Background: for those of you who don't know, I've been volunteering at our local Humane Society since...oh, gosh, since March. Wow. I started as a dog walker, cat player-wither, and then a couple of months ago, I started writing profiles.
Since then I have met and said goodbye to several dogs I would rather have taken home with me, said a far-too-permanent goodbye to two dogs I loved deeply and instantaneously who each died of complications of illnesses (one of them this last week; I was there when he arrived at the shelter and I was with him in his final moments), given chin scratches to scores of cats and kittens (knowing it was too soon after Hamlet's loss to bring another home), and become a pet and/or volunteering pusher. "Come on; come with me just one time. No pressure!"
Anyway, a couple of weeks ago, the above kitten was caught in a humane trap that had been set for another litter. They were in there, black and striped, and then there was this fuzzy, long-haired ragdoll kitten no one was expecting.
The shelter staff named her Buttercup, but Shrinking Violet might have been a better name. She was half feral, hissing and trying desperately to hide every time a hand came near her. She didn't try to bite or scratch, not once, but the power of that hiss kept most people away.
I'd picked her up a few times, and she always dissolved into purring. We think that's the ragdoll breeding. But you had to be willing to bypass the hissing and fear first.
On Friday night, I caved to the pressure of the great shelter folks (who are themselves pushers of the highest order, but in the nicest way), of her cuteness, and of my desire to see if I could get her to her best cat self. I brought her home to socialize in a non-threatening environment.
She spent most of Friday night hiding in the litter box. It has nice, tall sides and felt safe to her. She came out to eat food and to get forcibly cuddled (which she loved and hated, all at the same time), and then would slink back in to her safe place the instant something scary would happen--like, say, I moved one of my feet.
By today, Sunday, she's a different kitten. Oh, she still hisses and backs away EVERY TIME I come into her room. But it only takes me getting on my hands and knees now, and she runs TO me, rather than away. She purrs a real purr all the time, she twines about me, she's learned to play with toys, she uses the whole room to explore, rather than just sleeping curled up in the corner of the litter box, and she'll crawl up on my lap on her own. All this in just two days.
I still think the rest of the house is too much for her right now. She's working on owning her controlled environment. But if things keep going the way they have been, she's going to make someone a wonderful companion in the not-too-distant future.
I have been warned about foster-fails. You know, where you take someone home to "foster," and suddenly, you just have a new pet who never leaves, because you can't bear to give them back? So far, I've been holding out strong. Thinking of new names doesn't count; I'm a writer and namer, it's just what I do. Calling her baby doesn't count; that's just how you refer to wee animals. Being proud of her when she does things like a normal kitten instead of a feral baby doesn't count; that's pride in my work and hope for her future.
Right?
I'm not doomed yet. YET. Give me another week or two, though, and it might be too late.
Which is too bad, because now I've got a perfect room for fostering other kitters. Adopt the one or help the many?
In short, *flail*
Here. Have a video. Turn your head to the left and enjoy.
1 comment:
Fail! :P
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