I have to take Bart to the vet on Saturday for further consideration of the demodex problem, so I made Loxley an appointment for the basic check-up–he’s got his vaccinations and is negative for feline leukemia and FIV, but he should have check-up. Microchipping was included in the adoption fee, which for an adult was a measly $40. (This represents quite the savings over a kitten, which would be $125.)
So. Yes. I got another cat, prompting a “What the hell?” email from my father when he saw the clues scattered around Facebook, but he is a sweetie and dear god, he needed me with his record. Poor Loxley. Ransomed from the Saracens and all that.******
It almost looks like he’s wearing a brown tabby hood, doesn’t it? Ha.
—
*Well, mostly sound. We’re back at the vet for another round of ivermectin for Bart, who seems to be having another demodex flair-up.
**He has maybe sort of forgiven my father, but still runs like hell when he hears Dad clomping down the basement stairs.
***This is ironic, since one can imagine that these cats were declawed by people who thought that it was a smart move toward preserving domestic harmony–I/my significant other/my landlord won’t get mad at the cat if it can’t scratch stuff up! However, declawing is strongly associated with persistent litterbox problems, since it entails chopping off all the cat’s fingers at the top knuckle, which is, as you might guess, extremely painful. Even if it doesn’t hurt them their entire lives–it’s hard to say–it definitely makes them want to avoid rough litter in the recovery period, and once a cat starts going outside the box it’s very difficult to retrain. It also tends to make them kind of crazy, the way you might be if someone chopped the ends off all your fingers. So basically, I suspect people get their cats declawed to ensure a tranquil home, can’t figure out why the cat has suddenly gone nuts and started pooping on the carpet, and end up surrendering it to the Humane Society, where hopefully someone who understands these things and doesn’t already have a bunch of fully clawed cats at home will take pity on it, cross your fingers. I myself couldn’t in good conscience bring a declawed cat home to live with Pandora. …As you can perhaps surmise, the subject of declawing is one about which I am pretty vehemently negative.
****It’s started feeling more like a real name now that I’ve yelled at him a couple of times.
*****It’s PINK. I am totally putting Hello Kitty stickers on it so that it matches all my appliances.
******Humorous literary/folkloric reference. Not meant to malign actual Saracens or members of related cultural groups (see Gwen’s blog).
October 3rd, 2007 at 3:01 pm
I’d imagine if anyone can make Loxley feel loved and discourage him from biting, you can. Especially if he still has some maturing to do.
Kittens cry? Mum and Dad’s never have, but then those kittens have had each other to play with from birth, so perhaps they didn’t care about the change in location and the strange pink-blobs-proffering-catfood. Or maybe they’re just not very talky. They purr a lot.
I agree with you that declawing is just wrong. I don’t think it’s offered in Britain (if it is, I’ve never heard of it). Though it might stop the kittens climbing my parents’ textured wallpaper… but no.
For a moment or two I got your footnotes mixed up and thought you were Hello-Kittifying Loxley, which sounded unlikely.
October 3rd, 2007 at 3:58 pm
Aww, i like your new kitty. he still looks pretty young and a bit small, but so sweet. hopefully he’ll fit right in! i’m glad you’re a whole family again.
October 3rd, 2007 at 5:28 pm
It’s not a brown tabby hood. He’s actually wearing the skin of a tabby over his pretty white coat. Don’t let him fool you.
Seriously, he’s cute, and I like his name. I hope he gets on as well as possible with the others.
October 6th, 2007 at 6:42 am
Well I have to thank you for this story, for now I alone - without consulting Sarah - just decided to not get an adult cat, especially one at any of the neighborhood sales around here. Not only that, but I’m now a little wary about taking our 4 month old to my Mom’s house. My Mom owns a 12 year old Lhasa, a grumpy possessive dog that recently drew blood by biting her — in her own bed, while she slept. Barkley (who barks, yeah from Sesame Street, my brother’s doing) already took possession this summer of one of Edie’s binkies, and we fear for what could be next.
But seriously your cat looks adorable, especially the tabby hood, and generally I do not compliment cats. I’ll show pictures of her to Edie, if you don’t mind.
October 6th, 2007 at 7:29 am
Marc: I would definitely be careful with the dog; like I said, some animals get territorial with babies.
And of course, when the babies reach the toddler stage, they’re likely to do all kinds of things to provoke pretty much all animals. I don’t think you always have problems–my parents had an insane number of cats when I was born and none of them ever bit me–but in general, I feel like “be careful with small children and animals” is a good rule.
And thank you. He is very sweet. I hope Edie enjoys his photos.
Suzie: Ha! I guess I COULD have named him Hannibal. :p
Kat: Thanks. He does seem a little small–I’ll ask at the vet if they think he really is two. He might have some filling out to do if he’s only a year or so.
K: Yeah, kittens cry when they’re separated–typically, you get one and have to keep it separated from the others for awhile, and they cry a bunch when they’re alone. Legba did, anyway, although he is a generally talky cat.
October 10th, 2007 at 4:24 pm
Aha, that would explain why my parents’ kittens don’t. Although the parents were originally only thinking of getting one cat, the Cat Rescue people were pretty adamant they should take both kittens, and it’s evidently been a good idea, because the kits appear to enjoy each others’ company. I don’t think this is totally anthropomorphizing, either - they play with each other, wash each other (very cute) and tend to sleep in a pile.