Cat Odyssey

The Unpredictable Outcomes

2007-07-19T20:51:00.000-07:00

The interesting thing about embarking on an odyssey is that you don’t know where it will take you. As this journey has unfolded, my itineraries have changed and so have I. While I was gone, my husband discovered that he liked life better without me—that was certainly a surprise that has fundamentally changed my life. With my foundations shaken, I looked around me and have found my calling.

Two of my visits created turning points in my focus. It was sparked by a conversation with Jo Elmore the ASPCA representative in Gulfport, Mississippi. He told me about some of the innovative programs he had started while running the Humane Society in St. Thomas (Virgin Islands). St.Thomas has the highest per capita murder rate in the United States. The interior of the islands is marked by poverty and violence. Running an animal shelter in such an environment is an uphill battle. But Mr.Elmore is a non-lateral thinker. Grant funding for animal rescue can be a challenge to procure, more readily available is grant money for under-privileged children’s programs. He got funding to start a children’s summer camp at the shelter, teaching the kids Humane Education, keeping them occupied and engaging them in positive, compassionate interactions with the animals. This program gave rise to an internship program for high school students, getting them more involved in the shelter.

Mr.Elmore is a deeply egalitarian man. He sees that the animal rights movement is dominated by upper middle class white people (himself included). This concern gave rise to creating a scholarship program for the students that complete the internship program. Any of those interns that want to attend college to study an animal related field (like zoology, ethology, veterinary medicine or even some more tangentially related topics) are eligible for a scholarship program to help them pay for college.

Another incredible innovation (that I haven’t heard of anywhere else), included a Trap-Neuter Return program for feral cats operated by a group of At-Risk Youth. This program was funded by the United States Justice Department as part of its gang prevention programs. Essentially, the program involved recruiting young people who were considered at risk for gang involvement, teaching them about Humane animal practices, including locating feral cat colonies, trapping the cats, getting them vaccinated and fixed at the shelter, then releasing them and working with the community to create managed cat colonies.

These youth were particularly well situated and street savvy enough to meet the challenges of some of the tricky neighborhoods where many feral cat colonies exist. The program capitalizes on the ‘hunting’ style excitement of capturing wild cats, but then directs that energy toward positive change for the cats and the community.

I interviewed Mr.Elmore just a few days after my disturbing experiences trapping cats in New Orleans—and found his ideas to synthesize solutions with my concerns. (See my post entitled New Orleans: The Radical Ladies of TNR, April 2007.)

Of course, at that time, my focus was still squarely on the cats. However, when I told my father about these programs, he saw the programs as an incredible opportunity to help reconnect children with nature and other living beings, basically an opportunity for rehabilitation for the children that also benefits the animals.

With this in mind, I embarked on my trip to Indiana State Prison. (See my posts about the Prison Visit in May 2007.) My experience there was exhilarating—experiencing how much their connection with their cats had transformed the lives and personalities of the inmates.

The result of all of this is a major change in my life plans.

I had been planning on going to Veterinary Technician training in the fall. In preparation for opening a Cat Retirement Home a couple of years down the road. However, the divorce and impending loss of my husband’s income from my life means that a risky entrepreneurial business venture, coupled with a two-year degree whose starting salary in a vet’s office is only $10 an hour, has caused me to rethink that plan. In doing so, I believe I have found my calling.

In the fall, I will be returning to school to work towards an advanced degree in human psychology with an emphasis in Pet Assisted Therapies. In addition to enrolling at local University, I am also doing the Delta Society training for Pet Assisted Therapy partners. What interests me most is the possibility of doing research and developing programs that help to heal people through rehabilitating animals, or at the very least caring for animals in a very reciprocal manner. This idea is catching hold in prisons across the country and I want to participate in it.

Additionally, I see opportunities for this kind of work to help heal returning soldiers and others who suffer from PTSD—or to help intervene and prevent the onset of PTSD.

Perhaps, down the road, instead of establishing a Retirement Home for Cats, that is strictly focused on the cats, the idea can be expanded to include a retreat center for soldiers and others in need of Pet Assisted Therapy.

The possibilities in this field are just beginning to open up as the human relationship to our companion pets and the natural world changes and evolves.

2007-07-10T21:55:00.000-07:00

Reciprocity and the Union with Other

My friend Dana asked me why cats have made such a difference in my life in the past few years. “Why now and not before?”

I have always loved cats, kept cats, rescued cats. But something about the relationship changed fundamentally when I started studying them with the goal of true understanding. But when Dana asked the question, I couldn’t quite pinpoint why that changed ME so much. Why does understanding cats change my ability to get on an airplane, or have a relationship with my father? The two things seem so unrelated.

Then I read some of Mark Beckoff’s perspective on his study of animals. He explained that when he was studying coyotes, he learned to see the world through their eyes. He experiences this kind of immersion with the world of each animal that he studies. Now, Mark Beckoff is a famous ethologist and he didn’t mention anything directly relating to a transcendent event during his studies, but I wonder if this study of animals isn’t almost like a shamanic journey for the mystically challenged.

I have been told of profoundly moving mental and spiritual shamanic journeys that people have had with horses, bears and wild cats. Their souls journeying in unity with their spirit animal. This is a powerful tradition in many of the spiritual medicines of ‘first peoples’. I have tiptoed into this world, nervous and skeptical, but never fully understood it.

Most profound spiritual experiences involve a sense of merging with other. Whether its God or the earth or a community of people, or a releasing of the mind through meditation or prayer, there is a release from self that happens, an expansion into Other.

Perhaps on a less mystical level, the experience of working to view the world through the eyes of another animal—the investigation, understanding and love of another species allows a transformation within a person similar to spiritual transformation, but more empirical.

Interestingly, during my interviews with one of the inmates at Indiana State Prison, James Stone said to me, “Some people come here and find Islam, some find Baptism, and some of us find cats.” I don’t think he was defining cats as a sort of religion, but rather a transformative experience equal to the religious kind that happens for some—a different way of finding union with Other.

Why do the men in prison have such a profound relationship with their cats? First of all, there is little that is casual about prison—thus their relationships with their cats are not casual. Secondly, they spend an incredible amount of time with their cats. I found that most of them had instinctively responded to their cats needs, setting up their cells as though they had all been advised by a cat behaviorist. With little else to do or focus on, they have become keen observers of the cat. Perhaps without deliberate intention, they had experienced the kind of immersion that Mark Beckoff experiences when he studies a species.

During one of my interviews at Best Friends with the director of Humane Education there, she mentioned “Reciprocity” as crucial to the rehabilitative relationship. “The danger in recognizing the healing abilities of animals—in accepting that they can help rehabilitate people, is that it will become just another way that humans use animals. For the relationship to be truly healing, it has to be reciprocal, benefiting the animal as well as the human.” I think this has been crucial to my own experience as well, by coming to understand cats better, I have been better able to serve them. Improving their lives has contributed to my sense of opening, release from self-obsession and the ability to accept the gifts of joy that cats have brought to my life.

Another inmate at Indiana State Prison spoke vehemently, “There are so many guys in prison here that would do anything for their cats. there are guys in prisons all over the country that would benefit from a program like this, and yet they aren’t allowed to take care of cats, while at the same time there are millions of cats being killed every year because no one wants them. It seems like we should be able to help each other—many of those cats could be taken care of and loved.” Sitting in his cell, just two floors beneath the death row inmates, it was clear that the realities of death row were quite prescient to him—whether it be death row for humans or death row at any of the many shelters around the country. This man clearly recognized the significance of the reciprocity of the rehabilitative relationship.

2007-07-07T22:32:00.000-07:00

Ben chose my daughter, April. She was only three at the time. Five years later she is just starting to understand how special that is. This handsome tomcat was probably about a year old when our neighbor, Peggy, found him in the parking lot of a Marriot hotel. She brought him home to join her menagerie of rescued kitties. Being the jovial sort, he immediately endeared himself to the neighborhood. Each day, when April and I would go for our afternoon stroll, Ben would follow us. He adored April, rubbing and purring on her, tripping her little legs so that she would land on her bottom and he could nuzzle her hair. At first, I tried to discourage him from following us. I was terrified that he would get lost. But he was very clever and insistent. So we were just very careful about crossing streets and I would pick him up whenever a car approached, making sure that he returned safely home at the end of the walk.

But Ben’s obvious ardor for April grew—he insisted upon visiting her in our home, wanting to join her for naptime (much to the chagrin of my other cats!) Finally, Peggy declared that Ben was clearly meant to be April’s cat and she released from any claim to him. We were delighted! And immediately took our virile boy to the vet to be neutered.

He indulged April’s every whim, letting her dress him up in doll clothes and push him around in a stroller. He comforted her through tears and tantrums. Even now, when my highly emotional daughter will embark on one of her rages—I can call Ben, and our self-taught ‘pet assisted therapy cat’ will trot to her side, comforting and calming her until the episode is over.

He purrs for all of us—but he reserves his ‘cheetah purr’ for April. Late at night, when Ben and April lay with their heads on the same pillow, I will waken on the other side of the house to the loud pulse of his deep, resonant purr—his April purr that sounds just like a Cheetah.

I tell her how unique it is to be truly chosen by a cat the way that Ben chose her. She doesn’t fully understand, but she does love and cherish him. The other day she asked me how long Ben would live? I told her that we feed him only the best food and take excellent care of him in the hopes that he will live a long time, perhaps long enough to see her off to college. It is possible. I certainly hope so.

Best Friends, Kanab, Utah: Visiting Dribbles

2007-06-30T09:41:00.000-07:00

I am a sucker for an affectionate cat. As the days pass, I migrate from cat house to cat house, seeking out my favorite felines. As I mentioned before, my fondness for Dribbles was only handicapped by his very messy backside, but the caregivers have clued me into a work-around. If I visit the Kitty Motel after lunch, when the staff is washing up the backsides of the Incontinents, I can swaddle his freshly laundered bottom and thoroughly enjoy the sweet smelling, well maintained upper half of this loving cat. Oh Dribbles! xxxooo

Best Friends, Kanab, Utah: A Symphony of Remembrance

2007-06-28T09:33:00.000-07:00

All day the sun bleaches the canyon. But as the moon rises, it coaxes burnt sienna and red umber from the cliffs. Shadows and twilight’s blues awaken the textures of the canyon. An evening breeze sweeps up the hillside and across Angel’s Rest, inviting hundreds of chimes to release their song.

Each chime was hung in remembrance of a pet’s passing. As the wind changes course, the symphony spreads across the cemetery. It curls around the juniper trees, then catches a chime, one here, another one further off, and then a whole stand of slender pipes that sway against each other like the dance of a hundred souls.

Out of concern for the wildlife, flowers are forbidden. Instead, the gravesites are festooned with frayed collars and pretty stones.

This is a place where a person can sit and cry and feel joy and revel in their memories or just not think at all, absorbing each musical note as a legacy of the loves and lives held safely here at Angel’s Rest.

Best Friends, Kanab, Utah: Reconsidering Incontinence

2007-06-26T09:19:00.000-07:00

There are several ‘suites’ at Best Friends dedicated to incontinent cats. Surprisingly, I found many of these leaky cats the most captivating in the sanctuary.

Zander had me in fits of giggles as he climbed all over my shoulders and arms, shellacking my hair with his copious drool. He balanced his bulky body by winding his back legs around my arms and grasping tightly, while he explored my face with his own.

Dribbles is another shoulder riding cat, however his particular bowel dysfunction persuaded me to decline that level of intimacy (I’m a pretty earthy girl, but…) However, this charming tuxedo won me over with his abundant head butting, rubbing his whiskers and mouth against my cheeks and chin.

Dilly is much less approachable, but this young cat earned my respect through her strength and determination. Paralyzed, she drags her stiff hind legs behind her, but manages to scale any cat tree with claw and muscle—just using her front paws. As she thrusts her torso over the edge of the platform, a large splat of urine flies to the floor, but Dilly ignores this, settling into a bit of displacement grooming.

Entering the lobby of another cat building, I am enthralled by the enthusiastic greeting I receive there. Scooter, a handsome black cat who lost both of his hind legs to a car accident, literally scoots on two front paws, sliding his hinny on the smooth, slick floor, as he hurries to be the first to bask in the attention of any visitors that open the door. He purrs and rubs against me in triumph.

His buddy, a fluffy, gray cat is slowed in his scooting by the two immobile hind legs he drags behind him, but manages to arrive quickly and commandeer one of my hands for his own portion of stroking and rubbing.

Some cats have higher thresholds for touch than others. Given the time, I love to engage a cat in affection until it walks away, polite, but finished.

I don’t think Scooter has such a threshold, it seemed that I could have spent the entire day praising and petting him and he never would have tired of the attention.

Another pair of favorites, Cashew and Pella have been adopted and will be going home in a few weeks. Both born without eyes, this brother and sister seem to have an intuitive ability to seek out and find any welcoming laps. As soon as I sit, the five year old blind siblings come running and deftly leap onto my thighs. Cashew settles there, while Pessa climbs up higher wanting to be held like a human infant when it is being burped. Both are highly inquisitive, captivated by the Peek-A-Prize toy, batting at the numerous balls and tiny pillows that they can reach between the holes. I have never seen other cats react so enthusiastically to the Peek-a-prize when there weren't treats in it.

Best Friends Sanctuary, Kanab, Utah: Cleaning Up

2007-06-25T16:22:00.001-07:00

“The turn over here is pretty high.” One Best Friends caregiver confides. “I think people come here and find out that they don’t love animals as much as they think they do.”

The majority of the work here is cleaning. Poop scooping, litter box disinfecting, mopping, sweeping, dishes, laundry…an endless list of chores required to maintain hygiene and the physical needs of the animals.

In the “Incontinental Suite”, women wash the bottoms of cats who can’t attend to themselves. Little cats with neurological disorders, whose feet splay and tumble like toddlers on roller-skates, squirt streams of urine across freshly laundered bedding and newly scrubbed walls and floors. The fabrics are scooped up and deposited on the hilltop of soiled linens next to the continuously running washing machine.

Volunteers, many of them in their early teens, traipse through the buildings lavishing the cats with affection while the staff scurries to keep their charges clean, fed and appropriately medicated.

There are plenty of politics and stresses between staff members, human resources and other management. Like asking a large group of people from vastly different backgrounds , education and experience to parent a child by consensus, the low-level discord is inevitable. “The thing to remember is that Best Friends is a corporation.” One caregiver reminds me.

For all the challenges of working for a large corporation, there are benefits (health insurance for one!) “I had my own cat rescue for 10 years, as well as working a secretarial job. I LOVE it here. I get to spend all my time with the cats. I don’t have to fundraise, worry about money, or feel dread about what messages I’m going to find on my answering machine when I get home. I just get to take care of the cats all day.” Explains another caregiver who has been a Best Friends for over two years.

“I have never had less money, or a smaller place to live—but I’ve also never been happier.” Another employee beams as she unpacks hundreds of cans of cat food, stacking them on a shelf.

(This is Toshiba, the infamous paper towel shredder. One caregiver told me that even when the paper towels are carefully concealed in a bucket, staff have been know to arrive in the morning to find his entire suite covered in shredded paper towels. Toshiba will greet them sweetly as though he has no idea what has gone on here, but the fact that his fur is covered in paper towel fibers and scraps gives him away every time.)

Best Friends, Kanab, Utah: The Haj

2007-06-22T17:48:00.000-07:00

The red earth splendor of the canyon walls swoop toward the crisp blue sky. Tough scrubby plants of sage and chaparral push out of the parched clay earth. Nature’s own xeri-scaping imbues the entire sanctuary with beauty.

Tasteful and inconspicuous, amidst this desert rapture, buildings and the gentle influence of human landscaping contribute to my sense of uplift. All 30,000 acres of this canyon forms the Mecca for every animal lover. Home to over 1800 previously unwanted animals, over 400 human employees tend to them, accompanied by countless volunteers.

This is the Best Friends Animal Sanctuary. The largest sanctuary dedicated to the care and rehabilitation of companion animals, including cats, dogs, horses, bunnies, parrots, pigs, goats and a few others.

I had planned this trip long before I had any inkling that my husband of ten years was planning to leave me. I arrived here fresh from the battleground of marriage dissolution, not having any idea how profoundly lucky I am.

I spent the day touring the enormous facility. Climbing into a shuttle with 11 other people for the general tour, we visited the cat community and doggie ‘subdivision’ briefly. Then I took a separate ‘pot-bellied’ pig tour, followed by a delicious, gourmet vegetarian lunch (just $4!) at Angel’s Village. After lunch, I enjoyed some mutual head-bobbing and squawking with the cockatoos and African grays of the bird house, and then, as I strolled down the graveled road the leads from the birds to the bunnies, looking out at the breathtaking vista, happiness welled up within me, ballooning and fanning out from my body so that it filled the entire cradle of this canyon. And I existed seamlessly in love.

The world is so much larger than my divorce, my ego (or even my husband’s ego.) My soul rejoices that at this moment, in this place, I inhabit a world where the love between humans and their animals companions has manifested in this cheerful, practical place.

After a brief visit with the bunnies, I returned to the cabin that I am renting from Best Friends for the next 12 days. Awaiting me in my room is K.C. The housekeeping staff has provided my ‘sleep over buddy’ with a litterbox, scratching post, food and water, a big bag full of cat toys and a cozy cat bed..

When I open the door, , KC stands amidst my pillows, stretches and jumps off the bed to greet me.
(K.C. at the bat--during one of our play sessions in my room at Best Friends.)

Angel's Gate, Long Island, New York: Sweet Evangeline

2007-06-17T19:26:00.001-07:00

(Please see my April 2007 posts about the Cajun Cats for the back story on how I found Evangeline in Louisiana and how she was fortunate enough to get placed with Angel's Gate in New York upon learning that she had Feline Leukemia.)

Pulling up in front of Angel's Gate, the sanctuary seems like just another affluent, sprawling Long Island home. The only clue to its mission is the small dog ramp that rests on the front stairs. Susan Marino, the founder of Angel's Gate met me at the door. "Let's go around the back way." She suggested, pushing back a bevy of curious dogs.

She knew I was here to visit Evangeline and led me immediately to the Feline Leukemia cabin. "She has a bad cold. It started yesterday, so I was about to pull her from the cabin and put her in intensive care." Oh dear. I worried. Sweet Evangeline, the little tuxedo manx that had spent several nights curled up in my hotel room bed in New Orleans. I was grateful that Angel's Gate had been able to take her, since for so many cats Feline Leukemia is a death sentance.

But not at Angel's Gate, the nations first recognized animal hospice, dedicated to helping sick and injured animals finish out their lives with dignity. Two volunteers sat with the Feline Leukemia cats when we entered, lavishing these loving felines with attention. I recognized poor little Evangeline immediately. She looked miserable, with runny eyes and a disheveled coat--a stark contrast from the rest of the leukemia cats, whose bright spirits and good health were a delight. "With the Feline Leukemia cats, some of them die within the first month of arriving--but if they get through that, they usually live for years with very good quality of life. In Evangeline's case, some sanctuaries would just let her cold run its course, but not here. I treat every animal as though it were a human child, giving it the appropriate medications and keeping it as comfortable as possible, with much hope for healing." Susan Marino is a retired pediatric nurse and she puts all of her skills to use at the hospice.

We brought Evangeline to the intensive care unit. "I like using the nebulizer for upper resperatory infections, that way the saline helps clear out their nasal passages and lungs, plus the anti-biotic goes straight to their resperatory system. Its the same thing we used to do for the children in ICU." She places Evangeline in a small box after hooking up the sterile medical equipment. For ten minutes the manx breathes her medication and seems to perk up. After she finishes receiving her antibiotic, Susan administers some IV fluids. "Just like Anitra Frazier, I am a big believer in giving these cats fluids--even for a cold. It really helps them."

Usually, all the cats at Angel's Gate eat a raw food diet that is ground by a butcher especially for them, 50% organic chicken meat and 50 percent organic bones. To that Susan adds 10% grated organic vegetables, colostrum, and a high-protein blend called "Sea-Cure"--as well as other herbal and homeopathic remedies as needed for the cat's condition. However, when a cat is feeling as poorly as Evangeline, she will offer up a prescription diet. She settles Evangeline into her cozy kennel with an offering of wet canned food. After the nebulizer and the fluids, Evangeline has gained an appetite and she relishes her food.

After she eats, she dedicates herself to some grooming--she does look much better already. "I will keep her in the ICU until she is all better. Using the nebulizer two times a day, giving her fluids as needed. I'm sure she'll pull through."

And then it happens. For the first time since I have arrived, Evangeline looks at me invitingly. I reach out to pet her. As I stroke her, she begins to purr and knead at the faux sheepskin that covers the her cage floor. I believe that she remembers me as I whisper sweet nothings to her. "Look at you--a little cajun swamp cat getting Park Avenue nursing care. I am so glad for you Little Evangeline. I hope you are feeling better. Aren't you a lucky girl to be here. Susan is taking such good care of you."

It is hard to leave her again. Especially when she is feeling so poorly, but after half an hour of cuddling Evangeline and visiting with Susan, I know that Susan has alot of other animals to tend to. In other parts of the main house, I got to cuddle with the FIV cats in their special room, and visit a large bathroom that houses several diaper clad cats, as well as meeting the twitchy cats with neural disorders that hangout in the bird room. So many cast off kitties, eager for affection and attention.

"All of the animals here are loved." Susan assures me. The entire place is immaculate and smells like cleaning solutions. "We clean constantly--I am a big believer in scrubbing things down. We don't take any short cuts. The comfort of the animals is our top priority."

Angel's Gate employs some full time staff, including two vet techs. They also depend on some wonderful volunteers and others who are serving out community service sentances. Money is always an issue. My dear, generous friend, Karen, is paying for Evangeline's expenses. But there are plenty of other cats, dogs, horses, geese and others that need support. "Right now I have several animals waiting for important surgeries, so we keep sending out the fundraising letters and making appeals on television and radio. It usually works out, but I can tell you, there are plenty of times when Vic(her husband) and I are living on pasta so the animals can have everything they need."

So what drives Susan to do all this work, day after day? "Its the animals." She says succinctly. "Responding to their needs is a spiritual experience. For me, it is always about the animals."

New York, New York: Chasing the Gentle Cat Groomer

2007-06-17T18:58:00.000-07:00

Most pet groomers won’t even think about grooming a cat. Those that do often resort to a combination of force and restraints to subdue a cat—some also don Kevlar sleeves and even face masks as protection. They speak wearily of cat bites and other injuries. It is a tough business.

Enter Anitra Frazier. 30 years ago, she was working for a veterinarian who sent her out to make cat grooming house calls, armed with nothing more than a comb and a pair of dissecting shears. She knew nothing about scruffing cats or any other methods of restraint. She had never groomed dogs, so she didn’t apply dog grooming methods to her cat grooming. She proceeded to develop a completely unique and very gentle method of cat grooming, that incorporates the cat’s guardian as a soothing assistant and focuses on keeping the cat relaxed and comfortable.

Her famous bestselling book “The Natural Cat” is about to be released in its third edition. In the book she describes the techniques she uses. But most of the book is dedicated to feline nutrition, because as a groomer she discovered that the true key to a great coat is nutrition.

Anitra invited me to spend a couple of days observing her, so that I could gain a deeper understanding of her techniques. It is one thing to read about gentle cat grooming—and another thing entirely to witness her in action.

For two days I chased after her as we traversed Manhattan from top to bottom and even detoured in Brooklyn. She is a wonder. At seventy years old, she is fast and fit, and definitely a challenge to keep up with.

She doesn’t use electric clippers or any other methods of shaving a cat. “I never do a lion clip. The poor cats look ridiculous. Its embarrassing for them. Plus the shaving is terrifying for them—and often painful. No, my job is to show the cat that grooming is a pleasure. I will never hurt them. I speak to them, offering positive mental pictures.” She cooes her examples. “Now my dear, this is going to feel so good and you are going to look so beautiful. Isn’t it lovely to be clean? I’m going to take out this uncomfortable little matte—there you go, now doesn’t that feel better? Now I am going to do the same thing on the other side, and won’t that feel good?” Her specialty for long-haired cats is the very attractive Teddy Clip, their fur cut down to about ½ inch long with scissors.

She breaks every common rule of grooming, holding the cat close to her body, helping it feel safe and secure. She uses as little restraint as possible, often seeming not to control the cat at all, but cutting fur and combing whatever part of the body that the cat presents to her. Yet she is managing the cat, “Don’t ever let the cat escape, it is important that they learn that the groomer will let them go when the session is done.” Sometimes the session is done before the cat’s coat is finished. “I can always come back another time. This is why I charge by the hour rather than the job. It isn’t worth stressing the cat to finish the coat. Sometimes we get it all done. Sometimes just one half.”

As the cat tires of the grooming session, Anitra calls on the cat’s guardian and trusted companion to distract the cat with love talk and stroking to the head. This is incredibly effective and I watched as one cat after another responded to this calming contact, closing their eyes and acquiescing to more grooming.

“With some of these cats it took them a long time to understand how wonderful it is to be groomed. They had had a bad experience with another groomer—or some other trauma and it took a lot of time to develop trust. But then they learn the routine and some of them start to enjoy it.”

Anitra also provides holistic nursing for geriatric cats. We visited one cat that is suffering from kidney failure. Anitra visits three times a week to administer sub-cutaneous fluids. “I think that sub-cutaneous fluids are terribly underused. I offer fluids anytime a cat is going off its food, or its coat seems dry. Sometimes that little pick me up can really make a huge difference for the cat. It doesn’t have to be a lot of fluids just 100 cc’s can make all the difference sometimes. It is so easy for cats to become dehydrated. Especially on these dry food diets that everyone is so fond of.” She tsks. “I tell all my clients to get their cats on a raw food diet—ground organic beef, with calcium added and some shredded vegetables—that will make a huge difference in how much grooming they need—as well as their overall health. I also like to garnish the raw meat with a little bit of PetGuard wet food—for palatability. With cats its all about Taste, Texture and temperature. If they don’t like something, try warming it or adjusting what vegetables you ad. Some cats like the sweeter vegetables like a good baked squash—while I have known other cats that would kill for a bit of chopped asparagus in their dinner.”

This diet has an amazing effect on her client's coats. The Persians' fur was as light as air, silky puffs of fluff, making the groomer's job much easier.

Wolf Park, Battle Ground, Indiana: The Mouths of Wolves

2007-06-16T21:25:00.001-07:00

Caesar Millan (the Dog Whisperer of National Geographic fame) is often the bane of my cat consultations. “I’m doing everything just the way Caesar Millan says, I’m using calm assertive energy and showing my cat that I am the leader of the pack.” His methods are deeply imbedded in the psyches of those that enjoy his show—and they are a source of much controversy in the dog training world, but simply put, they are all wrong for cats.

Because both dogs and cats are predators and can live companionably with humans, people sometimes treat cats like dogs. And yet they are completely different species. The Cat family evolved in the Old World (Europe and Africa primarily), while the canine and wolf families originated in the New World (North and South America). True, over thousands of years some cats migrated to the New World and some Wolves migrated to the Old World (primarily over the ice bridges of the Bering Straights, I am told.) In many ways they fill the same niche—but they are built entirely differently. A cats claws and teeth combine as formidable hunting tools allowing most kinds of cats to hunt alone, while most wolves need to hunt in packs for optimal survival (to bring down big prey.) Cats are not pack animals.

Because most people know so much more about dog behavior than cat behavior, sometimes it helps to contrast the two. But I don’t relate well to dogs or understand them, so I visited a Nashville area dog trainer to try to learn more about dog behavior. I asked her, “In my cat books, they say that one reason that discipline doesn’t work with a cat (unlike a dog), is that the cat is a solitary hunter—if a cat spoils its own hunt, the cat is the only one that loses. But with a pack animal—like dogs—the alpha male will discipline the dog that makes the mistakes. Is that true? Do they really do that? Also, cats are known for congregating for social purposes that include mating, but their interest in companionship is not based on survival—while a dog is dependent on the pack for survival and that is the basis of the distinct personality difference between the independent cat and the subservient dog—is that true?”

Unknowingly, I had stepped right into the middle of the great dog debate. There are (at least) two dog camps: the Positive Reinforcement school (using positive reinforcement to shape behavior, commonly referred to as ‘Clicker Training’) vs. the Dominance Theory of dog training (such as the famed Caesar Millan, who works to establish himself as the Alpha leader of the pack, using appropriate discipline etc..) My assumptions about dogs drew from the Dominance theory, while I was interviewing a clicker trainer. She kindly declined the interpretations of dog behavior that I had presented and instructed me, “If you really want to understand the roots of dog behavior, you should take a class at Wolf Park.”

Wolf Park! (www.wolfpark.org ) What a marvelous detour on my cat odyssey. Immediately I signed up for their ‘Weekend Wolf Intensive”—three days of education about wolf behavior and interaction with real, live wolves!

When I mentioned that I was going to Wolf Park to gain a better understanding of dogs, several people assured me that the two species were, in fact, unrelated and quite distinct: Lupus vs. Canine, but according to the ethologists at Wolf Park, this controversy may have been cleared up by DNA and other research. For starters, Wolves and domestic dogs have identical DNA, and they can mate and produce fertile young.

Another piece of interesting evidence is a 50 year research project done in Russia that quickly simulated the same results that probably took many thousands of years to occur naturally. In the experiments with Silver foxes, the foxes were divided and bred exclusively for their sociability to humans. Through the generations of foxes that became increasingly friendly and well adapted to human companionship, the animals underwent a physical transformation that was NOT being selected for: their tails curled, their ears flopped and their coats became spotted. Similar experiments in rats and rabbits (selected for their friendliness with humans) produced similar physical traits.

Based on these and other evidence, the currently accepted conclusion is that our modern domestic dog is a descendent of the wolf. As humans settled into an agrarian lifestyle, they created garbage dumps, during times of scarce prey, wolves would scavenge those dumps. The wolves that habituated most easily to humans would have had a higher success rate, thus surviving to breed pups that also adapted well to humans.

The difference between dogs and wolves? Dogs have adapted so well to humans—and humans to dogs, that some researchers see the evolution of humans and dogs as linked. Dogs see humans as part of their pack. While Wolves see humans as distinct and different from themselves. According to the staff at Wolf Park, “We learned that we were much safer when we accentuated our differences, rather than trying to integrate into the pack. I think the wolves here think of us like highly productive pets, who provide food—and are marvelous groomers, but we exist outside of the pack structure. The advantage being that we exist outside of the constant awareness and struggle for place in the pack heirarcy. Simply put, our skin is too fragile to be tested regularly.”

The boisterous wolves pounce on each other, growling and rolling. It seems that consciousness of their ranking pervades their every waking minute. But their hierarchies are changeable and function differently in different packs.

Although there are behaviors that are consistent from pack to pack, each pack is made of individual personalities that coalesce to create a specific culture—much like we see in different cat communities. The culture of the pack may be determined by the personality of the Alpha male. At Wolf Park, the staff speak loathingly about the days when Renki was the Alpha. “He was such a bully, the pack was in constant conflict.” Finally, he was overthrown when the rest of the pack of six ganged up on him. Tristan emerged as the Alpha male, much to everyone’s joy, because Tristan doesn’t rule by brute force. “Some wolves just have that personality. Something about the way they carry themselves commands respect—they don’t have to prove their strength daily. Just like some human leaders, the pack just follows.”

The wolves contact with each other is overwhelmingly oral. And it strikes me that this is a strong distinction between cats and dogs. Cats engage in a nose to nose sniff in greeting, then perhaps a head butt or cheek rub and a good whiff of each other’s tushies, but wolves engage in mouth to mouth, well lathered greetings involving tongues and teeth. As I observed them at the park, it seemed that they were constantly in each others mouths.

In fact, they were also very intimate with my mouth. We were instructed to let the wolves kiss us, as this is a friendly way to interact with them. When we entered their pen, I positioned myself next to a large log. Kailani (the alpha female by virtue of being the only female in this pack) leapt onto the log and extended her long nose to sniff me. I avoided direct eye contact (very rude with cats and wolves), but offered her my face to sniff. Immediately her tongue was working its way all over my mouth, wet nose probing too. It was very gratifying, but I drew away as she became more excitable. Later, she approached me again, as I sat on a different log. This time her greeting was so enthusiastic that she nibbled on my lower lip before I pulled away. Her kisses left my lips lightly damp and very salty because of the dog treats she had just eaten.

Not being overly fond of being licked, it was clear that this is another reason I relate better to cats than dogs. A level of oral contact that I (frankly) consider highly excessive is a natural part of canine/lupus communication—and a very important one too. Yes, its true, cats engage in mutual grooming—and in fact, I even enjoy the exfoliated effect of a bit of cat grooming on my hand—but I don’t like being slobbered on.

I also found the wolves constant angling for position exhausting to watch. Most cats exist in fluid hierarchies that operate more like time-share arrangements—though occasional personality clashes may cause discord in a particular home. With the canine family, each pack has an institutionalized structure, which may have its own quirks from pack to pack, but none the less, the hierarchy is obvious and crucial to their social organization--very different from cats.

The ranking of the pack became very clearly, very quickly. Tristan stayed out of most of the wrangling, benevolent Alpha that he is, though occasionally he might step in to break up a conflict. The wrestling and ritualized (not dangerous) aggression between the 2nd and 3rd in the hierarchy—particularly with regard to Rudy, the omega wolf, was persistent. It was clear that humans wouldn’t stand a chance (as pack members) in an environment of constant testing.

What I learned seemed to indicate that both the positive reinforcement folks and the dominance theory folks have some insight into the nature of the dog/wolf. There is no question that wolves organize themselves in dominance hierarchies, and that, according to the many years of experience at Wolf Park, positive reinforcement is crucial to shaping their behaviors to be compatible with their human handlers. With dogs, that same hierarchy has been adjusted to include humans, and watching the wolves, it seems that being a benevolent alpha (with calm, assertive energy, like Tristan) is essential to managing a dog, but that positive reinforcement is clearly the key to unlock many beneficial behaviors in the human/canine relationship.

Did I get answers to the questions I had originally posed to the dog trainer? Sort of.

No, the alpha wolf doesn’t ‘discipline’ a pack member that messes up the hunt. In fact, 9 out of ten attempts to bring down prey fail. In a given pack, some of the older wolves won’t even participate in the hunting, though they do get to partake of the meat. An Alpha male isn’t necessarily the best hunter, he may have other qualities that make him the leader.

One of the great benefits of visiting Wolf Park is observing the Wolf/Bison demonstration. Of course, a wolf’s preferred prey is an elk or deer, but Bison is another prey that have been integral to the wolves existence. We watched two wolves attempt to snag a calf from a herd of Bison. Mostly, we watched the young ‘punk’ Bison males chase off the wolves. A wolf is no match for the powerful Bison, clearly to take down such a prey takes the power of a pack.

In their hunt, wolves are very different from humans, who usually prize the strongest member of a herd. Wolves test and watch for the weakest animal in the herd, they work to separate that animal from the herd often chasing the herd for long distances before finding their kill. This aerobic form of hunting is very different from the cat, who is a stalker and pouncer and rarely does more than a sprint to take down its prey—alone.

So what about the question of discipline? Wolves do discipline each other down the hierarchy, insisting on submission from lower ranking members. With their pups, they are very tolerant until the pups mature, then the adults will assert themselves mostly using their mouths to correct annoying behaviors.

I collected some of fur that wolves had shed. “Take it home to your cats, their reaction will be a lot of fun.” In true dog form, the fur gave off a pungent odor. The fur enthralled ycats, who chewed on it and played with it and reacted as though it were catnip.

As my friend observed, she said, “I bet it’s the smell of carrion, the wolves roll around in all sorts of gross smelling stuff don’t they?”

'Yes, they do,' I thought as I reached down to pet my own smelly dogs whose unwashed frontier spirits stand in such distinct contrast to the old world gentility of my sweetly, self perfumed cats.

Indiana State Prison: A few more thoughts

2007-06-01T04:30:00.000-07:00

Reading over my last post, I wanted to clarify a few things:

The prison population at Indiana State Prison is about 2,000 with 47 cats currently registered in the program. According to the staff, problems with cat safety are few and far between. It was clear to me that these cats are cherished by their people. The cats are pampered and well-tended, getting more attention than most housepets.

The inmates have been incredibly resourceful in providing a comfortable and safe environment for the cats. And their cats receive top priority in the men’s financial arrangements. As Bear put it, “There have been plenty of times when my locker was empty, because I had spent all the money I had on my cat. I can go without, but my cat never does and that kind of responsibility is the kind of challenge that makes you grow.”

From my interviews, it is clear that for all the problems and dangers of prison culture, at Indiana State Prison, the predominant culture is one that cherishes cats and the role that they play in the lives of the men that are incarcerated there.

Indiana State Prison, Michigan City, Indiana: A Better Place for Everyone

2007-05-31T18:50:00.000-07:00

Cats started the Indiana State Prison cat program. One by one, over the years, they arrived, entering the prison through the bars of the North Gate, depositing litters of kittens into the eager arms and hearts of the inmates there.

Indiana State Prison is a men’s maximum security prison. Before coming here, I had mentioned my impending visit in various conversations. Concerned cat lovers had fretted over the fate of cats confined with such a rough crowd. 70% of the offenders incarcerated at Indiana State Prison are there for murder.

However, during my interviews, I found that whatever the complexities of their relationships with other people, most of the offenders in the cat program have always been animal lovers. And their devotion to their cats goes beyond providing these felines with security. These men adore their cats. Again and again, they affirmed that the cats had changed their lives, calming their anger, offering them love and teaching them about the joys and sacrifices of responsibility.

“When I arrived here, I had nothing to lose.” Explains ‘Bear’. “When you have nothing to lose—you can get yourself into a lot of trouble. When I got my first cat, it changed me. There is something about holding a cat that makes your anger melt away. And if someone does something that upsets me—I have to remember my cat. I can’t keep my cat if I get into trouble.” He smiles wryly, reaching for little Ziggy. Bear’s last cat died recently from a pulmonary disorder. Bear was devastated, as were the other men on his floor. Because the cat died of natural causes, he was able to get a new kitten. Ziggy was sourced through a local animal shelter that works with the prison.

He and his cellmate, Tom (who also has a cat, Booger) had to ‘kitten-proof’ their cell. They took down the cat tree that they had constructed for Booger and the previous cat, concerned that the very energetic and inquisitive kitten might injure himself on it. They also built a makeshift ‘cage’ for Ziggy to keep him safe when Tom and Bear have to be away from the cell.

According to the rules, all the cats are supposed to be leased at all times, but the guards and administration are very lax about these regulations, observing closely and using their discretion in individual cases, always with an eye toward the safety of the cat.

The gorgeous, fluffly Milo tends to stay in Mark Booher’s cell. Though the cat’s outgoing, sociable personality draws many visitors to his cell. The showers are immediately adjacent to Mr. Booher’s cell and Milo will pad over to stay close to his person. “A while back, I had a court date so I was gone for 10 days. The last thing I did before leaving was to shower. Milo followed along. When I got back, everyone told me that whenever he heard the showers turned on, Milo would hop over to see if it was me. It was nice to know that he was missing me.” Mr. Booher continues, “I was really lucky to get a cat like Milo. He has softened me. In a place like this, you have to keep your front up all the time, but not with Milo.”

Mark’s mother has always been a cat lover. Being able to swap cat anecdotes helps him stay close to her. “If it wasn’t for Milo, there wouldn’t be much to talk about.” He gestures out at the prison. “The cat program is the best thing happening here. It gives my life a purpose.”

James Stone got his first cat ‘Jinx’ years ago, well before the prison formalized the cat program. An inmate in his building had found a cat in the yard and brought it to his cell. “James, something is wrong with this cat.” The inmate called on him because James had a reputation for caring about animals.- Examining the cat, James assured him that the cat was fine—just in labor. Both men attended the birth. As the kittens matured, the other man sold these highly prized companions to other offenders for hundreds of dollars. But the runt of the litter was twitchy, with a crooked tail, poor balance and patches of fur missing. “He was real pathetic and nobody wanted that kitten. The guy was asking $300 cash, then a week later he dropped the price to $200, then $100—then $50 in kit. Finally, he just wanted to get rid of it. I was afraid he might kill it, so I took it.” Like the tale of the Ugly Duckling, ‘Jinx’ grew to be the most handsome and popular cat of the litter. “Even Major Cabanaw loved him. I’d come back to my cell and the guys would tell me,’The Major was here, hanging out in your cell with Jinx.’”

Indeed, Major Cabanaw has a photo of James Stone and Jinx on the bulletin board in his office. “I am 100% in favor of the cat program.” He proclaims proudly. “I don’t know of any other corrections facility that has a program like this—but I would recommend it for all prisons. The bottom line—it gives the offenders a reason to behave. It changes them. I’ve got guys in here who caused all kinds of problems—then they got a cat and thats it—they settle down and haven't caused any trouble since.”

A Major is the highest ranking corrections officer in the system. Indiana State Prison is only supposed to have one major overseeing the internal workings of the prison. My guide for the day, Vince Morton, is also a Major, but he was promoted to an administrative position overseeing prisoner grievances and other special programs (like the cat program.)

I asked if Major Cabanaw had concerns for the safety of the cats. “Of course, we always want to ensure the safety of the cats, and the staff is great about keeping an eye out for them. But mostly, it’s the offenders keeping them safe. I have never once seen an offender kill his own cat. We screen them to be sure they have no history of animal abuse. But I’ll tell you this, there was a guy killed in here because he had spit soda pop onto someone else’s cat.”

Kris St. Martin, a corrections officer, tells me, “There was a guy here whose cat was killed a couple of years ago. The guys on the floor put out a contract on that cat killer. No one was ever able to figure out who had done it, but if they had, well, as I said, there was a contract on him…Mostly these guys are really protective of the cats and they all benefit from their presence. A cat will visit with the offenders in their neighboring cells, and it means a lot to all of them. Occasionally, we get someone who has issues with casts, so we move them out to another building.”

When I visited, James Stone was providing a bit of ‘kitty day-care’ for another offender's cat, while he looked after his own cat. “Yeah, I take care of this guy’s cat while he’s at work.” James smiles proudly. This seems to be a fairly common practice among the cat program participants.

Jinx passed away from natural causes. The local shelter helped James find a cat that look a lot like Jinx. “ ‘Jinxster’ has the white paws, which Jinx didn’t have, and his personality is different, but he is still a great cat.”

Jinxster walked right up to me and offered a friendly overture as James continued to speak. “I have a temper. One time some things happened and I was feeling pretty serious about doing something. I was ready to do something. But Raol put Jinxster in my arms, and I just held him until I didn’t need to do something anymore.”

Slightly sheepish, he claims, “During my first 15 years here, I was trouble. I was out there in the yard, just making trouble.” Vince Morton and Kris St. Martin nod their heads knowingly, they both knew him before his first cat. “But Jinx changed all that. I’m a different person now.”

He shows me the marvelous cat house he built for his cats from scrap lumber and other odds and ends. I am amazed at how intuitively these men have responded to their cats needs. All of them have responded to the cats desire for height by constructing shelves for the cats.

“They certainly are innovative and resourceful.” Vince Morton affirms. Cat toys made from found pigeon feathers, boxes, string, scraps of carpet and fabric retrieved from dumpsters. A faux lambs wool paint roller makes a terrific cat toy.

The Assistant Superindent of the prison tells me, “I know there are people out there who think the offenders shouldn’t have cats. Some people don’t want them to have TV or anything to do. But I would support this cat program at any prison. Those cats humanize the men. The cats give them unconditional love, for many of those guys, that may be the only love they have ever experienced in their lives. And the bottom line for me, is that my staff are safer because of it. Every day that none of my staff gets hurt—that’s a good day. Watching over these guys is a dangerous job. And anything that makes that job safer is good with me.”

The administration and the staff that I spoke with emphatically supported the program. “I’ve been here for over 25 years, and I have seen a lot of offenders transformed by the cats.” Vince Morton is the man who kindly organized my visit and took a morning away from his vacation time to show me around. “This is an important program, I’m glad for an opportunity to tell people about it.”

My last interview was with Michael Overstreet, on death row. The program was only recently opened to Death Row inmates. Mr. Overstreet applied to the program and six weeks later received a darling black kitten, whom his seventeen year old daughter named ‘Athena’.

The cat program is virtually cost free to the prison (and tax-payers!) The program participants are responsible for all the expenses relating to the cat, including food, litter and veterinary bills. They can earn that money through work programs or through financial support from their families. “My grandmother is a real cat person.” Mr. Overstreet explains, “I asked her if she would sponsor my cat and she agreed…This cat has brought me so much happiness and order to my days. I used to sleep all day and be up all night. But now I have responsibilities.” Athena runs around the cell investigating everything, pressing her head through the bars to inquire about me. I was able to enter all of the other prisoner’s cells, but the rules are different on Death Row. No one enters the prisoner’s cells unless the offender is handcuffed, for one thing.

With each interview, I shook hands with the offenders. Vince Morton had advised me, “Most of the staff don’t know the specifics of the crimes these guys have committed. I find that its better not to know. It helps you be fair with them, if you aren’t thinking about what they did—and you absolutely don’t want to bring it up.”

All of our conversations focused on the cats, the logistics of prison litterbox maintenance, the importance of the cat relationship, anecdotes and one cat’s preference for ice water (all the inmates on Milo’s floor keep his water bowl nicely chilled by constantly refreshing his ice—since he has expressed a preference for cold water.)

I hadn’t known what to expect, never having been to a prison before. My entire idea of this world was based on The Shawshank Redemption, The Green Mile and Prison Break. I had anticipated mind-games and all sorts of possible unpleasantness. Instead, I found these men to be humble, respectful and profoundly sincere in their humanity and love for their cats.

In spite of the setting and the non-specific knowledge that their presence here was caused by unthinkable actions, I left the prison surprisingly uplifted, being so impressed by the compassion of the staff and the transformational impact of the cats.

When I arrived at my hotel two hours away in Lafayette, Indiana and had unpacked, I sat at my computer to download the photographs I had taken of the prison cats. Curiousity overcame me and I did a google search for ‘Michael Overstreet’.

As soon as I read it, I knew I would not look into the pasts of my other acquaintances.

Mr. Overstreet’s crime is the stuff of every woman’s worst nightmare.

On a deeply spiritual level, I believe in compassion for all beings. I believe in the right to rehabilitation. I believe that the entire universe benefits every time a heart is opened to true love. I believe these convictions so deeply that I believe that no matter how heinous the crime, that as long as the animal is safe, this cat program is good and right, not just as a reward for present good behavior, but because learning to love selflessly—even when the soul learning that love is about to be extinguished—the ability to experience that kind of love lightens the world. It makes the world a better place for everyone.

No studies have been done examining the impact of prison animal programs on recidivism. But Superintendent Buss assured me that the data for prisoner conduct within the facility is conclusive, the cats make the prison a better environment. The whole program is incredibly inspiring regarding the potential for animals to heal humans.

But Vince Morton was right, there are some things that it is better not to know.

Tonight I sit with great discomfort about Michael Overstreet, who loves his little cat Athena, and his four children and the grandmother that is sponsoring his kitten. Michael Overstreet whose hand I shook and with whom I spoke about the vagaries of love.

Nashville, TN: Rehabilitation

2007-05-30T17:27:00.000-07:00

Cats have changed me. For as long as I can remember, I was a moody, brooding person with a natural attraction to tragedy and anxiety. But over the past few years, the deepening of my relationship with cats has opened my soul to joy. The love that I share with these graceful light-hearted creatures has allowed me to let go of old grudges and reconcile my relationship with my long estranged father. It has helped me to overcome my crippling fear of flying. I have also observed the calm and gentleness that they evoke in my emotionally turbulent daughter. I have great faith in the rehabilitative power of our relationships with cats.

Over the last two weeks, my marriage has crumbled. I have cried so much that I burst a blood vessel in my eye. During these dark days, I forgot much of what cats have taught me. My own dear cats, cuddly and kind as they are, seemed distant and beyond the breakdown of my family.

Last night, unable to concentrate on my more technical reading, I pulled an untouched book from my cat library. With the first few pages, I was flooded with feline joy. “A Cat Called Canoe” isn’t a work of literary genius. It is sometimes awkward , sometimes overwritten, but it is none the less full of one man’s exhuberant love of his comical, yet strikingly beautiful cat called Canoe.

Every page lifts me up, reminding me of the happiness a feline perspective has brought to my journey. His retelling of Canoe’s antics, his clever cat dialogue (putting English words into Canoe’s mouth) and the combined affections of the author and his wife for their cat all come together to make me laugh and remember all that cats have brought to my life. I am so happy to be reminded.

My Cat Odyssey began as a quest to learn more about cats and those that love them. In wanting to learn more about how to rehabilitate cats, I have discovered the cat's fascinating ability to rehabilitate people. I know that many humans have had similar experiences in their relationships with dogs, horses, dolphins, even elephants, otters and bees.

This is where my cat odyssey—my infinite love and curiousity for cats—starts to expand to an investigation of how animals are able to heal people.

At a prison in British Columbia, the local humane society began an experiment. They created a cat shelter in a nearby men’s prison, allowing the inmates to care for the cats, under the supervision of a qualified volunteer. That volunteer, Maggie, witnessed a transformation in many of the prisoners, as a result of their engagement with cats. Most strikingly of all was a young man named Roger. Roger had served 10 years in a maximum security men’s prison for armed robbery. During that time he had completely shut down. He wore a baseball cap over his eyes, blocking any facial contact. He refused to communicate with anyone. His body posture was tight and defensive. This young man was about to be released from his sentence and the warden was gravely concerned about his ability to function in society. So she recommended that he work in the cat program, hoping a miracle might occur before he was paroled.

Maggie was skeptical about bringing this young man into the program, but Roger surprised everyone. He had an incredible intuition for cats and their needs. He understood how to approach even the most frightened, reclusive cat and comfort it into friendliness.

During his time with the cats, Roger’s body language completely relaxed and he began to speak to the cats. Eventually, he spoke to other people.

By the time he was ready to be paroled, Roger had completely emerged ready to engage with the world—but he had also grown very attached to one of the cats at the shelter.

Maggie agreed to let Roger adopt the cat on the condition that he stayed straight on the outside, with a regular job. She believed that with the love of that cat supporting him, Roger would be able to rejoin society positively.

He checks in with her every month by phone. He is working and maintaining a home for himself and the cat, as well as volunteering at his local animal shelter. And he credits cats for completely transforming his life.

There are several cat programs buried in the corrections system in the United States. Tomorrow, I visit Indiana State Prison to interview 3 ‘offenders’, one on deathrow, all of whom share their cells with cats.

I’ve never visited a prison before and I am nervous. But that is overcome by an intense curiousity to understand what these cats mean to these men and how the cats have affected their lives and the way they look at the world.

A brief intermission

2007-05-18T20:31:00.001-07:00

Dear Friends--I am taking the next two weeks off from my blog to deal with family issues--but rest assured, my Cat Odyssey will continue. On May 31, I am spending the morning at the Indiana State Prison, a maximum security men's prison, interviewing the inmates that participate in the prison's cat program. Then I'm off to Wolf Park to learn all about wolves and dogs (to gain some perspective)...There are many, many more adventures to relay over the coming months, so I hope you will check back soon--in the meanwhile, please enjoy all of the material that I have posted over the past several months.

Sincerely,

Diana

P.S.
A quick update: Annie (of the Cajun Cats) has been adopted by a wonderful family. And I called Angel's Gate in New York and they reported that Evangeline is doing very well and has integrated nicely with the Feline Leukemia positive population at the hospice. (I will be visiting her there on June 9.)

Key West, Florida: Sacred Cats

2007-05-10T06:38:00.000-07:00

“You know about how cows are treated in India?” Gary prefaces—and I do remember my astonishment at Brahmin cows meandering the busy city streets and markets, cows settling down in the midst of intersections in New Dehli, while motorcycles and buses careen around them. “That’s how cats are in Key West. As though we have an unspoken agreement that they are to be treated as sacred. I don’t think there is a cat on the island that goes hungry. Key West is a cat culture.”

As the ‘cat manager’ of the Island City House Hotel, Gary stands among the island’s cat caretakers. Guests seek out the hotel because of its friendly feline reputation. “I saw the cats on your website and its why I decided to stay here.” He is often told.

Though Gary does point out the most of the B&Bs and Inns on the island with a garden setting also feature resident cats. Usually, the cats wander onto the property and decide to stay, basking in the attention of the guests. “Its almost like these tourists are on safari or something, as though there weren’t any domestic cats in New Jersey or Connecticut, the way the guests fawn over the cats.” Gary marvels.

And indeed, in those places, there are few opportunities for such casual yet intimate relations with cats not in your keeping.

Perhaps cats provide the great allure of the Hemingway House. Their polydactyl toes and literary connections creating the cornerstone of the museums reputation, such that the USDA has actually determined the residence to be a zoo, needing all the appropriate permits, inspections and fees. Imagine—a domestic cat zoo!

The house itself is underwhelming, one stop on the long literary journey of Earnest Hemingway, but the appearance of a stretched out ginger tabby across a cordoned off bed once belonging to the master of macho delighted the entire guided tour.

As our group strolled through the gardens, our guide dribbled cat treats from his pockets, leading miniature tigers from the scrubs And the crowd waited eagerly to view a cat drinking from the old urinal that Hemingway had claimed from his old haunt, Sloppy Joe’s, when the bar was moved. His second wife, Pauline, had transformed the embarrassing article by attaching Spanish tiles to the sides and setting an enormous clay urn atop the urinal, creating a fountain, which keeps the cats supplied with fresh running water and our guide assured us that if we were patient enough we might even get to watch a cat stand on its hind legs, resting its front paws high on the vase to drink the fresh water that slides down the sides.

At the Real Key West Gallery on Caroline Street, 2 orange tabbies have taken up residence in the tiny garden that separates the gallery from the street. They routinely entice passersby into the gallery. “Its my job to sell the art, but there is no question that the cats help bring in the buyers.” The curator laughs.

There are even resident cats in the courtyard of the Key Lime Shoppe. What could be more Key West than savoring a slice of Key Lime Pie with an authentic Key West Cat!

I ventured to Mallory Square in keen anticipation of seeing the infamous ‘player’ and cat trainer, Dominick, The Cat Man. Samantha had told me that he has a genuine, loving relationship with his cats—and that they jump through hoops of fire and perform other daring feats.

Disappointment! Dominick is on vacation in his native France and won't return for another week! In his stead, however, around the corner, I stumbled upon Dominick’s alter ego, ‘the cut rate catman’, a bumbling drunk who feeds a raggedy band of friendly ferals every day at sunset.

For a dollar thrown in the tip jar , he may coerce on of the cats to sit on a piece of cardboard and through broken teeth and an unsteady swagger, he’ll crow about his rigorous employment schedule and how he spends three to six hours a day tending these cats in spite of the other compelling demands on his time.

The precise nature of his relationship with these cats isn’t clear, though they do crowd around his feet anticipating supper.

Back at my lodging, The Blue Parrot Inn, which also boasts of resident cats on its website, the delightful Tortie named Truffles greets me on the front porch. She invites me to join her on the white wicker furniture and snuggle as we enjoy the breeze through the lush tropical garden together.

Round Lake Public Library, Illinois: One Handed Typing

2007-05-05T19:06:00.000-07:00

For centuries, cats were banished to barns and backyards, rarely invited to the hearth. As our relationship has changed, we have gladly welcomed cats into our homes (and our beds.) But what about bringing them to work? (And I’m not talking about tele-commuting!)

Challenging, to be sure, but the rewards bring humor and humanity into the workplace.

Felines Paige, Turner and MisterE (mystery) were not readily welcomed into the staff rooms of the Round Lake Public library, as the reference librarian put it, “As long as I’m not expected to kiss them, I can pretty much ignore them.”

Another staffer quipped, “I am not a cat person. I am a dog person. I don’t have anything against them, but I would never have a cat in my home.” This said as she rubs and ruffles an enthralled Paige, who purrs and rolls in response to the expert touch.

“I can’t have cats at home, because my kids are allergic, but their allergies are low-level, so they love coming to work with me and having a chance to play with the cats. They wouldn’t have any other opportunity to have that relationship.” Another staffer chimes in.

“Our assistant director loves cats too, but his wife is allergic, so this is where he gets to enjoy cats.” Explains Elizabeth Crane, the library director. "And the rest of us just love them. They give the staff something to discuss, when one of the cats is doing something especially cute, intranet emails will fly around the building alerting the staff not to miss the moment. We swap anecdotes about the cats. And when someone is having a bad day, spending a few minutes with the cats provides private comfort. That’s why their official job is Staff Morale Boosters.”

Across the country, there are cats in public, private and university libraries. A cat’s exquisite silence makes it the perfect resident among rows and rows of quiet books. But not all library directors or their boards agree. Usually the presence of a cat tells you a lot about the library director, who truly decides the cat’s fate.

In some libraries the cats are free to roam the entire building. “We considered letting the cats spend time in the circulation area, we were going to attach a magnetic strip on their collars to trip the sensors if they wandered out or someone tried to take them.” But Elizabeth and her colleagues shared concerns about public complaints and allergies—along with all of the other logistics involved. Ultimately they decided it would be best to keep the cats in the staff rooms, though they do come out to visit for special events.

The first cat, Paige, was found outside the library by the President of the local Friends of the Library organization. Just a tiny kitten, she melted the hearts of the cat loving librarians. “Can we keep her, please?” They implored their new director (Elizabetth had only been on the job for two days!) Friends of the Library offered to cover all the food, litter and veterinary expenses for the cat.

Elizabeths response: “Okay, but if we are going to keep her, then we have to get another, because I believe cats belong in pairs.”

Enter Turner.

Things went so well that a third homeless kitten was added months later, the lovable MisterE.

Vertical scratching posts hang from office doors, an enormous cat tree dominates the staff entrance. Cat toys are scattered about and whenever MisterE poops there is a scramble to remove his potent, fuming solids from the litterbox.

"We’ve all learned to type one handed when one of the cats wants to be held.” Elizabeth laughs.

A cat’s position in the library lacks long-term security, a change in library directors can predicate a change in policy. Usually, one of the cat loving staff will end up adopting the feline residents.

At one library in New England, the controversy over the library cat became so heated that a major donor threatened to revoke her pledge of over a million dollars if the cat was removed from the library (clearly a dedicated cat lover!). A handful of citizens insisted that the cat be removed from public property.

Battle lines for and against the cat were drawn around town. After a court ruling , the cat was rehomed and the library lost its fuzzy companion, as well as a significant donation.

Imagine a culture where the comings and goings of cats are embraced. Where the prevailing ethic combines aesthetic appreciation for the cat and increased compassion for their well-being. An office cat, a store cat, a library cat, they all challenge the sterility of the workplace and perhaps that is good.

If the staff accepts the cats, does that change the dynamics of office politics? One librarian at Round Lake said, “I don’t really like cats, but these guys arrived as babies and who can resist a baby. I fell in love with them as babies and I still love them now.”

Wow! Love in the workplace, the ability to open hearts without threat of sexual misconduct. Out of 42 staff members at Round Lake, the vast majority cherishes the presence of Paige, Turner and MisterE.

Chicago, Illinois, Samantha’s Amazing AcroCats: Scaring Off Men and other Entertainments

2007-05-04T09:48:00.000-07:00

“If a man is bothering you in a bar, just tell him you live with twenty cats—then see how fast he runs away.” Sitting in her living room amidst multiple white cats and orange cats, as well as props from her performing cat show, Samantha’s thirty-something sassiness and trim figure infer that she has plenty of opportunities to scare off unwanted men. “The problem is, of course, that as much as I love cats, I love men too. So when I first invite someone over, I make sure there is only 1 orange cat and one white cat in the living room. The rest of the cats stay in the back room. That way I don’t have to keep track of which cats I had out. When I like a guy, I try to ease him into my cat scene."

Why so many cats of the same color? Stunt doubles for film and television.

“My favorite animals to work with are cats and raccoons. Two animals that most trainers can’t stand—they are a real challenge, with minds of their own, if they don’t feel like doing a trick, if the energy isn’t right, they just aren’t going to do it. Then I have to improvise.”

It is hard to imagine her cats being reluctant to do anything.
As we move through the apartment into her kitchen, a mass of orange and white cats jump onto their bandstand. Voluntarily they pluck at their guitar strings, pump the drumsticks in a steady rhythm and bang on the keyboards—experimental music indistinguishable from reknown composer John Cage’s highly strategized and symphonized plonking.

‘Tuna’ jumps into her spot at the tip jar and taps it suggestively. “Tuna is the star of my shows. She loves training and performing. Can’t stand other cats and doesn’t like being touched but she is a reliable performer.”
Like many trained animals, Tuna’s default behavior is the first trick she learned, ringing a bell. “When we are on stage, we get a lot of comedy from me trying to get Tuna to turn on the light or jump through a hoop, but instead she returns to the bell and keeps ringing it and looking at me expectantly. I’ll try hiding it out of the way, but she still goes after that bell.
The audience loves watching the cats make a fool of me.” Samantha laughs at herself, while Tuna purrs through her entire spontaneous performance, bell ringing, hurdle jumping and light switching tricks.

This cat loves to work.

And so does Bugles. Samantha puts the young black cat in the other room while Tuna is showing off her stuff (she’s a diva and does not appreciate sharing the spotlight.) Bugles is climbing the screen and vocally insisting that he get his turn. “Bugles saved my show once. All of the other cats had called a last minute strike—but Bugles is a union buster—and he didn’t care. He performed the entire show.”

When Bugles emerges from the sidelines, he shows off his skateboarding skills. He hops on the board and rolls down the ramp, then pushes off his hind paw to keep the board rolling. He can’t get enough of this game. “All my cats love to work. That is one of the themes I touch on in my shows, Cats love work. You can extinguish unwanted behaviors in the home by working on these kinds of tricks with your cat—they love having the mental stimulation of figuring this stuff out. You end up with a much more highly interactive cat—and its a lot of fun. And most of all your cat won’t be so bored.”

We talk about some of the other performing cats shows around the country, the Moscow Cats Theatre, Gregory Popovich in Las Vegas, the Catman in the Florida Keys. “Oh yeah, I tellin’ ya, that Catman, he’s a player. After his shows, women are lining up to go home with him. The funny thing is—when I do a show, even in my leather cat suit, with the kitty ears and all—not once has a guy waited around to hit on the crazy cat lady.” It is clear that Samantha uses her abundant sex appeal and wry humor to keep her cat show going. When she is on stage and one of her cats refuses to perform, she takes over the stage with her stand up routines.

Flashback, October. 2005: Autumn Comes

2007-05-02T23:24:00.000-07:00

The frosty nights deliver warm bodies into my bed.

I sleep on my side, feet buried in Ben’s silky undercoat.

Helen claims the spot by my head—the others don’t dare to challenge her. Wild cat—barely able to tolerate human contact, but so eager to be near me. Radiating heat, she settles inches from my ear.

Gussie finds the lull between my ribs and hip. She kneads the comforter, rumbling. Still a kitten, her tiny blades lance the down and pierce my flesh. When I can’t stand any more, I pluck her off, setting her next to my belly. She folds into a ball and sleeps, nose tucked under paws.

On an occasional night, Ben will wile his way into my daughter’s bed. His amorous attention wakes her. He tries to nurse on her hair. She calls “Mama, get Ben out of my room!”

She is seven. I tell her. “He thinks you are his mommy. You can’t imagine how much he loves you.”

She casts my words aside, “I know Mom. But he’s bothering me.”

He returns to my bed and flops at my feet. Second choice, but none the less, I am blessed. Such a cat! Divinely handsome. Soft as a bunny. Enjoys small children. Tolerates all manner of nonsense.

Some nights, when he is deeply asleep, I reach for him, pulling him into my arms. Some nights, he will stay there. Then he sleeps under my chin, but only on my right side. Because Helen is on my left.

Helen* does everything with her claws out. She is a sheet shredder. Cross-eyed, obese, and very nervous. I rescued her from a gutter in downtown Los Angeles when she was just weeks old and filthy. I washed her seven times before the water ran clear. She loves me beyond measure, then she bites me.

There are nights when I sleep away from home. On those nights, my body longs for even the anticipation of little feet. Midnight’s amorous visitors. The tentative pressure of paw on quilt. Cat weight. Cat warmth. My heart swells at the thought of it.

When Dorothy was alive, she spurned me in the summers, “Oh for goodness sake, it is just too hot!” Green eyes regarded me with glassy exasperation as she wriggled from my reach. Then pink tongue would extend for a thorough grooming, purging any trace of my sweat.

On those sweltering nights, she preferred to stretch out against the cool expanse of hardwood floors. I was jealous, but I knew the change of season would bring her back to me—and it did without fail. Then she could easily be persuaded to nuzzle on my pillow. Burying my face in her gray bristle, I breathed in her dry sweet-grass scent and drifted into happy dreams.

For thirteen years, she claimed the spot by my head. Arriving with a purr like a kiss. A gracious acknowledgement of her affections for me, its cadence gradually eased by encroaching slumber.

Even when it was too hot for her on my pillow, none of the other cats dared to trespass.

Then one night, after weeks of hopeful attempts to repair Dorothy’s failing kidneys, she woke me one last time. She was struggling to rise off of her spot. I lifted her and took her to the cat litter, but when I gently set her there, she fell over. I picked her up and held her tattered frame in my arms.

It was three in the morning and I had already taken her to the emergency vet in the preceding hours. They wanted her to stay in their incubator. But her howling cries told me that she needed to return to my bed. They told me to set her on several towels on top of a heating pad. I did this, and then lay next to her. Even through the illness, she still smelled like the first rainfall landing on an arid desert.

I cradled her the dark kitchen, crying, not knowing what to do. Then suddenly, she was gone.

Nasturtiums and a small granite cat mark her grave. At the burial, my three-year-old daughter assured me, “Dorothy has reincarnated, Mama. I know. She is a lioness in Africa now. She is very happy.”

That night, I slept alone on a wet pillow and dreamed of Africa.

The next night, Ben came. He curled the small of his back into my neck, just as Dorothy had. He smelled like her too—scent of the heat soaked savannah. His fur absorbed my tears without complaint. Each night, for two weeks, he returned. A surrogate for Dorothy.

Then he returned to my feet. And Helen ascended to her current domain.

Charles's Forever Home

2007-04-28T16:06:00.000-07:00

Lara, of Basha's Fund, featured Charlie on Petfinder.com--and was overwhelmed with responses about all four kittens. So many people were interested that, as she put it, "We could place them with just the four-star adopters."

And that is just what happened for Charlie! He went to his new home two days ago, and here is an update note from his new parents, along with a few photos they sent:

Dear Jenny and Lara,
This is Michael and Amanda and we are writing to give you the update on Charles Gimli (we updated his name a little). We are loving him and he is loving life. He and Zephyr are becoming best friends, although I think the big kitty is a little intimidating some times. We are keeping a good eye on them though. He is eating well and using the box perfectly. He is enjoying all the toys and the romping with a new friend. He is very sociable and friendly. Everyone who has visited him thinks he's awesome. We are attaching some pictures of the first day and half. Thank you so much for setting us up with the kitty of our dreams.

Little Charlie has come a long way from wandering the parking lot in Lafayette, LA. (See The Lafayette, LA: Cajun Cats post for the beginning of his story.)

P.S. I find it so interesting how much Zephyr looks like Chance (one of the adult cats I rescued from Lafayette.)

Cedarhill Sanctuary, Caledonia, Mississippi: Feline Self-Determination

2007-04-21T18:37:00.000-07:00

Without a doubt, Cedarhill Sanctuary, in Caledonia, Mississippi has created the most appealing residence for rescued cats that I have experienced thus far.

Kay McElroy, the founder and director of Cedarhill, explained, “Free will is the key. These cats all get to make a choice about where and how they live. I respect them as individuals.” Her instincts helped to create a paradise for discarded domestic cats from all over the country and even the world. She took in 53 Katrina cats, but also accepted seven cats from Greece, along with dozens of others that needed refuge and a good home each with its own unique history.

She started as a rescue for Big Cats (Lions and Tigers, as well as Cougars)—and there are plenty of those too. ”There is no question, people’s interest in the Big Cats helps fund this sanctuary for over 200 domestic cats, as well. Not to mention the dogs and horses.”

Kay stresses, “This is not a zoo. Zoos are for people. I am very selective about who gets to visit Cedarhill, because this is a sanctuary, it is all about the animals here.”

Essentially, there are four different options for the Cedarhill domestic cats. The Senior House for older cats and those with special medical needs (though there are also a couple of younger, healthy cats that insisted on moving in and have settled nicely with their elders.) The Senior house includes a large kitchen for meal preparation, dish sterilization and load after load of laundry. The 50 cats live in four large rooms, a screened in porch and a serene enclosed backyard.

The next option is a ½ acre outdoor enclosure complete with trees to climb, a play fort, cubbies, and four climate controlled cottages. All 150 cats are free to roam the entire enclosure and sleep wherever they please. In two of the cottages, the sleeping arrangements are more individual (cat beds rest on shelves that create divisions of space), and in two they are more communal (essentially beds, where 20 cats will curl up in one big heap.) The more independent cats tend to prefer the cottages with the shelves, while other cats like the cuddle cottages.

Some cats don’t adjust well to communal life on such a grand scale and they are divided into small groupings of 4 or 5 cats with their own cottage and enclosure, separate from the large group. Kay has only had two cats that had a violent response to sharing space with others. For one, his sociability issues were resolved with anti-depressant medication. With another, he needed his own private enclosure. “In truth, I think he just likes being on his own. I tried reintroducing him to the large enclosure after a few years, but he was very clear that he wanted his own space. He is the only cat I have had that is willing to fight to the death. But when he is alone, he has a very sweet disposition. They are all different and I try to respect that.”

Some cats wander the larger property, making their homes in heated cubbies. While some others prefer to stay in the main house with Kay.

Cedarhill doesn’t use any volunteers. All of the staff are paid professionals, selected for their love of animals and willingness to treat all of the animals with the utmost care and compassion. Cleaning of the interior spaces happens twice a day, litter boxes are scooped three times a day (and there are a lot of litter boxes), cats are fed and medicated as needed, and all of the staff also spend quality time with the cats. “Sometimes, I will just lay on the mattress with the cats and let them all love on me at once.” Says the staffer who works with the Senior cats five days a week.

As Kay and I entered the Senior House, about 20 cats trotted over to greet us, all rubbing heads against each other in shared excitement. I took off my sweater, as it was very warm indoors and one dottering kitty obliged me by depositing a good dose of his scent on it. My bad. The group radiated good health, with plush coats and bright eyes, only when I stroked their spines did I feel those tell-tale protrusions that give away a cat’s advancing age. Otherwise I would have thought they were much younger. “I feed them Felidae. My holistic vet recommended it highly and I think it shows in their coats.”

We received a similar greeting when we entered the large enclosure, a swell of head butting, allo-grooming cats hurried to greet us. We visited each cottage and Kay greeted each cat by name, laughing about the ‘orange mafia’—a particularly clickish group of orange tabbies that band together through thick and thin. In the red cottage, Kay points out a grey tabby, “She is quite a character, she always has a big, black boyfriend. This one is her third. With each one, she lets him sleep with her and attend to her with grooming and companionship, then suddenly one day, she’ll spurn him. Doesn’t want anything more to do with him, and she’ll pick another black tom to hang with. The previous one lasted for three years, now she ignores him.”

As we sit in the red cottage, several low level spats occur. An odd hiss here and there, an occasional bat of a sheathed claw. “Do these encounters ever escalate to a full scale fight?” I ask.

“Only with the two cats I mentioned before—one was cleared up with medication, the other can’t be with other cats. But otherwise, no, just the occasional stand-off like what you have witnessed.”

“And how do you respond?”

“Usually, I really don’t have to. They are communicating ‘I want this sleeping spot.’ ‘Move over’ ‘Let me eat in peace’.”

I wondered if some of the escalating aggression cases I have seen are really a three way interaction. Cat hisses at cat, person reacts with extreme concern or scolding which escalates the pattern and inadvertently encourages repetition. Perhaps a more hands off approach would be much better, except in the most extreme cases. Here are a 150 cats that interact constantly without fighting. Kay understands that hissing is just a feline way of saying “Back off” and doesn’t warrant a scolding or human intervention, perhaps that is part of why it works here.

For more information about Cedarhill Animal Sanctuary please visit their website at www.cedrhill.org

Nashville, TN: Attachment

2007-04-18T18:23:00.000-07:00

Tommorow I take the kittens to their new foster mom. Jenny Towle has lots of experience and is a wonderful woman. But I really want to keep these babies. I am convinced that they are the sweetest, most delightful kittens that were ever born. They radiate confidence and affection. So snuggly and loving. I can barely stand it. I made every argument and plea possible to my husband who vetoed them as additions to our family. Part of me knows that he is right, to add four more would be too much. But when I look at their trusting little faces, they are so much more than a number.

If it weren’t for my husband, I might be in danger of being a well intentioned cat hoarder. My mind is feverish with awful images of the terrible fates that could befall my beloved little kittens: Nola, Kate, Charles and Annie. Perhaps I could make a more persuasive argument in favor of keeping them if I wasn’t about to leave for two months.

These are their photos and the descriptions I sent to Lara of Basha’s Fund/Doodlebug Manor, who will be placing them:

Cajun Kittens
Born on the Bayou, these four kittens are bold and cuddly (not a scaredy cat in the bunch!) They are happy to sleep in a pile or curl up on your shoulder, nuzzling into your neck. Each one is confident and affectionate—the purrfect combination. If you are looking for a snuggly cat that will come when you call—don’t miss out on these darlings.

Nola (for New Orleans Louisiana)
Nola is a delightful black and grey classic tabby. She has the most reserved nature of the litter, sweet and petite.

Annie (named after the cook at the Creole house bed and breakfast in New Orleans) An adventurous youngster (and my eight year old daughter’s favorite because of her loving personality.) This fluffy gray kitten will probably have a medium length coat.

Kate (named after Kate Chopin author of The Awakening) mostly tabby with a touch of tortie in her face, Kate is my favorite for her smart sparky character. She comes running when I enter the room and will scale any bedsheet to snuggle up under the covers with you at night.

Charles (named after St. Charles avenue in New Orleans): The only boy of the litter, he is an exceptionally sweet cat. He also comes running when he sees me and purrs the instant I pick him up. His fluffy coat will probably be medium length.
I don’t know how rescuers do this, again and again, raise up and love cats just to hand them over with hearts full of hope to relative strangers. I love these kittens, but right now I can barely look at them knowing that we will be separated tomorrow.

New Orleans: ARNO Feline Enrichment

2007-04-18T09:59:00.000-07:00

It’s early in the morning, before anyone else is up and about at Animal Rescue New Orleans. Jackie, the kennel manager, gave me a key the previous evening so that I could collect three cats that I would be transporting to the Wags and Whiskers rescue in Middle Tennessee. All three have delightful personalities and will have a much easier time finding homes out of New Orleans.

Flicking on the lights in the office, all of the familiar feline faces perk up. I have made a difference here, small perhaps, but many of these cats are different than they were when I first arrived. They move to the front of their cages, ears cupped forward, “What do you have for us today?” They seem to ask.

On the walls above the cats are cheerful posters that another volunteer (a first grade teacher) had lettered and illustrated. They provide guidelines for the ARNO Feline Enrichment program.

When I arrived at ARNO two weeks ago, Robin, the shelter director took me into her office. “I know that our conditions here are not ideal. I hope you understand that we are doing the best we can.”

“I’m not here to judge, just to help however I can.”

“I really do want the best for our cats—if you have any ideas for how we can improve things for them, please let me know.” She was in earnest. “There are no egos here, just a lot of work and good will.”

I spent my first few days cleaning cages, feeding cats and observing. Many of the cats rarely lifted their heads or acknowledged me as I moved around them. Living in cages is a standard arrangement for cats in most shelters. Some shelters overcome the issues of depression by maintaining a cageless environment, which can have its own challenges, but cages are the most common arrangement—and the cats get bored, and that boredom leads to depression.

ARNO was doing an excellent job feeding, medicating and keeping the cats in sanitary conditions—but unlike the dogs who at least get walked a few times a day, most of the cats only received occasionally stroking or a passerby would wiggle their fingers in the cage for some of the younger cats.

My first action was to order some appropriate toys from my favorite vendors. The Cat Dancers (basically a wire with bits of cardboard on the end, see www.CatDancer.com ) were the perfect toy for caged cats, because they are very inexpensive (especially because the company has special pricing for shelters), and it is easy to poke the flimsy wire into the cage and bounce the end about. The cats LOVED it—essentially, it’s like a cricket or little fly had just happened upon their cage. The erratic motion caught the attention of all the cats in the room when I introduced the first Cat Dancer—suddenly something was happening!

People often overlook a cat’s need to hunt. We are so caught up in feeding them and giving them cozy places to sleep that we forget that they are supposed to spend 8 hours a day awake: exploring, hunting, grooming, eating and playing.

I purchased Cat Dancers for every cage; we taped the cat’s names onto the wire to help prevent the spread of any germs. The morning that the Dancers arrived, 20 high school students from Michigan were volunteering—the front cat room sprang to life as each student engaged a cat in play.

Another great toy for the caged cats is called Da Bird (a fishing pole type toy with a special swivel before the feathered bob—when it is lassoed over head it looks and sounds like a real bird, see www.go-cat.com). I purchased several of these for the different cat rooms and instructed the volunteers to spend 10 minutes whirling the toy around prior to providing the cats with their daily wet food.

According to Temple Grandin, in her book “Animals in Translation”, studies show that the part of the brain formerly referred to as the ‘pleasure center’ is actually a seeking circuit. In other words, for all animals (including humans) anticipation is the most pleasurable state of mind. The brain of an animal lights up with activity when it is anticipating food, the behaviors of anticipation are happy and excited, once the food actually arrives, the thrill is over. (This explains the phenomena of shop-a-holics—as it is the anticipation that provides the rush, rather than the actual acquisition.)

By whirling and plopping and playing with Da Bird before mealtime, the cats get stimulated on two fronts. First, their hunting instincts are triggered, I was asked if it isn’t mean to ‘tease’ the cats like that since Da Bird is outside the cage, but I reminded everyone that cats are not aerobic hunters, most of their hunting time is spent stalking—so this experience very much approximates the real experience of hunting (on the other hand, the cats are having physical interaction with the Cat Dancers so that urge is also being satisfied.) The routine of this ‘hunt’ before feeding also stimulates their seeking circuit and helps build up the anticipation of the wet food meal. 10 minutes isn’t a lot but it is an easily doable piece of the enrichment program.

The key to the ARNO enrichment plan working was that it had to be 1) inexpensive 2) not time consuming 3) easy to communicate.

The posters on the wall explained the use of Da Bird and the Cat Dancers. They also explained a schedule of self-starting toys to introduce to the cage each day.

Here is the key to ARNO Feline Enrichment: Novelty and Motion. Motion is exciting for cats—thus the Cat Dancer bouncing and Da Bird fluttering. When I first arrived at ARNO several of the cages had a strand of Mardi gras beads hanging from the top of the cage, occasionally a stuffed animal or a ping pong ball graced the floor of the cage. Most looked like they were long time residence of the cage and the cats were ignoring them.

Novelty is interesting—it is interesting to all animals. Yes, cats don’t like change, but they do like variety in their hunting experiences. So I put together this schedule:

Monday
Pipe Cleaners: Attach three pipe cleaners together, and then wind them around a finger so that they form a bouncy spiral. Attach one end to the top of the cage, so they hang down for batting around. Also wind a single piper cleaner around your finger and toss into the cage.

Tuesday
Feathers: Twist part of the pipe cleaners from Monday around a couple of feathers so that there are feathers hanging down in the cage, and attached to the loose pipe cleaner also.

Wednesday
Mardi gras Beads: Remove any left over feathers and discard. Attach a strand or two of plastic Mardi gras beads to the hanging pipe cleaners (be sure the strand is cut so that it is not longer a loop.)

Thursday
Treat Balls: Remove all pipe cleaners and Mardi gras beads from the cage (discard the pipe cleaners. Wash and disinfect the Mardi gras beads for reuse next week.) Using the really cheap plastic Easter eggs (the ones that pop open easily), drop a few highly desirable cat treats inside the egg, then close it and toss it into the cage.

Friday
Catnip Pompoms and Corks: Remove the plastic eggs from the cages (wash and disinfect for reuse next week) be sure that the Pompom balls and Corks have been marinated in good potent catnip (add a little more to the container if necessary.) Toss a couple of pompoms and a wine cork into the cage.

Saturday
Paper Bags and ping pong balls: Remove the pompoms to be washed and disinfected and dried for reuse next week (if possible), discard the wine corks. Fold the top of a paper bag back so that it holds the bag in an open position. Toss a ping pong ball into the bag and place in cage. Be sure to remove any extra beds to make room for play.

Sunday
Empty toilet paper and paper towel rolls: Discard yesterday’s paper bags and remove and wash the Ping-Pong balls for reuse next week. Toss an empty toilet paper roll and an empty paper towel roll into the cage.

Each day the former items were removed and replaced with the new items. Some cats would engage with their toys throughout the day, others would spend 5 to 15 minutes investigating the objects and then ignore them for the rest of the day. But the vast majority of cats were interested—even if only briefly. Combining these items with the Action of the interactive toys began to bring the place to life.

The program is self-reinforcing, because all of the regular volunteers and the staff noted the positive changes in the cats—some of which were quite remarkable. Like Nunny, the ginger tabby with a terrible skin condition. Day after day he slept in his hammock, ignoring the world around him; he recoiled when anyone tried to pat him, looking scared and miserable. But several days of play turned his little personality around. He loved batting at the Cat Dancer and the pipe cleaners in his cage. Even when another cat was playing, he would jump out of his hammock to watch.

I reminded everyone that it was okay to skip an occasional day—when there aren’t enough volunteers to do the enrichment, it can wait for the next day. It is important that the regiment not be too strict, because there are days when there aren’t enough people to do the extras. But Robin, Anastasia and Jackie all committed to making ARNO feline enrichment continue to happen, even after I left.

The last addition to the program was the ARNO Kitty-Cat Playground (where the ARNO cats play.) The ARNO staff had built a secure enclosure within the warehouse. Robin’s vision is that eventually it will contain several pens of seven cats each, where volunteers can enter and play with the cats (which can be awkward when the cats are in small cages.) In the interim, there are several cat cages in that enclosure. I gathered up all the random scratching posts and other cat structures that had been donated to ARNO. Jackie provided a nice large rug. I scattered the structures about, then let six cats out of their cats (locking the gate to the enclosure). We played for hours with the pole toys, cats jumping onto structures, scratching at the posts, leaping and bounding after Da Bird. I tried to make the space comfortable and inviting so that volunteers would be drawn to spend some time there, playing with the cats.

New Orleans: Contemplating the Purr

2007-04-17T20:00:00.000-07:00

4am on my last night in New Orleans and I can't sleep. The Maine Coon from the Lafayette animal control, Chance, jumps onto the bed, he plops down next to me, fidgets and adjusts, sighs, rests his head on his paws and mellows into a throaty purr.

One of the great alures of the cat, the purr happens when a cat is happy, but it also happens when cats are scared. What a conundrum--why the same response to such contrasting feelings?

The kittens run to my feet as I stand at the sink or sit at my computer. They mew and purr, rubbing their tiny fluffy bodies against me until I pick them up and then their purr accelerates.

Yesterday, I read that the Purr actually acts as a soliciation for contact. Which explains the contradictions 'purrfectly.'

Purring can mean: "Oh yes! Please keep rubbing me like that!:
or "I'm just so happy to be near you."
or "Hold me, I'm scared."
Or in the case of the kittens (just like my 3 year old daughter says with her arms in the air and her body pressed against my legs): "Mommy, uppy me!"

The purr is powerful and soothing communication between mamma cat and her babies. The mother and kittens purr as they nurse--again a communication that invites contact "Here I am babies, cuddle up, eat and stay warm." The kittens respond with their own contact seeking and maintaining purr.

I explained all of this to my mother who responded, "So then, what does it mean when they stop purring?" In my experience, it usually means they have fallen asleep.

New Orleans: Angels

2007-04-12T18:04:00.000-07:00

I felt terrible leaving Evangeline at ARNO for the night. Set up in a clean cage, the way she watched me spoke of yet another abandonment. Why are you leaving me here? She implored. “Evangeline, I love you and I promise you that I will take care of you.” I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I knew that I needed to keep her separated from the kittens and ‘Chance’. I stroked her fur and cried. This pretty, loving manx should have been easy to place, but the disease that has invaded her body is a scarlet letter that warns off adoption. What would I do with her? The weight of this responsibility was overwhelming.

Because of her feline leukemia positive status, I couldn’t mix her with my cats at home, I just couldn’t expose them to that level of risk, especially my beloved Henry with his FIV positive status. ARNO doesn’t euthanize feline leukemia cats and the thought of extinguishing this little life was too painful to bare.

On Tuesday morning, I called Jodi, a woman in Nashville who provides a home for cats with Feline Leukemia. But she didn’t have room for Evangeline. “I never planned to be a leukemia rescue. But several years ago, I was working with the Purr Factory rescue group. I had about 30 cats here, when I brought home a pregnant female. She gave birth almost immediately, so I hadn’t had a chance to do anything. Turned out she had feline leukemia, and of course, so did her kittens. By the time I found out, it was too late. The disease swept through the population. You can’t imagine the guilt I felt as one cat after another died in my arms. Those months were like living in hell. I loved those cats and my carelessness was responsible for losing them. In the end, I decided to do leukemia rescue. I needed something good to come from all of that loss. I had learned so much about the disease and I wanted to do something—something good to make up for my mistake.”

10 of the original 30 cats in her population had died from Leukemia. Jodi’s number’s reflect the statistics given to me by Dr. Norris, the ARNO vet. “Of the cats that test positive for Feline Leukemia, I see about 1/3 that die within a year or so from secondary infections, 1/3 are carriers without symptoms, and 1/3 end up reverting to negative—their bodies beat the virus.” He uses several remedies, including one called Staph Protein A to help with the reversal.

Jodi’s current leukemia cats seem to live at least 4 years. “I use a lot of holistic remedies, immune boosters etc. All of my leukemia kitties are so loving and friendly. I love them.”

After my phone call with Jodi, I went to the dining room at the hotel. A young law student was sitting with her friend eating breakfast. “How’s Evangeline doing?” She asked.

“She has feline leukemia.” I went on to explain what that meant. She was so sad and so sincere in her concern. Over the weekend, I had walked around the hotel with Evangeline in my arms, every one was amazed at how relaxed and friendly she was. The young law student had told me that she lives in New York and had left her beloved kitty behind with her parents. She was having cat withdrawal and loved snuggling Evangeline.

Suddenly an idea! “Kathy,” I asked, “You are flying to New York today, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Would you be willing to transport Evangeline to a sanctuary on Long Island for Feline Leukemia cats?”

She reflected for a moment. “Yeah, I could do that. I’d have to keep her with me until the weekend, but that’s doable—if that’s okay.”

Immediately I called Robin at ARNO, she called Susan from Angel’s Gate Sanctuary in Long Island (www.angelsgate.org ) The answer was yes! If we could get Evangeline to the sanctuary, they would accept her. I called Continental airlines to book Evangeline’s passage as Kathy Hwang’s underseat companion. Then I dashed to ARNO to collect Evangeline and have the vet complete her Health Certificate for the flight (that is when I met the fabulous Dr. Norris—a Robert De Niro look alike when he smiles.)

By 12:45 Evangeline, Kathy and I reunited at the airport. I stayed with them to make sure everything was going smoothly. “Evangeline is a really great cat. After a few days together… what if I wanted to keep her?”

“Just let me know, I’ll work it out with Angel’s Gate. I think you two would make a terrific pair and you clearly love cats.” We had already thoroughly explored the complexities of caring for a Feline Leukemia cat. “Either way, I’m coming to New York in June, I can either visit her at your place, or if you like we can visit her together at Angel’s Gate.”

How quickly it all happened! By 1:15, I was driving away, missing sweet Evangeline already. Before I left, I whispered to her, “You be sure to charm Kathy, okay?” I hope that those two will stay together. But either way, Evangeline’s future looks bright. The Angel’s gate sanctuary is a cage free, loving sanctuary set up to care for special needs animals.

New Orleans: Broken Heart

2007-04-12T17:24:00.000-07:00

The enormity of the situation here has swept over me, one wave after another until it has knocked me down. I want to hide from it—and just cuddle with these cats that are temporarily blessing my life and my hotel room. My face hurts from crying and my mind wants to shut it all out. I know I’m not the first and I am far from the last person to feel this way—about cats, about poverty, about war, crime, abused children, the list is endless. But right now, today, I am immobilized by a physical depression so profound, I need to spend some time with a few individual cats to remind me how intimate and personal, individual and sacred each cat is. When it comes to rescue work, the bigger picture can destroy you.

I am in awe of Robin, Jackie, Anastasia, Alyssa—and all of the volunteers who slug it out, day after day after day working one cat at a time to push back against the problems of unwanted, neglected, abused and forgotten animals. “Sorry, Ma’am, but today is not dump your cat at ARNO day.” I heard Robin tell a woman who had decided that they no longer wanted to keep her granddaughter’s cat because their FEMA trailers were too crowded. Robin was rebounding from the day before, when a taped up box had been left outside the front door of the shelter, two horribly sick cats inside, both crusted with blood and feces. They were rushed to the vet, and cared for tenderly, but one had to be euthanized, his prognosis was so poor. Anastasia and I cleaned up the other cat with a warm and gentle sponge bath. She was so appreciative, she rubbed against our gloved hands purring. Most of her fur was gone and she was covered with fleas, but her little soul was so gentle and sweet.

Last night Alyssa and I went out trapping again. First we had to release cats that had already been fixed. A gaggle of little black boys swarmed around us at our first stop (the burnt down home that is occupied by a colony of ferals.) They all wanted to know if they could keep the cats inside the carriers. “I want a kitty, I want a kitty.” “I’m gonna catch me one of those kitties with this here pole!” One shouted out brightly. “No, no,” I responded, “don’t go near those kitties with the pole, you might hurt them.”

I struggled to explain TrapNeuterReturn to the children—sort of on the spot Humane Education, but these children were so hyper and excited about the cats that I doubt they absorbed anything I said. Their enthusiasm and desire to help was touching though. They all stood back and watched as we released a cat. “Can I come wich you and help you catch some more?” “Whach you doin’ with dese cats anyway?” No matter how many times I tried to explain, the same questions kept coming.

Then we drove a few blocks away to release another cat. We parked and pulled out the carrier, at the end of the block a group of teen-age boys was beating up one boy. Between us and the teen-age boys was a group of older men cradling beers and liquor bottles. They stared at us as we released the cat, which flew out of the carrier and across the street, disappearing under a FEMA trailer.

Alyssa makes it her policy to explain to bystanders what it is that she is doing and enlist their help or atleast their understanding. We pulled up next to the group of drunken men and rolled down the window. “Whach you doin’ dumpin cats in our neighborhood?” A mean faced fellow approached the car. He was the only white man in the group although later Alyssa explained that he was probably Creole. The racial issues in New Orleans are so complex and frightening that I can barely comprehend them.

Alyssa explained to the man that we had actually caught the cat at that residence, taken it to get its shots and get fixed and now we were returning it. She offered the name of one of the neighbors that had been helping her and feeding the cats.

The man responded, “Well you dumped that cat in the wrong neighborhood, missy. I tell you, I’ll set my own trap and then I’ll really fix that cat.” His sinister laugh was not reciprocated by the group, which stood back with amusement to watch this conflict unfold.

With patience, Alyssa tried once again to explain the benefits of TNR and what we were doing. Again the man threatened the cats, only more explicitly. Then Alyssa warned him that if he were to harm the cats, he would be prosecuted and serve jail time. He glared at her,”Yay? And then what?” Was his response.

We drove down the block and Alyssa stopped to ask the street toughs for the address of the Creole man that had made the threats. These young man crowded around the car and insisted that I videotape them (I had my video camera with me) as they beat on one of the guys in their group. A woman from the house on the corner opened her front door and yelled, “Unless you all are going to cut the grass, get off my property!”

Eventually one of the guys told Alyssa the address of the Creole man. Alyssa would file a report of the threat with the SPCA so they would know who to investigate if anything did happen to those cats.

As we cruised through the streets, we saw dozens of cats just hanging around. We trapped four cats and called it quits at 10pm. Then we stopped by a rescue workers house. I asked Maria if there had always been so many cats in New Orleans. “Oh yeah there were,” she said,”They have just gotten bolder, they have to. They used to be able to scavenge through restaurant garbage and residential garbage—but so many places have closed and neighborhoods are abandoned that they are bolder, you see them more because they have to work harder to find their food.”

I asked her if she did TNR before the hurricane. “No, I had enough to do here.” She has an immaculate home that provides sanctuary to over 50 cats and several dogs. ”I had no time for all that.”

“So what is different now?”

She laughs. “Honey, everything is different now.”

“But you still have so much to do here, why are you out there doing TNR also?”

“Because there is so much suffering out there. So I just do it, I do everything I can for those cats and its not enough, but I just have to. There is more support for this work now. Now that the whole world knows about the situation of cats in New Orleans. Its gotten attention—so that changes things too.

New Orleans: Update on the Maine Coon

2007-04-10T20:45:00.000-07:00

While Evangeline was at the vet on Monday, I drove back to Lafayette. A little bit of confusion and $13 later, that big lug of a fellow was in my car. Shaved is not a good look for him, but he was just as loving as promised. Once his fur grows back, I’m sure he will be spectacular. And best of all, a woman in Bolivar, Tennessee wanted to adopt him. Lara had checked all her references (including her vet and they were all very enthusiastic about her qualifications.) I spoke with her on the phone and she told me that her last cat was a big old Maine Coon male that she had adopted from a shelter years ago. He too had been shaved, so it seemed like fate. We made arrangements to meet on Sunday afternoon in West Tennessee on my way home.

For the meanwhile, I am keeping him separated from the kittens and Evangeline is spending the night at ARNO.

The hotel I am staying at is made of three buildings, a mansion that used to belong to a minister, slave quarters and a bordello. I am staying in the bordello, complete with a red chaise lounge. 'Chance' as Lara has dubbed him, loves to lounge on the chaise (bordello style) and watch the action on the street. I coo at him and tell him how much his new mommy is looking forward to meeting him.

New Orleans: Feline Leukemia

2007-04-10T19:33:00.001-07:00

Although the feline rescue rules about quarantine nagged at me, I ignored them. I had never rescued two different groups of cats at the same time before and I was being swept away by the behavioral possibilities.

Evangeline (as the hotel manager named her) was so charming and the kittens needed a mother. Judging by her nipples, she had the kind of experience that might qualify her for the job of foster mother.

The ideal kittenhood includes a loving mother who is well-socialized to people, siblings with whom to develop peer-to-peer relationships and important social skills, as well as loads of affection from humans. A mother helps bring these things together because cats are excellent observational learners, watching their mother receive affection from humans, as well as all of her social cues, actions and reactions strongly informs the development of the kitten’s personality.

Many singleton, handraised kittens never learn appropriate feline social etiquette and have difficulty getting along with other cats for the rest of their lives. They can even be jumpy and awkward with people.

Evangeline snuggled the kittens and helped them settle. Without her, they scattered and toddled about aimlessly. But her presence was magnetic. They piled around her and she would rub their tummies with her paws, rolling on her side as though inviting them to nurse. None of them did, but they pushed into her warm fur and fell asleep.

If she began grooming them, I would know that she had fully accepted her role as foster mother.

Friday night, Saturday night and Sunday night, we all slept together. What a wonderful experiment this would be!

At ARNO, the cats are quarantined for three weeks before being introduced to any other cats. As a precaution.

I have no expertise in disease management and am an amateur rescuer at best, though filled with good intentions.

On Monday, Robin (the shelter director of ARNO) took Evangeline to the vet for spaying, vaccinations and testing. That afternoon, Robin called me, “Evangeline is feline leukemia positive.”

“No. Oh no—no!”

Feline Leukemia, which is a highly contagious virus, is a death sentence for a cat.

Lafayette, Louisiana: Cajun Cats

2007-04-07T09:05:00.000-07:00

Almost a mile off the 10 freeway, next to the power station sits the Roicy-Duhon Animal Control Shelter of Lafayette, Louisiana. As I pull up in my van on Friday afternoon, a black woman is ushering her children into a beat-up black Cadillac. “But Mama, they can get out—Mammma!”

“Hush up!”

The car peels out of the parking lot, disappearing down the road, leaving behind a box of kittens.

The kittens tip the box over and tumble out. The busy road is just meters away. I gather up the four fuzzy bodies, just weeks old and look for someone official. But the shelter seems to be closed. The posted hours are 1:30 to 5pm on Friday. I knock on the doors and walk around the building. It is 1:45 and no one is there.

I trundle the kittens into a cat carrier and we drive to the police station down the road.

“Hi! Animal Control was supposed to open at 1:30, but no one seems to be there. Do you know if there is someone I can call?”

The Louisiana State Troopers regard me coldly. “It’s a state holiday. The whole city is closed. Ain’t nobody gonna be there today.”

“Oh dear. I just drove all the way from New Orleans to pick up a cat. Is there anyone we can call?” It was a two and a half hour drive.

“Nope. Nobody will be there til Monday.”

“Surely someone is there at least to take care of the animals.”

The two officers look at each other and guffaw. “I doubt it. Soon as an animal comes in that building its put to sleep. There’s nothin’ there to take care of.”

Clearly these gentlemen are intent on not being helpful.

In the car, I call Lara from the Basha’s Fund/Doodlebug Manor rescue in Nashville. The night before, she had received a plea from the Roicy-Dunn Animal Control about a sweet Maine Coon cat whose euthanasia had been postponed three times in the hopes that he would be adopted. If he wasn’t picked up by Monday at 5pm, he would be put to sleep. Lara had asked me if I would provide transport for this guy (since I am more or less in the area.) If I brought him to Nashville, she would find him a home.

No where in the original email, or on their website did it mention that the shelter would be closed for Good Friday. Nor was it mentioned in the emails that had gone back and forth between Lara and the shelter that morning.

We decided that I would return to the shelter and wait until Lara was able to get ahold of someone. Although no one was answering the phones.

A rusty pickup truck followed me into the parking lot. The hoarse yowl of a scared cat resonated from the back of the truck. The door swung open, boots landed hard on the ground followed by a large brown wad of brown spit. A leathery red-neck in a trucker’s cap hoisted a cat trap out of the truck bed.

He dumped the whole thing on the hot pavement and returned to the truck.

“Sir!” I called out. “Is that a feral cat?”

“Yup.”

“You know they’ll euthanize it if you leave it here.”

Poker-face. “Uh-huh.”

“Are you sure you can’t just let it live where you found it?”

“Looka here, I ain’t got any pets, but I got fleas. Get rid of these here cats hanging around my place, an’ I got rid of dem fleas.” With that he climbed into his truck and drove off.

I approached the trap. The cat inside looked up at me and yowled (not hissing, just crying.) As I brought my fingers close, she rubbed against the bars. I stroked her and she responded with affection. This was no feral.

I couldn’t leave her in the trap. It might be three days before an animal control officer would appear. She could die from dehydration and heat exposure. And even if an officer did come, her prognosis for survival still wasn’t good.

As soon as I opened the trap, she bounded into my arms, claws sheathed. She buried her head in my chest and purred.

I called Lara. “I better get out of this parking lot before anyone else shows up to dump a cat.”

“Don’t worry, Jenny Towle (of Loving Kittens Rescue) and I will help you place them.”

“This cat is so loving. She’s a tuxedo manx. Somebody will fall in love with her.”

Driving back to New Orleans, the freeway cut through miles and miles of swamp. True Cajun country. For the whole drive, this petit Cajun Manx stays snuggled in my arms and I am in danger of that person being me.

I stop at Petsmart to pick up flea treatments and all the appropriate kitten supplies. The hotel has already okayed having the cats in the room.

Looks like I’m a foster mom.

Animal Rescue New Olreans: The Radical Ladies of TNR

2007-04-05T07:16:00.000-07:00

Their SUVs prowl the streets in the most merciless neighborhoods, headlights challenging midnight’s shadows. With hardened non-chalance one of them points out police tape. “I trapped a cat here—2 days ago. 24 hours later a man was shot here—execution style.”

Her cell phone rings. “We have to meet Maria at the cemetery. That’s a bad place in a much worse neighborhood than this. I don’t know what she’s doing trapping there.” My companion, Alyssa pauses to laugh. “Oh yeah—there are cats there. I’m going to have to look at the map to figure out how to get there.”

These brave ladies trap cats and then bring them to Animal Rescue New Orleans. ARNO takes them to the vet to be vaccinated, tested, and fixed. If the cat is ill, ARNO keeps the cat until it is healthy. If there is any sign that the cat may be socialized, ARNO will keep it for that too. Otherwise, the cat is returned to its trapping location and a feeding station is established.

Are these women somehow blessed or granted immunity to the violence that pervades the neighborhoods where they trap?

A year ago in Los Angeles, a grey-haired woman set a trap behind a liquor store. When she returned to check the trap, she happened upon a drug deal. The men pointed their guns at her, enraged by her boldness. She calmly explained that she was helping the numerous cats and showed the men her cat-filled traps. Jovially, they put away the guns and helped carry the traps to her car.

On the other hand, at about the same time in Long Beach, a man was shot and killed after many venomous threats warning him to stop feeding the neighborhood ferals.

“Its been fine in New Orleans. People had been very supportive of our efforts on behalf of the cats,” says Susan, one of the volunteers that cruise desolate areas, looking for cats, setting up feeding stations, keeping them loaded with water and food, and alerting trappers for TNR.

“But the attitudes started changing a couple of months ago. People have started blaming us for the rats . They say the food is attracting them. One man screamed at us.”: Susan points to her feeding partner, Theresa, a cancer patient currently undergoing Chemo, who insists on helping the cats no matter how poorly she feels. “The man was in such a rage that we thought he was going to attack us—screaming about rats and his house and the cats and the state of the city. We just picked up our feeding trays and got out of there.”

As I visited trapping sites in East New Orleans with Alysa, we trespassed on one abandoned property after another. I am astounded that these places aren’t over run with rats. It must be the proliferation of cats that keeps the rodents in check. And there are a lot of cats.

We set this trap inside of an abandoned, gutted house, trying to catch a mother and her four kittens who are living under the house.

This is the outside view of that house. Driving through these neighborhoods, at first I didn't realize the houses were abandoned--but you'll note that the doors are missing, a 0 is spray painted on the exterior wall indicating that there were no dead found inside.

This house actually burnt down before the flooding. There are several cats living in the ruins. Neighbors put out cans of cat food (you can see the refuse) a 13 year old girl from the neighboorhood is helping Alyssa with the trapping.

This tuxedo Tom was trapped at the burnt out house. The night before Allysa had trapped his companion, a female. When she returned, he was standing guard by the cage. Both cats are sick and will be treated at ARNO.

This house hasn't changed much since the storm, still full of refuse. About 25 cats have taken up residence there. The neighbors are feeding them and helping with trapping and neutering efforts.

This orange tabby was caught by the neighbors at the house pictured above.

Animal Rescue New Orleans: Inky's 'Surrender'

2007-04-02T20:29:00.000-07:00

My third day at ARNO had been hopping along—there is so much I want to share about my experience with ARNO (so much that is positive to share.). But then a well-heeled couple arrived with a cat in a carrier, “My mother died this weekend and we want you to take her cat.”

“Oh, we had a heck of a time catching her. She had been alone in the apartment for a month while my mom was in the hospital.” Anastasia looks into the black mesh of the carrier—the cat spits and swats at her.

“Bad kitty!” Tsks the portly silver haired man in a starched blue and white striped polo shirt.

“The cat is upset and scared.” Anastasia tells the man in her gentle way, but I can see the flames in her eyes. They stand in the quarantine area—a covered alley next to the warehouse. Cat cages are stacked one on top of the other, dogs are barking in the background, huge fans push the air from one open end of the breezeway to the other. But it is hot and no one in their right mind would think this is an ideal place for a cat that is mourning its owner. This place is meant to be a stop on the path from the street to a home for cats who are victims of Katrina.

“Are you sure you can’t keep her?” Anastasia asks.

“No, we have dogs.”

“What if you just kept her in a room in your home until you find her a permanent home. Perhaps one of your mother’s friends?”

“No, we can’t do that. But here are her things. And all her paperwork.”

‘Inky’ was adopted from the SPCA in June of 2005. All of her vaccination, spay and other medical records were collected neatly in folder. The trash bag that the couple packed contained cat beds, cat toys (including interactive pole toys), boxes of cat food and cat treats. Inky’s mother loved her. Would she want her cat dumped here?

And no, the couple did not make a donation.

Animal Rescue New Orleans: Grace and Sacrifice

2007-04-01T20:55:00.000-07:00

Anastasia has no instinct for self-preservation—at least not where cats are concerned. A petite beauty, even as she ages her skin is flawless, not a visible pore anywhere on her face.
But her arms and hands criss-cross lacerations, punctures and bruises. For the past six months, she has volunteered at the ARNO shelter everyday, tending to the sick cats and socializing the ferals. Cat bites inject nasty bacteria into the flesh and can be incredibly dangerous. Anastasia has been bitten at least a dozen times.

When it happened this afternoon, she was frantic. “If my husband finds out—its not that he could forbid me from coming—its just that he worries, you know? And I’ve already taken so many antibiotics—I just can’t be on them all the time…I know its me, when they try to bolt or do anything, I know I should just get out of their way, but my instinct is to hold on. I don’t know why but every time, I just try to grab hold of them—even though I know what happens.”

Earlier in the day, Anastasia gave me a tour of the ARNO feline quarantine area. She spoke lovingly of each cat. So many she had coaxed from wildness with her gentle voice and bold hand. “I use the gloves at first, but as soon as I can, I switch to my bare hand.” She approaches cats even as they hiss, spit and lay their ears flat—sometimes they mellow as she speaks to them and rubs them. Using this approach, she has tamed many cats, but the consequences are dire.

I’m reminded of the snake handlers in the backwoods of Tennessee who dance with rattle snakes in religious ecstasy—rarely being bitten, but none the less, usually dying from the poison. There is a kind of religious grace in Anastasia’s devotion, but her beloved cats will not be well served by her lack of caution.

She rubs at her hands, soaking them in hydrogen peroxide. “They usually swell up—my hands will be useless tomorrow. And there is so much to be done.”

Everyone here is a volunteer—even those that work 7 days a week. As I arrived this morning, I watched a lithe young Americorps volunteer trying to managed a mixed breed lab as it lunged for a surprisingly relaxed fluffy black cat.

Robin, the shelter director (not just volunteer coordinator), emerged from the warehouse, stomping out a cigarette.

“Is that your dog socializer?” I asked.

She took one look at the situation and took over. “He’s a cat killer. But clearly, Mimi doesn’t care.” While Robin instructed the volunteer and the dog, ‘Mimi’ strolled calmly away.

The entrance to the shelter was barricaded with palates of Felidae canned cat food. More were being unloaded from a semi. “The truckers are great—they deliver it and only charge us for the gas. It cost $1000 to get the food here, but its worth it. I can spend $7,000 in a couple of months on food. Felidae donated it—all I had to do was get it here.”

The shelter still seems to be operating in a state of emergency. The organized chaos reminds me of the tv show MASH when Radar would cry out “Incoming!” The cages are clean, the animals well cared for and all the volunteers move non-stop: walking dogs, administering medication, attending to numerous visitors.

The most adoptable cats lounge in cages in the office. “Elizabeth might become a celebrity’s cat.” Emma Roberts (Julia Roberts niece, who is about to be the Nancy Drew of the big screen) and her friend, Christine Schwarzenegger (daughter of Arnold) just finished two days of volunteering at ARNO. “They loved Elizabeth. Emma’s mom says they are considering adopting her.” It is easy to understand why, Elizabeth is a charmer.

We unload the Whiskas cat food from my van and one of the resident cats assumes responsibility for the stack. “This is great.” Robin smiles, rubbing my back. “Unfortunately, it will all be gone by tomorrow.”

My efforts are just a drop in this vast, vast ocean of need.

Whiskas Remembers the Cats of Katrina

2007-03-31T19:09:00.000-07:00

“What we really need now is dry cat food.” Robin, the volunteer coordinator for Animal Rescue New Orleans sounded overworked yet impassioned over the phone. “Thank you for remembering us—it often feels like the rest of the world has forgotten.”

Animal Rescue New Orleans was founded in response to the plight of animals in the post-Katrina catastrophe. And they are still working, servicing over 3,000 feral cat feeding stations, running TNR programs, as well as tending to the cats and dogs they are rehabilitating in their warehouse shelter.

So many of the cats that were left behind were not neutered or spayed—and in the ruble and chaos of the shattered neighborhoods, they have been reproducing. Some estimates put the figure at 50,000 feral cats in New Orleans.

“Whenever I spot a friendly cat, one that was left behind, I try to bring it in, rehab it and find it the home it deserves. But there are so many. We have 78 in the shelter at the moment. We just shipped out 55 to shelters in Arizona and Massachusetts—but our cages continue to fill up fast.”

****

Denise Truelove (what a great name!) started working on Whiskas cat food marketing just a couple of weeks ago. Doane foods, the manufacturer of Whiskas, was recently purchased by Mars (as in candy bars and much more), the whole company just relocated to the Nashville area. “We are in the midst of a lot of changes. Everyone is getting their bearings, but we want to help out with the Katrina cats. Whiskas loves cats.”

Denise and her collegue from sales, Chad, met me in the PetSmart parking lot in Franklin, TN to load up my van with cat food. Kindness and enthusiasm, warm hearts and good wishes. “Drive safely! Be sure to tell the cats of New Orleans that Whiskas remembers them!”

8 ½ hours of driving later, I was whizzing past the Superdome. That place must haunt the memory of everyone who watched the events of Katrina unfold (not to mention those who survived it.)

The skyline was soothing in its familiarity, like any other city, tall buildings standing stoic against the sky. I pulled off the highway towards the Garden District. I could have been in Boston or San Francisco, underpasses and overpasses dropping into urban brick and congested parking. Until I saw my first two FEMA trailers, decorated with plastic flowers, next to a home that had imploded.

It is March, 2007 and I have arrived in New Orleans to spend 2 weeks volunteering with Animal Rescue New Orleans.

Tabby Time

2007-03-28T20:56:00.000-07:00

Tennessee has transformed its palette from gray to green with breathtaking suddenness. Warm spring rain dances against my window, a perfect pairing with the drip-drop of piano keys that pour from my radio. I settle on the chaise, my restless self subdued, ready for the pleasures of cats and Coltrane.

Little Bit lands next to me, tipping her nose to mine in a friendly kiss. She has not forgotten our adventure together. As though her proximity to me prompts a silent alarm throughout the house, Henry and Helen come running. Resource Guarding. My tabbies are possessive. They bound onto the chaise and their presence ushers Little Bit from my arms. No hostilities are exchanged, the unlikely pair simply replace her.

Henry gazes at me, his big green eyes an irresistible invitation to affection. This is why I adopted him. He is the quintessential lap cat. He loves lap. He is the cat that will rouse from a deep sleep and respond any time I call, always ready for love. How can I refuse him anything—a cat like that? And yet, did I think this wouldn’t have consequences?

At the shelter, I never would have guessed that Henry would ascend to such kingly stature in my home. He is ever good-natured, but always the first to eat. Ben grooms him regularly, which Henry clearly enjoys as he is a glutton for all affection, but he never reciprocates. Little Bit and Gussie will also lavish his face and neck with fastidious attention as he blinks and purrs, though not as often as Ben.

Helen never grooms Henry—or any of the other cats (though she will occasionally give my hand a good loofah treatment with her tongue.) She and Henry seem to have an understanding of sorts, as though the two tabbies have agreed to share me, though his calm enchantment makes for a strange duet with Helen’s nervous jittering. Most nights, it is these two that sleep with me, while Gussie curls up in the crook of my husband’s knee, Little Bit beds down in the cat tree and Ben wraps himself around my daughter’s head.

Feline hierarchies are subtle and shifting, but it seems that Henry has established himself as a benevolent monarch. In Roger Tabour’s research with feral cats, he observed the colony cats treating a matriarch with deference. This seems to be the attitude of my kitty clan to Henry. He doesn’t rule with any sort of overt violence, though Ben and Henry do enjoy an occasional bout of kittenish wrestling (no one gets hurt, no hissing, howling or any of the signs of aggression, it is the same wrestling that Ben does with Gussie—and just like with Gussie, they will often relax after their games and fall asleep together, usually with Ben using Henry’s rump like a pillow.) It seems as though Henry has charmed them in much the same way that he charmed me, by being mild-mannered, affable and persistent in his pursuit of pleasure.

Does neutering a male provide him the opportunity to assume the role of ‘matriarch’ in a feline group? Elizabeth Marshall Thomas and Roger Caras both relate stories of neutered males assuming the role of doting aunt, letting kittens nurse on them (to little avail of course), grooming the kittens, guarding them and fully participating in their rearing—much like the females of a clowder. Perhaps the reduced sexuality and aggression of a neutered male could also allow him to assume the role of matriarch (assuming that matriarchy is the common social culture of cat groups.) The key being that in the feline matriarchies that have been studied, the grandmother is deferred to without hint of violence or other threat from her. This will be interesting to look for in other social groupings of cats.

And where does Helen fit into this? Helen is the natural matriarch—judging by age alone. She is ten years old now. And female. But she is also the social pariah. The other cats dislike her, Henry is the cat most willing to tolerate her. For Helen, Henry is the only cat that doesn’t panic her. While reading Temple Grandin’s “Animals in Translation” (Temple is autistic and a well-respected scientist and behaviorist, in the book she explains the similiarities in world view between autistics and animals), I began to wonder if Helen isn’t some sort of feline autistic, her most striking symptoms including a dislike for being stroked and an inability to interpret feline social cues.

I discussed this with a behaviorist at the Clicker Expo and she suggested that this could have been a by-product of vaccinations, as many people believe that autism is caused by vaccinations. I’m not sure about the causes, but in Temple’s book, she described hating being touched, but inventing a machine she calls her ‘squeeze box’ which is essentially a box with inflatable padding that squeezes her when she entires it—applying pressure to her whole body in a way that is very soothing for her. I thought I would try this with Helen, rather than trying to pet her, or move my hands over her fur and skin, I would simply apply steady pressure. She LOVES it. She responds by purring and pressing back into my arm and hand. Then we stay like that motionless. Last night, while laying on my back, I sandwiched her between my hip and my arm, using that same steady, solid (but not restraining) pressure. She stayed there for most of the night. This is unprecedented with Helen who usually snaps when touched too much.

Clicker Expo 2007: Treasure

2007-03-26T19:40:00.000-07:00

As it turned out, my cat, Little Bit, was not the only cat at the ClickerExpo. There were two others who made their appearance during the Small Animal Training session. One cat was being trained as part of the ‘Acro-Cats’ performing cat group. This black beauty showed off her talents at pushing a ball with her front paws and turning a light on and off.

As a novice, Little Bit was more interested in greeting the crowd than listening to anything I had to say. (She did charm everyone—especially those who were missing their own kitties—when she merrily jumped from lap to lap for a nuzzle and a cuddle.) But she was very unresponsive to any cuing--all of her actions were self-determined.

The highlight of the clicker expo was meeting Franz. Franz is a thirteen year old, gray, long haired tom cat from Amherst, New York. At twelve years old, he was the unfortunate victim of a bad divorce. The wife left and the husband tossed the cat onto the street (in the bitter cold of upstate New York) where he survived for some time on hand-outs from neighbors, before someone finally took enough of an interest to take him to a shelter. Miranda Workman, an animal behavior specialist in the area, agreed to foster him. When she brought him to her animal care facility, he was terribly depressed and withdrawn. He didn’t want to be touched and spent most of his time in hiding.

Miranda decided to keep him and let him live out his days in peace at her facility, as it seemed that he was unadoptable. Time passed and he remained utterly withdrawn, until one day...

Miranda was working with one of her client’s cats, a young Abyssinian. The Aby was distinctly uninterested in being clicker trained and was having a lot of difficulty focusing. During the training sessions, Franz observed from his customary hiding place. Then during the third training session with the Aby, Franz bounded out of his hiding place and up onto the table with the Aby, responding to the cue to sit and then reached for the treat. From then on, he insisted on being clicker trained. Most cats can only engage for about five minutes of training. Not Franz—he rarely ever wants to stop!

A year has passed since his first training session, and Franz is now very affectionate. He has become so confident (and such a clicker training addict) that he even volunteers regularly to assist with puppy training classes at Miranda’s facility. He will stay with the puppy class, training for the full hour, which is terrific for getting the puppies comfortable with cats (not to mention wowing all those dog people!)

Miranda brought Franz to show off his stuff at Clicker Expo, because she wanted everyone to see first hand that older cats are trainable—and what a rehabilitative effect clicker training can have on a depressed animal.

During one of Karen Pryor’s lectures, she played some video of one of her visits to a shelter. There she used target training (with clickers, treats and targets) as a way of engaging depressed cats in their shelter cages. The target training got all the cats up, curious and interactive, helping them present as more adoptable when potential adopters come to the shelter to choose a cat.

Aside from the small animal class, it often seems like the Clicker Expo is all about dogs, but the true emphasis is on operant conditioning, basically the idea that the whatever the consequence of a behavior, that consequence will shape the development of that behavior. And studies have shown repeatedly that operant conditioning is universal for all creatures with a brain stem (including humans, so it also applies to cats.)

In clicker training we use the clicker to mark a desired behavior (the click helps the animal remember what that behavior was) and then reinforce the behavior with a treat. That is operant conditioning using positive reinforcement.

But understanding clicker training is much more complex than just clicking. It extends to understanding how to use cues, timing, targeting, behavior chains and all the other tools that buzzed around the lectures and were demonstrated in the labs. It was an incredibly enriching experience with expert instructors.

In addition to learning about clicker training, I had the pleasure of meeting several people who are doing or supervising important work with cats. Particularly at University of North Texas where they are unlocking some training opportunities to overcome aggression in dogs and in cats—and the process works very quickly. Much of it is still in the research phase—but I assure you, I will be going to Texas to follow up in May (more about that then.)

(To learn more about clicker training, please visit www.clickertraining.com )

Clicker Expo 2007: At the Hotel with Little Bit

2007-03-23T20:43:00.000-07:00

Its been a long time since I have been alone with one cat. I had forgotten the sweet intimacy of that relationship. My cat Dorothy and I were very close. For ten years it was just the two of us—until my husband and I married and adopted more cats.

I brought Little Bit with me to Cleveland, because she responds so well to clicker training and she travels well. Stroking a cat releases dopamine in your brain, and I know that their presences quells my anxieties. I knew I would sleep better with her here. She has been such a snuggle kitty. It is wonderful to enjoy her charming personality without interruption. Between conference sessions, I return to my room and we practice our clicker training.

The lectures send me into a panic—I still have so much more to learn! Animal training is a whole new field for me. My focus has been on environmental enrichment and behavior modification (which usually means modifying the human’s behavior to improve the cat’s situation), working within the framework of a cat’s natural instincts and desires. But I see clicker training as an opportunity to move beyond that. The teachers are very clear that training animals to do cute tricks is really not the point (though it is a helpful way of establishing an open line of communication with the animal.) That communication is the point and all of the reinforcement forges a deeper bond with the animal.

Shaping is one of the key terms in clicker training. As it was demonstrated today, shaping is a play session where anything approximating the behavior or activity that is desired is rewarded with a click and a treat. The dogs in the demonstrations were puzzling out and experimenting with what actions triggered the click and treat. It was clearly fun for the dogs, they were excited and playful. Gradually, they honed in on the desired behavior and repeated it again and again. Only once they had unlocked the behavior and done it repeatedly was it given a name, ‘a cue’ to guide the dog to do it again when requested. A cue is differentiated from a command because there is no threat behind it, just the promise of reward.

It is very clear how to reinforce a behavior that you want, not so clear how to avoid behaviors you don’t want within this framework. Other than ignoring the behavior until the animal gives up, which, frankly, isn’t practical in many situations. (I’m not sure if this was said in jest, but one teacher suggested getting earplugs for the whole family because it can take up to ten days of ignoring it to get a dog to stop barking. Are you supposed to buy earplugs for all of your neighbors—or perhaps send them on a ten day, all expense paid vacation? Though to her credit, she also expressed that you need to give the dog better alternatives for getting your attention, as well as dealing with the root issue behind the barking.) When I broached the subject of dealing with feline aggression with a couple of the teachers, they basically dodged my question. I’m not sure if that is an issue of not having the time to explore the issue appropriately, lack of expertise about cats in particular or just that clicker training isn’t an effective tool in these situations.

I first learned about clicker training when I called on another behaviorist for a second opinion in a particularly challenging aggression case. The client’s young male Bengal persisted in aggressive behavior with the older female Abyssinian. All of the conventional approaches seemed to abate the behavior for a short while and then it would flair up again. My suspicion is that the young cat was very poorly socialized as a kitten. The breeder’s website boasted that the kittens were kept caged so that they would feel comfortable in confinement. This theory had clearly not worked as this young male was almost pathologically afraid of being confined and almost destroyed his mouth trying to bite his way out of a carrier.

The behaviorist was purportedly a Bengal expert and she suggested clicker training as a solution. When the young male would chase the female, the client should cue him to a ‘go to mat’ then click and treat him as a way of distracting him. When we probed her about how to prevent this from turning into an unfortunate behavior chain where the cat learns that his chasing behavior is a prompt for his person to call him and click and treat him, her response was that she had to catch him before he actually initiated the chase, whenever she thought he might be about to do it. Well, you can imagine how challenging that would be to stay on top of.

The client and I settled on clicking and treating the cats whenever they were in close proximity and no one was chasing or running. This helped to reinforce the positive behavior, but none the less did not completely resolve the situation. I have had incredible success in resolving aggression cases, but that was one case that is still unresolved and I am always searching for more tools and ideas for dealing with aggression. I have ordered a book from the clicker folks called “Click to Calm” for dealing with aggressive dogs. I am hoping that some of the knowledge there will translate to cats.

If you have any innovative approaches that you have used to resolve aggression issues, I would love to hear about it.

None the less, the concept of clicker training as a way of opening a dialogue with the animal really excites me. The teachers here are highly skilled at shaping animal behavior using positive reinforcement and there is a lot to learn. Most of it is dog focused and the classrooms are filled with dogs of every description.

Apparently being the only cat at the Clicker Expo, Little Bit was invited to participate in the only session about clicker training small animals (rabbits, cats, mice etc.) That will take place on Sunday. In the meanwhile, we are working on a sitting (Hopefully eventually working up to stay-which is purportedly an easy cue for cats since the ability to wait and apparently do nothing is one of their natural gifts.) This is important, because at home Little Bit has become quite the escape artist. Everytime someone attempts to leave the house through the front door, she is there waiting to use all her powers of stealth to slip out the door. My solution to this issue is to build her outdoor enclosure (actually, my husband will be the primary contractor on this job--and her recent escape attempts are certainly motivating him to get started.) An outdoor enclosure will keep her safe and satisfy those desires so she doesn’t have to bolt for the front door.

I have already been using clicker training and the ‘come’ cue to retrieve her when she slips out. (I firmly believe that every cat should be trained to ‘come’ it is very handy in case of emergency or if the cat gets out!) But I am very excited about the prospect of training her to sit and stay, rather than hurrying out the door and blocking her exit with my feet. Today, in between sessions, we worked on shaping the sitting behavior. Every time I caught her sitting, I clicked and treated. She would hop around, rubbing me on the face, trying to figure out what would get me to treat her, the minute that little tushie got close to the floor, I clicked and treated her. She clearly loved this game. (I’ll share more about our progress as we develop the training plan.)

Training Cats: Clicker Expo 2007 Cleveland

2007-03-22T19:12:00.000-07:00

My mother began training her cat to sit. Each night before bed, she would soak some freeze-dried chicken and use it to reinforce a sit. It was a lovely little ritual that lasted for a couple of months. Then one day, she called me to say, “I’m not training Misty anymore. I don’t like what it is doing to our relationship.”

“Umm, what’s it doing to your relationship?”

“Its destroying the equilibrium—its transforming her from my cat into a creature I am commanding—and I don’t like that. I just want her to be my friend. I don’t want to tell her what to do.”

Cats have no masters only friends. This is what many of us value about our cats. Perhaps most people that are attracted to cats (rather than dogs) are looking for the friendship of equals, rather than someone to boss around. We love it when a cat grants us its attention—or even better when it lavishes attention on us—it makes us feel deserving. This cat sees something in me. This cat has a relationship with me and chooses to headbutt me, knead at me, purr when I touch it. Is it unnatural to change that relationship into one of trainer and trainee?

I don’t know, but here I am at the Clicker Expo to learn all the ins and outs of Clicker training. Yes, it is very dog oriented. But Karen Pryor, the founder of clicker training, is actually a dolphin trainer—her positive reinforcement techniques are most popular with dogs, but they can be used on species as diverse as grasshoppers, fish, horses and, of course, cats.

In my experience, cat owners are resistant to suggestions of clicker training. They are happy to work with me on environmental changes and general behavior modification. But they don’t want to change the dynamic of the relationship by incorporating training. So why am I here? Because I am hopeful that there is a real place for clicker training in our complex relationships with cats. It is an effective, though labor intensive tool in a growing bag of tricks for coping with behavioral issues.

The conference officially starts tomorrow, but the clicker expo store was open this evening. Lots of very clever dog toys, problem solving toys that make great boredom busters. I bought some for our dogs. That is really the key—the explanation of why clicker training shouldn’t be discarded by cat lovers.

Just like our fenced in dogs, our indoor cats are bored—even our indoor/outdoor cats can be bored. These animals are predators who love to work. When I say this, most people laugh and assure me that their loungy cat does not like to work. But I counter that we all like to work. We don’t like being slaves, but we like accomplishing tasks. So do our pets.

For cats, clicker training is a game. Cats don’t respond to masters. But they love to have fun and they love to learn new skills. It is also a way to enhance their communication with us. One woman who had a lot of success clicker training her hand-raised kitten, explained that through the enhanced communication of their clicker training, her cat was able to communicate with her directly when he needed his litter box changed (rather than by pooping next to it, like many do.)

Snip and Tip

2007-03-19T09:00:00.000-07:00

Its all women and cats.

A few men are scattered about, lured by their girlfriends and wives into volunteering and they are working hard. But mostly, its women.

The early morning is a cacophony of women's chatter and the yowls of unhappy cats. "I brought ten this time--but there are still ten more to get." "I caught twelve--be good to him, this guy's my favorite." "Thank you so much, I can afford to feed 'em, but I can't afford to fix em."

Platters of food are brought to the volunteer area. Homebaked lasagna, cookies, doughnuts (its a sugar bonanza), even chocolate dipped strawberries... "And don't forget to try Dolores' oatmeal cake--you won't believe how good it is." This event unites women in hands on productivity. They have gathered today to spay and neuter feral cats, over 150 cats are expected. Cats that were trapped by concerned people from all over middle Tennessee and brought to this free clinic.

Dolores (of oatmeal cake fame) is a seasoned volunteer. "Three years ago at a family funeral, my 80 year old aunt was sharing her distress with the family. A darling little cat had appeared on her porch the previous spring. She began feeding it and a few days later, out popped three kittens, all girls. Then those kittens had kittens and by the time I heard about it, she had 27 cats on her place. That's how I got into Trap-Neuter-Return. Helping out my aunt."

An efficient assembly line fills the hall at the Lebanon Fairgrounds. Across the way, farmers and hobbiests are having a pygmy goat show. The combined smells of goats and cats who have lost control of their bowels waivers between earthy and nauseating.

The cages are placed at one end of the hall, covered with fabric to help calm the cats and give them the sense of being tucked in a small cave rather than trapped in a cage.

One by one the cats are injected with an anesthetic through the cage (remember these cats are feral and most can't be handled.)

They lay in the cages as the anesthetic takes hold.

Then the cat is removed from the cage and injected with vaccines. This little guy was resisting the anesthetic. He can't move on to the next station until his paw completely relaxes.

Female cats are strapped to little boards and shaved for their spay surgery.

Males are taken to the neuter station. The neuters are fast and astoundingly simple. Everyone has a slightly different style but essentially, the testicle sacks are swabbed with disinfectant, sliced open and the testicles pop out. A knot is tied and vas-deference is pushed ack into the sack. 2x and they are done.

The females are operated on under sterile conditions. Most of the vets are able to do 3 to 4 spays an hour.

After surgery, the cats are hooked up to IV fluids as part of their recovery.

Then the cats are laid out for observation. As they wake up, they are returned to their cages, where they continue to be observed until it is time for them to be picked up and taken back to their homes. The snip and tip provides each caregiver with detailed instructions for aftercare.

Occasionally there are complications. That happened with little Oliver. (One of the cats from Walking Horse farm that I caught.) He bled alot and needed some extra veterinary attention. It was heartwrenching to see so much blood escaping from his little body. But the prompt care he received stopped the bleeding. As he awoke, he was relatively alert though confused. My other three cats did very well.

I caught four cats last night. Never managed to retrieve Pumpkin.

The veterinarians that have volunteered their time are all women today. "We do get male vets--but usually three out of every four that volunteer are women. What can I say women are just great--and they care!" Smiles Sara Felmlee gently patting the back of a busy surgeon. Sara's husband is one of the amazing men that volunteers consistantly. He says, "As a couple, this is our passion. Sara gives about 50 hours a week to this cause, we also give money. The great thing is that we know it is working. In the past nine years, we have spayed and neutered over 50,000 cats. Have you seen that pyramid? The one that shows how one cat can lead to thousands? Based on that, we figure that 50,000 cats is making a huge impact on the population. We look forward to the day that there is a scarcity of these animals and people learn to truly value them."

It is hard to imagine that there are still places in this country where euthanasia is preferred to spay/neuter. Two women at the Snip and Tip were sharing about how they were kicked out of Lincoln County Humane (near the Alabama border with Tennessee) because of their loud mouths. "I want us to do a program like this, but they wouldn't budge. They'd criticize us for catching cats and bringing them up here to be fixed. 'Cuz they just want to euthanize the poor things. So they fired us as volunteers and we went and started our own group."

At the end of the day, 152 cats were spayed and neutered at this Snip and Tip.

Happy Endings & New Beginnings:The Humane Association of Wilson County

2007-03-17T18:07:00.000-07:00

Three days after Lily's surgery, she was frolicking merrily, as though nothing had happened, only now her brothers weren't chasing after her. All the young cats enjoyed playing with my daughter Allegra (who proves that small children can be great with cats.) Lily's sutures are healing nicely.

Finally the weekend has arrived and I have set seven traps for the rest of the cats, hoping to take all of them to the Wilson County Snip and Tip! Snip--for the snip, snip of spaying and neutering, tip--for the ear tipping that lets everyone know that these cats have been fixed. Catching the friendly cats was easy--I'm not sure how it happened, but Pumpkin managed to escape from the trap (perhaps sorcery? I couldn't figure out how he managed it.) He was gone like a flash and would not let me near him again. I can only hope that he will venture into one of the empty traps tonight--or perhaps give me a second chance in the morning. I also caught a very scrappy old tomcat that had been nosing around Lily before her spaying--that was a triumph because he is truly feral.

The Humane Association of Wilson County is a perfect example of the changes that have happened in the sheltering community during the past decade in Tennessee and many other parts of the country. Their numbers are very telling:

1996 4,697 animals brought in
927 adopted
124 returned to owner
1997 6,192 animals brought in
1,238 adopted
255 returned to owner
1998 5,707 animals brought in
1,161 adopted
235 returned to owner
1999 5,601 animals brought in
1,380 adopted
180 returned to owner
2000 4879 animals brought in
1255 adopted
64 returned to owner
2001 4,598 animals brought in
1,366 adopted
2002 5,713 animals brought in
1,799 adopted
2003 5,012 animal brought in
1,778 adopted
2004 2,355 animals brought in
1,645 adopted
2005 1,649 animals brought in
1,431 adopted

*For many reasons, not all animals that have entered the shelter have been adoptable. For example, some come to us severely injured, temperamentally unsound, and some are reclaimed by their owners. Therefore, an accurate adoption percentage can not be calculated simply by using these numbers alone.

These numbers don't tell the whole story though. Twelve years ago, a woman named Sara Felmlee moved to Tennessee, an animal lover, she wanted to get involved with her local shelter. But at that time, the Humane Association of Wilson County was a grim place. Almost as though the employees were determined to scare her off, they insisted that she observe the killings that could hardly be referred to with the hushed tones of 'euthanasia'. The discarded, unwanted shelter animals were suffering a brutal death. One kennel attendant would hold the fully conscious animal, splaying its front paws to expose the chest, while the other would use a heart spike to plunge a needle into the animals heart, injecting the poison. The animals screams of agony, release of the bowels, the horrors of one painful death after another, prompted Sara to get certified as a Euthanasia technician. This was not a fun job, but she felt that at least she was providing the animals with a gentle, loving and peaceful exit from this world. A vast improvement from the killings she had witnessed. But there came a day when the work was just too overwhelming, she had euthanized over 50 cats and dogs--many of them very young. Looking at the mountain of dead bodies, she turned to her husband that had been assisting her, "If the parents of all these animals had been spayed and neutered, we wouldn't have to do this."

When she approached the board about starting a Spay/Neuter clinic, she was flatly rejected. The members were sure that starting such a clinic would be the end of the Humane Association in their county. The biggest fear was that the veterinarians would turn on the shelter--because the shelter would be stealing their business.

Change is hard--and it takes a determined individual to make it happen. Sara demonstrates how big a difference one persona can make. She applied to the Community Foundation for a grant for a Spay/Neuter clinic, without discussing it any further with the board. Her project was awarded a $110,000 grant from the foundation. When she presented the completed plan--and the money! to the board, all but one member voted enthusiastically for the project. That was nine years ago--and the funds were used to purchase a mobile spay/neuter clinic. A vet and some techs were hired to opperate a free spay/neuter clinic for low-income pet owners. Once a month, they also offer the Snip and Tip--an absolutely free clinic for feral cats. This program has made an enormous difference in the lives of pets in the Middle Tennessee. Here's the link to learn more about their spay/neuter programs:
http://www.hawconline.com/spaystation.shtml

Sara wouldn't take no for an answer. And in fact, the spay/neuter clinic was not the end of the Humane Association of Wilson County--it was just the beginning of many fundamental changes that have attracted increased funding, better living situations for the animals and an overwhelming increase in the number of adoptions.

Grief

2007-03-10T13:38:00.000-08:00

About a dozen cats prowl the stables at Walking Horse Farm, only four of them have names. Lily (our silver tabby female), her identical brother Oliver, Moonpie and Pumpkin (all named by the tweenie girls that hang out at the stable). Lily and Oliver were abandoned by their mother at three weeks old. Candy, the riding instructor hand raised them. Moonpie and Pumpkin each materialized at different times, both as very young cats. The whole cuddly clan is under a year old. All of the older cats are truly feral.

Oliver cried for over 36 hours after I took his sister away. “It was a terrible noise and he just wouldn’t stop—not ‘til you brought his sister back.” Candy informed me. The two had never been apart before. He missed her and he was grieving.

I brought her back to the stable this morning, and we placed her in a dog kennel tucked inside a stable. Candy had placed fresh hay on the floor for the other cats to keep Lily company. It seems the perfect arrangement. They can’t disturb her sutures from the spay surgery, but she also won’t be alone.

Oliver wasn’t the only one crying over the last few days. I assumed the silver tabby was lonely and scared—but I overlooked the possibility that she was missing her brother, as I was so focused on protecting her from him.

In the stable, the other young cats cluster around her cage. I look forward to the time just a few weeks from now when they will all live together in peace. Then her brothers can truly be her protectors.

For the moment, she seems quite happy to be home.

While visiting the Nashville Cat Clinic last week, Dr. Marc Waldrop told me about a cat he had been treating for grief. In a two cat household, one of the cats had passed away. The remaining cat howled for days, stopped eating and began to die. The vet tried all sorts of medical interventions, prescribed play in the hopes of raising the cat’s serotonin levels, treated the cat with anti-depressants. “Nothing was working, the cat’s heart was literally failing. She was dying of a broken heart.” Dr.Waldrop explained. “Then the owner asked if it might help if she got the cat a stuffed animal. I didn’t think it would help, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt anything.”

The woman brought home a life sized cat stuffed animal and her real cat took to it immediately, grooming it and dragging it around the house by its scruff. The two became inseparable. “Whenever she would bring the cat to board, she would ask if we had room for ‘Buddy’ too. We joked, hey, ‘Buddy’ doesn’t eat much and never poops—I don’t think it will be a problem.” The cat’s heart healed and it went on to live for a few more years—always with her Buddy.

Heat

2007-03-08T19:04:00.000-08:00

The vet verified that the silver tabby's kittenish 6 month old body was in heat. "It was just a matter of luck that she wasn't pregnant yet." This complicates the surgery, because all of her little reproductive parts are engorged with blood. (Its no wonder she was so affectionate last night.)

The Beesley Humane Society in Murfreesboro, TN is not a shelter, they function as a not-for-profit spay/neuter clinic. Spaying is just $35 and neutering is $25. They fix cats and dogs for the public, rescue groups, ferals--pretty much anyone who asks. However, it can take weeks before an appointment is available. I explained the situation with the silver tabby and they were so kind. They squeezed her in at the end of the day.

She is spending her first post-surgery night in our bathroom. When I brought her dinner, she lept onto my shoulder, rubbing and purring. Can cats express gratitude? In the scientific community, this is not considered a feline emotion. Maybe it was just her residual hormones in action, but I felt deeply appreciated.

Intact cats are so controlled by their fertility that relieving them of it does feel somehow heroic. There is a clear sense of elation involved in all the variations of Trap-Neuter-Return. Usually, feral cats will bolt out of their cages and run for thier lives to avoid being near you (when they are returned to their home after being fixed.) It is such a treat to interact with this young, well-socialized barn cat.

I don't understand all the mysteries of feline sexuality--what parts are pleasure what parts are pain. But I do know that millions of unwanted cats are euthanized every year. I know that spaying helps prevent cancer in female cats, and that the bodies of unspayed females are often ravaged by the endless cycles of kittens. Unneutered toms are by far the highest risk group for FIV (the feline version of AIDS) because it is spread through deep bite wounds incurred during sexually motivated fights.

Spaying and neutering cats is an act of kindness. I look forward to the weeks ahead--after all of the Walking Horse Farm cats are fixed--it will be fascinating to watch their interactions and contrast them with the behavior I observed on Monday.

Silver Tabby in Heat

2007-03-07T18:40:00.000-08:00

Just a quick update. I made all the arrangements and went to the stable this afternoon to collect the little silver tabby. Her brothers were pursuing her all over the barn. It was easy to whisk her up and into the carrier. She seemed relieved.

She is spending the night in my downstairs bathroom. Tommorow she will be spayed.

The rest of the barn cats will wait for a major feral spay/neuter event on March 18, when I will bring them to the Wilson County Humane Snip and Tip clinic.

Another View of Cat Sexuality: Walking Horse Farm

2007-03-05T19:38:00.000-08:00

Watching another set of barn cats at my daughter’s riding stable, the Walking Horse Farm, the experience is proving that it isn’t wise to generalize.

These cats are young, around 6 to 8 months and just coming into sexual maturity. The fumbling, testosterone riddled adolescent males are harassing one female—their sister. She isn’t acting like a cat in heat—quite the contrary, she is fighting them off at every turn.

They approach her one at a time, sniffing and biting at her scruff. She roles onto her back in a defensive posture, hissing and growling, kicking with her claws out. Eventually one male will give up and another will take a turn bullying her.

At Harlinsdale Farm, Bill Harlin observed that the three resident Toms will kill the male kittens. As horrible as that sounds, it may be nature’s effective way of curbing sibling incest (something that happens with indoor litters that aren’t neutered soon enough. The results are not pretty.)

Getting these boys fixed would turn them into their sister’s allies, relieving everyone of this relentless pursuit. Getting her fixed would stop an onslaught of roaming Toms that catch her scent as she comes into heat.

“Would you like it if I took the barn cats in to be fixed?” I approach the riding instructor quietly.

Relief floods her face. “You would do that? Really?” Followed by an outpouring of gratitude and explanations about why she is unable to do it herself. “They really aren’t my cats. I feed them, but they just show up here and I can’t afford to take them to the vet. I tried taking one before but the bill was outrageous after all the tests and everything they wanted to do. I’m just scraping by doing all that for the horses. I can’t take on the cats too.”

I explained about the Wilson County Humane Society that does free feral spay/neutering, and some local low cost spay neuter programs. I will do some research to determine the right program for this situation and come back for the cats.

That poor little silver tabby haunts me. I have to take care of her immediately.

***Note: Why start Trap-Neuter-Return on these cats and not the cats at Harlinsdale Farm? I don’t think that the timing is right for the owner to be receptive yet. But it is certainly on my mind.

The World of the Fertile Feline

2007-03-04T09:58:00.000-08:00

The Pink Palace Persian Cattery
Perhaps it’s the scream, or maybe the infamous barbs on a male cat’s penis, but we tend to thing of cat sexuality as violent, something akin to rape. I was astounded to learn that this is not entirely accurate. I have spent my life with spayed and neutered cats. Only once did I wait long enough to see a young cat go into heat, calling, rubbing, rolling and trilling in a frenzy—I whisked her off to the vet and that was the end of that. For all behavior problems, my first question is: “Is the cat fixed?” (If its not, then I insist that we start with that.) I don’t have experience with fertile cats—but I have heard the late night screaming, the fighting and all of the violence that I always associated with feline fertility.

In my studies, I learned that the sounds may be misleading. In fact, it is almost impossible to rape a female cat. She is simply equipped with too many weapons. Yes, Toms will fight over her, but she may spurn the victor—or she may decide to copulate with all the gathered Tom cats. (Thus a single litter with many fathers.) However, the decision of when and with whom she mates it up to her discretion (and her hormones—of course.)

This week I visited a Persian cattery to view a mating. The Tom and Queen were tossed into a comfortable confinement. The event was surprisingly tender. It was only his third time, being so young and inexperienced, the breeder said it could take a couple of days before he would actually enter her. I watched for two hours as the cats engaged in elaborate foreplay. He massaged her back with his paws during sporadic rutting—no claws, just paw pads. He sniffed and licked as she rolled around, then she crouched still with her tail high in the air and he would climb all over her, squeaking as she trilled.

“Is it always like this?” I asked.

“Lots of the time. But not with that fellow over there.” She points to another caged intact Tom. “The Queens won’t mate with him. He beats up on them—so they won’t have him.”

Of course, I wasn’t there for the scream. When the male cat enters her and his barbs engage, helping him stay in position, she will scream. Biologists debate whether the scream is one of pain or pleasure—but it was clear to me that with this pair, the courtship was solicitous, affectionate and accomplished in a prolonged state of arousal.
(P.S. I didn't take pictures because I had only just met the breeder and --in a clear demonstration of my urban, protestant background--I felt somehow awkward asking permission to photograph the event. Eventually I will though.)

Harlinsdale Farms
Driving past the grazing mares and their young, I could see several cats in the road, their heads bobbing against the bright intensity of the early morning sun. Their numbers swelled as other cats gathered, approaching in a low crouched trot. Then the realization struck them that in spite of my timing, I was not Bill Harlin (the owner of this horse farm and feeder of the cats)—all of the cats scattered as I exited my van.

This is the place I have been looking for. Dozens of cats populate the barns.
I gather my equipment and sequester myself away from the barn. Then I do my best impersonation of Roger Tabor. In his field studies of urban feral cats, he approached the colony much like a new cat that is trying to gain acceptance. He sat quietly on the fringes of the community. Passive. Eyes lowered. Blinking, not staring at the cats head on—but almost acting as though he was ignoring them. Gradually, the cats would learn to ignore him and go about their business regardless of his presence. This is my goal.

I sit quietly, far from the barn. Most of the cats emerge again, and squat near a pick up truck, watching for Bill Harlin.

They are also watching me.

Bill Harlin drives a Cadillac down the long drive—and all of the cats bob and weave, rubbing against each other and jogging towards the slow moving car. Occasionally, one cat will pounce on another, initiating a tussle, and then refocusing on the car.

Weathered by age, fresh air and sunshine, this horseman dotes on his barn cats. “I’m here every morning at 8:30—seven days a week.” He distributes dry cat food from a feed bucket and splats wet food directly from the cans onto the barn floor. “This here’s our queen. She’s round about 15 years old. She’s the Queen of the whole place.” She is the matriarch of the whole colony. This is already clear. “These two are her sires. Only three Toms on the whole place, except for the occasional one that passes through. You see that,” he chuckles, pointing out the large congregation of chocolate points, “A Siamese Tom passed through awhile back—completely changed the complexion of the cats.”

The Queen and her two ‘sires’ eat on top of some ploughing equipment, while the rest of the colony eats from the floor. I can’t help but recall Roger Tabor’s observation of the feeding etiquette of his feral colonies. With two colonies he discerned a distinct matriarch—the grandmother of the group. The matriarchs of his colonies didn’t reign by might or fright, rather the other cats treated the grandmothers with gentle deference. Staying back as a grandmother approached the food that caregivers provided, just waiting a few seconds for her to find her place before they began feeding. One such Queen was very petite and aging with a mild demeanor, in another colony, the aging Queen was clearly rather crabby.

These cats are all wary of me, but they seem to take no issue with Bill Harlin. “I don’t touch them, if I reach for them with my hands, they run away.” This said as several rub against his boot. “Except for that little one. The Queen hadn’t had a litter in four years when suddenly she showed up pregnant. Just one kitten in that litter—and not another since. For some reason, this one is the tamest of the bunch.”

“There’s another group of them in the stable.”

After feeding time, I sit in the barn for two hours, watching the cats and snapping pictures. I return the next day for an hour. I will be here often studying the dynamics of this group of feral, fertile, free-wheeling cats in the hopes that my observations will help deepen my understanding of the cat.

Already I am surprised by the relationship between the Queen and one of her ‘sires’, whom I call ‘Ginger’ (obvious, I know, but there are so many cats here that giving them obvious names will help me to differentiate them.) He remains at her side constantly during the couple of times I have been to the farm. She is braver than he, but his defensive body language speaks to me of guardianship, as though he is looking out for her. I realize there is always a danger of anthropomorphizing these cats—or seeking out patterns that I want to see. I am trying to interpret without bias, but there is no way for my knowledge and expectations to be completely neutral.

In the corner, by that ploughing equipment, is a kitty playground. Old fences and feedbags, a desk and farming equipment form cat trees and tunnels, beds and hideaways. A group of young cats plays and naps together there, scampering up the fences and pouncing out of hiding places. I try to imagine how to interpret that safely and with a better aesthetic for an outdoor enclosure.
On both days, my silent observation is a bit like a using an 'I spy' book with my children, working over pages of elaborate illustrations within which you try to find predetermined objects. A sort of puzzle for the eyes. In much the same way, as I look around the cavernous, cluttered barn, suddenly the outline of a cat will materialize against the camouflage—or just the tip of an ear or the refracted light from an eye.

In this endeavor, stillness will benefit me.

Feline Aggression

2007-02-24T22:15:00.000-08:00

During the past week, I have been inundated with Cat behavior consults. What is most interesting to me is the number of multiple cat households that are experiencing problems with aggression. Aggression cases fascinate me. They are usually a complex puzzle and I believe that behaviorists are severely limited in our ability to treat this issues beyond suggesting environmental changes, distraction tactics, positive reinforcement of good behavior. All of these can be effective, especially in a smaller household. But in a larger cat community, the dynamics can be much more complex.

Two sociologists, Steve and Janet Alger conducted a five year study of the Whiskers Cat Shelter in Albany, New York (I am planning to visit the shelter in July 2007.) They concluded that feline social interactions are not formed as strict hierarchies (the term often used is ‘subtle hierarchy’),but rather that cats adopt social roles. For instance, some cats act as socializers. They welcome new cats into the shelter community, comforting them and sleeping with them (Lara Germony described a similar cat during my visit to Basha’s Fund, describing one of her cats as the ambassador, because he shows foster cats the locations of the litter box and food, then sleeps with them their first night.) Other cats act as the police, intervening and preventing conflict when tensions arise between shelter residents. Some cats seemed to be a friend to all, curling up with the cats that had trouble bonding with a specific friend. While other cats sought out the company of just one or two other cats for companionship.

They found that the ‘un-adoptable’ feral cats helped to create and preserve the culture of this cage-free shelter. Feral cats tend to have better feline to feline social skills then cats coming from single cat homes. Many of the single cats needed to be guided in adjusting to the culture of the shelter. Some did better than others.

What interests me is understanding the recurring social roles that are common from one cat community to another—and examining the significance of those roles to the cats.

Clearly, part of the adjustment problem when cats are newly introduced is an issue of adjusting social roles—less a hierarchical conflict and more one of insecurity, reluctance and often resentment about not wanting to change or share roles. I suspect that it may be important to differentiate roles from ‘status’.

The ASPCA has developed a program called Feline-ality to assist in successful adoptions from shelters. The program uses criterion to asses the personality type of the cat in an effort to match the right cat to the right person. Perhaps it would be helpful to develop a similar system of assessment to categorize cat personalities in relationship to other cats—to help determine how the cats will interact together, and to assist in the transition of roles in households where the cats must find a way to co-habitate peacefully.

(Over the next several months, I will be observing a wide variety of cat communities looking for indications of consistent social roles and how each cat culture is organized around those roles. I realize it probably sounds a lot like ‘cat nerd’ talk—but I am really excited about this—because I believe that—without over complicating things—we need more tools to rehabilitate cat communities that are dealing with aggression problems.)

Cats and Matriarchy

2007-02-21T10:28:00.000-08:00

Occasionally, I will read two seemingly unrelated books that synthesize as profoundly connected. Last year, my favorite read of the year was Leaving Mother Lake a biographical portrait of a woman who grew up in the truly Matriarchal culture of the Moso women. Moso lake is a small region in China near the Tibetan border. Isolated by a rugged, mountainous terrain, their culture is entirely different from any other that I have encountered except for that of the cat as I read about them in Roger Tabor’s The Wild Life of the Domestic Cat, which explains the biologist’s extensive research on feral cat colonies and cultures.

In traditional Moso culture, there is no acknowledgement of fathers. There isn’t even a word for father. The family is organized around the matrilineal line (the line of the mothers). The home is usually the grandmother’s, her daughters and their children all living under one roof. Each grown woman has her own flower room; basically her bedroom where she can receive her lovers privately. When the sons and brothers mature, they move out of the main house into their own dwelling. They often travel far away in their work as herdsmen and traders. The women tend the agriculture and the home.

Uncles and brothers perform all the traditional support roles of a man in the family, except for sex. Incest is highly taboo. Men and women are free to engage in non-monogamous relationships based on mutual desire with a great deal of freedom, only not within the family. Thus the family bond is based on blood rather than romantic love or forced marriage. The Moso believe that love comes and goes like the seasons and find the idea of basing the stability of the family on such a sensation very precarious indeed.

Sisters share childrearing duties, including nursing. The arrangements are very egalitarian from house grouping to house grouping. Amongst themselves, the Moso are not very territorial but they are known to distinguish one family as the social pariah of the community and they are not always welcoming to people from other cultures.

I am by no means an expert on Moso culture, but reading Leaving Mother Lake not only excited my imagination about the variety of ways that humans can organize themselves. It also excited me because so many of the social structures where identical to that of the cat, leading me to the exciting conclusion that the domesticated cat is a matriarchal creature in its social organization.

Why do I think this? First of all, let me be clear about one thing. The domestic cat is NOT a solitary animal. The domestic cat is also NOT a dog. Cats are neither the aloof individualists they are misrepresented as, nor are they pack animals. The ancestors of the domestic cat are solitary animals, but the domestic cat has evolved into a social animal. They still hunt alone, (unlike dogs who hunt in packs, and thus organize their entire hierarchy around this survival practice) cats congregate for social reasons. For companionship, mating and security, and around a common food source.

In his book, The Wild Life of the Domestic Cat, Roger Tabor suggests that the considerable research on patterns of dominance and submission in cats may tell us more about the species conducting the research than about the cats (ostensibly) being studied. He finds patterns of affection and cooperation far more prevalent among cat colonies (feral and domestic). Aggression is usually focused on unfamiliar intruders or towards Toms when Queens are protecting their kittens. In fact, this defensive aggression is a cooperative action amongst Queens who will kitten-sit each other’s offspring;both nursing and providing protection. Any evidence of hierarchy is usually associated with limited food supply or conditions of confinement combined with high population density (such as the cages in which research cats are often confined while their behavior is being studied under controlled conditions.)

It is clear that cats confined in cages are not operating with their normal instincts, because the normally fastidious species will urinate in its water dish and sleep in its litter box. In essence, the cat’s hardwiring runs amok when the environment works against its instincts. Through the examination of studies of feral cat colonies, barn cats and other house cats, particularly those that are not-neutered, it is clear that female cats are the nest builders. They tend to stay closer to home, whether home is a back alley, a barn or a comfortable suburban house. The male cats will roam much farther for hunting and mating. In most documented feline social groups, cats do not recognize the father of their kittens. And in fact, several kittens within a litter may have different fathers.

Interestingly, although there is considerable biting and grasping during cat mating, there is no rape according to field researchers. The female cat selects her mates. When she goes into heat, her trilling and her physical postures and pheromones may attract many Toms who may fight each other, but she is not somehow obliged to mate with the winner. She may wait for another Tom more to her liking or a she may mate with several Toms. Cat sexuality seems to know no taboos other than female consent. This is much like the Moso women. A Moso woman may invite a man into her flower room, but this does not guarantee him admission at another time. She may welcome him back as long as she likes, but if she wants to break it off with him, she simply leaves any of his things on a hook outside her bedroom door. She may have multiple children from several fathers and there is no stigma associated with this. The fathers simply aren’t involved. Sex is strictly consensual.

All of this has led me on a search to learn more about Cat social structures. Cats have been so broadly misunderstood over the ages that new research and observations are just coming to the fore. Most of the evidence and a research is anecdotal, though it may be carefully quantified. Over the next months, I will be conducting several field studies on the social roles of shelter cats, feral cats and barn cats. As well as looking at the various maternal cultures of the cat looking at the highly domesticated pedigreed cat, and the maternal practices of shelter queens, feral queens and others.

As always, if you have made interesting observations about the social roles of the cats you interact with—or have anecdotal insights into the relationship between the mother cat, her young and other cats, please don’t hesitate to share them. You can contact me via my website at www.TheCatBehaviorist.com .

Battle Beseiged Cats

2007-02-19T05:11:00.000-08:00

Whenever I hear news of human wars around the world, I wonder about the plight of the local cats.

In Kosovo, a veterinarian with the US Army Veterinary Corp (who’s primary duty is attending to bomb sniffing and mine sweeping dogs) volunteers at a modest animal clinic that was founded by two British veterinarians. The British vets work in England, saving their money and time to come to Kosovo periodically to conduct spay/neuter clinics. None of the locals have any formal training, but the Army Corp vet is teaching one local man how to perform spay/neuter operations. Army corps vets are also known to help out soldiers who adopt local cats. It is illegal for soldiers to adopt ‘mascots’ (as the army refers to them), however the practice is not uncommon.

When Halliburton established the Green Zone in Baghdad, they exterminated all the cats in the area (apparently this is the regular protocol of oil companies and other big industry when establishing a base.)

There is very little public information about Iraqi cats. But in my search, I stumbled upon a cat-centric blog by a young Iraqi girl. Here is her story, gathered from my interviews with her:

In Baghdad, the sound of bombs and catfights mangle the night. One young Iraqi girl shuts them out, focusing entirely on the blind, mewling lives that have just emerged in her garage. To fight the winter chill, she has nestled a blanket around the queen and her kittens. Over layers of clothes, the girl wears a pink T-shirt featuring three fluffy kittens with angel’s wings.

Raghda Zaid loves cats.

Isolated in her home by the ever-present dangers of Baghdad, Raghda’s eight cats become her best friends. She has enjoyed cats ever since she was nine years old, but the war has brought them into the center of her life. The kittens chase her through the house as she pulls crumpled paper tied to string. She spends hours observing as they bound through the garden, exploring creatures real and imaginary. When she is scared or lonely, she pulls her favorite tabby, a swaggering tom named Tubby, close to her, comforted by his silky purrs.

Raghda Zaid may be the Anne Frank of the Iraq war. At thirteen years old, this dedicated cat lover reached out to the world through her blog, Baghdad Girl, which features cute cat pictures interspersed with striking updates about a schoolgirl’s experience of life in war-torn Baghdad.

Over the past two years, the world has responded. Raghda has been featured by the BBC, with mentions on National Public Radio, the Los Angeles Times and the Guardian newspapers, as well as countless websites. Hundreds of blog fans have written to her from all over the world, mostly from the United States, the U.K., Canada, Germany, France and Morocco.

She has now left Iraq, leaving her cats behind with her grandmother and her best friend. But her blog persists at http://Baghdadgirl.blogspot.com.

If you have heard any stories or insights into the situation of cats in Iraq, please post them in the comments section of this blog.

Cat Retirement: The Bluebell Foundation

2007-02-18T11:01:00.000-08:00

Like an air-born tsunami, the wind ploughed waves of rain over the island of Hong Kong. Tim and Nanci Willard braced their skeletal umbrellas against the wet ferocity of the typhoon as they ran from their car to the entrance of their apartment building. Through the crashing volume of the storm, Nanci heard a high note, the barely distinguishable sound of a kitten. Then she spotted the shivering handful of white and orange lodged in an opening in the masonry. Without thinking, she scooped it up, her umbrella turning inside out just before entering the foyer.

This is how Miss Kitty came into their lives.

Unfortunately, it only took a few days for the Willards to discover that Nanci had a terrible allergy to cats. After much consideration, Miss Kitty was sent to live with Tim’s mother in California, where she resided in comfort for three years until Tim’s mother passed away.

Perhaps it was the Chinese proverb that states: “when you save a life, you are responsible for that life” that inspired the Willards, because they have certainly taken that responsibility seriously. Unable to find Miss Kitty another suitable home, the Willards decided to spend $5,000 to ‘retire’ her with the Bluebell Foundation, where she would live out her days in ideal surroundings that cater specifically to the needs of cats. They still visit her several times a year, lavishing her with treats and attention, but they know that by choosing a reputable cat retirement facility, Miss Kitty is well cared for.
***
Last night, icy roads forced me to contemplate the consequences of my own mortality. My husband and I slid, just a few feet in his four wheel drive, but it was enough. I never worry as much when Aaron and I are apart, but if we died together, we would leave behind quit a menagerie. Aaron’s step-mother loves my children, and as their guardian, we are confident that she would look after their best interests. I’ve appointed my mother to be the guardian of the animals. She won’t want to take any of them, I’m sure. But each dog and each cat comes with a $10,000 trust for their care. Friends and family will be invited to adopt the animal of their choosing (though my dearest wish would be for the children and animals to stay together as a unit.) For any cat that can’t be placed with our loved ones, they will go to the Bluebell Foundation.

Why such morbid contemplations? Because from the minute you have children, the magazines and people around you insist that you plan. But we rarely do this with our pets.

I visited two cat retirement homes in California. The Bluebell Foundation and The National Cat Protection Society. The Bluebell Foundation is strictly a not-for-profit cat retirement facility. A mere $5,000 donation secures your kitty for a lifetime of tranquil retirement, top of the line cat food and all medical care. NatCat offers the same service in addition to their cat rescue work. Both are clean and peaceful, but the Bluebell Foundation is the place that I would love to retire. Close to Laguna Beach, the valley funnels fresh ocean breezes through the Bluebell grounds, the trees whisper while their leaves dance cool shade across the lawn, while the enclosed patios soak up sunshine for the solar worshipping cats.
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There are two cat houses; the lower house has some private living quarters for cats with special needs who don’t mix well with the general population. But their living quarters are generous and each has its own private enclosed patio. The rest of the population enjoys a communal patio, myriad cat trees and shelving to climb, 24 hour cat videos featuring birds, mice and fish, as well as volunteers and paid staff that keep the place immaculate (every piece of fabric in the place is washed every day.) And give the kitties lots of love and affection.

A visit to the ‘Upper House’ is almost comical. When I entered the main living room a motley assortment of geriatric cats gathered to greet me. Some were missing a limb or an eye, most were creaky with arthritis, all were retired housecats, dearly loved by their deceased owners and used to heaping doses of love and affection. With great effort and aplomb, they wobbled their way onto the couch were I happily doled out caresses and praise. Other than their occasional vocalizations, the place was quiet and serene, cats slumbering on window seats, exploring the water features on the patio. Like a luxurious monastery, all the residents seemed dedicated to meditation and the contemplation of divinity. As is suitable for the final stages of life.

I could have rested there for an eternity and been happy. If it ever comes to that, I hope my own kitties will feel the same way. Though I certainly intend to out-live all of them and watch my children grow into old age, as well.

The Rock Star of Cat Behaviorists: Pam Johnson-Bennett

2007-02-13T18:06:00.000-08:00

Three years ago, I purchased my first cat behavior book—and completely transformed my life. After reading Pam Johnson-Bennett’s Think Like A Cat, I gobbled up her other books. Her insights opened me to this journey—moving beyond just loving cats to really understanding them. Pam Johnson-Bennett has a reputation for knowing more about cats than anyone else on the planet—and it may be true.

I finally got to meet her in person. She was gracious and supportive. But most of all she was brilliant. She spoke about the cat as a predator and how that defines everything about them. A cat’s body functions as the perfect hunting machine. Everything about them is attenuated to the hunt. Their facial whiskers, their carpal whiskers on their paws, their eyes, even the very tips of their fur all collude to create this master of hunters.

Catnapping gives them down time between the intense spurts of energy and brain power that define the cat’s predatory style. And yet, we bring these creatures indoors and delude ourselves that if they are fed and have a comfortable place to sleep—that they will be happy, when everything about them craves the hunt.

Play. (It’s the Pam Johnson-Bennett mantra.) Play with your cat., which really means creating a hunting opportunity for your cat—using pole toys, not your hands (never your hands). A pole toy allows you to animate the ‘prey’ swooshing and jittering it around the room. Bird feeders let the cat enjoy the visual aspects of the hunt—but then you also must engage the cat in play.

Most moving of all, she said, “When people really start to understand their cat’s needs—and respond to them, I see a blossoming of the relationship. It deepens and transforms. The cat and the human achieve a much deeper bond.”

After the group discussion, she spoke with my privately. She suggested some very interesting books (which I promise to review once I have a chance to read them) and offered some insights from her development as a Cat Behaviorist.

For some people, meeting a movie star or a famous musician is a heart-fluttering pinnacle moment. Living in Los Angeles, I met a lot of stars, from Jodie Foster to Chris Isaacs—but no one thrilled me quite like Pam Johnson-Bennett (after all, she is the rock star of Cat Behaviorists.)

Tails Up! : Basha’s Fund

2007-02-11T17:52:00.000-08:00

Three years ago, my husband traveled to China to adopt our daughter, Allegra. He was able to visit one orphanage. My husband is not a tearful man, but the visit devastated him. Bombarded by the stench of unwashed babies and toddlers who were strapped to highchairs, the orphanage was cold in the winter, but all the windows were open otherwise it would have been a challenge to breath, the smell was so bad. Most heartwrenching of all was those expressionless babies. Blank faces and vacant eyes. Never nurtured or held, these children were thoroughly institutionalized, given food, tiny beds and a high chair to sit up in, but not much more. Each of the children in our adoption group gradually awakened from this state. My husband referred to it as “de-glazing” the babies.

When Lara Germony, founder of Basha’s Fund Cat Rescue, showed me the picture of Lucy at the local animal control, the parallel to the orphan girls of China immediately came to my mind. “Sometimes shelter cats give up, all the life goes out of their eyes.” Lara has made it her mission to rescue those cats, the depressed cats and sick cats, the cats that need a substantial dose of love, care and often medical attention. “Lucy was one of those cats. She had been found as a street stray. She was withdrawn to begin with, and a black cat. It’s as if she knew that there was little hope of her ever leaving the confines of her little cage—except for euthanasia. She stopped eating or grooming and spent her days staring dully at the outside world.” Lara took Lucy home and found her an excellent placement where she transformed into a beautiful and loving cat.

“I keep Lucy’s picture on my desk. There are days when I get home from a long work day and I just don’t feel like I have the energy to take on the needs of other people’s abandoned cats. But then I think of Lucy and it helps me get through all the litter box cleaning, phone calling, fundraising, vet visits, the sub-cutaneous fluids, special feeding. All of it.”

For Lara, this work has a spiritual element. “When a cat reaches the end of its life, I want it to die knowing that its soul was recognized.” She struggles against tears. “I feel like this is my purpose in life, to help cats. Some people become missionaries or teachers, I’m a cat rescuer. That is why I was put on this earth.”

Lara and her husband, Greg, share their home with eight permanent cats. Their home is something of a ‘Tuxedo Junction’ as six of the cats are black& whites. At dinner time, Lara calls out joyfully, “Tails Up!”, dangling a spoon as she walks to their dishes. Instantly a stampede of kitties tumbles down the hall, all with their tails straight up in the air, just a slight happy curve near the tip, reminding me of a note Earnest Hemingway wrote in 1943 while living in Cuba with his third wife and eleven cats:
"One cat just leads to another. . . . The place is so damned big it doesn’t really seem as though there were many cats until you see them all moving like a mass migration at feeding time. . . . “

Lara tries to limit her fostering to one cat at a time. “Over the course of a year, I have rescued 100 cats from the shelters. But taking in one cat at a time keeps it manageable.” She points out an older orange tabby. “That is Baxter, we call him our ambassador. Whenever we bring a new cat into the house, he kind of shows them the around—where the food dish is, where the litter box is. And he usually spends the first night sleeping with them.” Lara practices Trap-Neuter-Return on the neighborhood ferals. “There are a lot of cats around here. Every spring, there are kittens. Some of the mamas are very hard to trap.”

One year, Baxter and his littermates came around for nightly feedings. Lara has tamed many ferals by just sitting in the dark with them while they eat, speaking to them in a steady stream of soothing love-talk. Gradually, she builds trust with them, until some will allow her to touch them and eventually even bring them indoors. “I had to rush the process with Baxter though. One day, when he was just a little kitten, he came around the corner covered in motor oil. I hadn’t been able to get close to him during the nightly feedings, but when I saw him in that state, I spoke firmly, ‘Baxter, come here, right now. I have to help you.’ I held out two pieces of kibble in my hand. And he came right up to me, sniffed the kibble and let me pick him up.”

As we chat, her cats come one by one to inquire about my presence. Each takes a turn snuggling with Lara and basking in her affection. There is so much joy here. “Aren’t they wonderful?” She smiles.

The Court House Cat: Judge Muriel Robinson & I.C.

2007-02-06T20:45:00.001-08:00

“If I grant you visitation, are you prepared to pay cat support?” Judge Muriel Robinson has been known to ask divorcing couples feuding over custody of their cat. “It’s a legitimate question, there are expenses associated with caring for a cat. I love cats, I always have. And I always look after the interests of cats that come through my courtroom.” The quintessence of a genteel southern lady, Judge Robinson comes from a well-established Tennessee family. Her father was a long-time Sheriff of Davidson County. Her current husband is the retired newspaper mogul, Irby Simpkins (of The Nashville Banner.)

Six years ago, a tiny ginger tabby crawled up a long driveway and clung to the brick façade of a Tennessee home in the midst of a torrential rain storm. His faint mews were just audible enough to facilitate his rescue. Little did this stray kitten know that he had chosen the home of Judge Muriel Robinson’s sister, a decision that would catapult him into Tennessee High Society. Irby and Muriel adopted the adorable orange waif and named him after Irby’s father, affectionately referring to him as I.C.

During his first two years, I.C. accompanied the Judge to the Nashville Court House regularly. He set up camp in her chambers and spent his days micromanaging the file clerks and protecting important documents (by sleeping on them.) Unfortunately, his legal career ended when he crossed paths with an unsuspecting (and rather biased) Jury that somehow confused his lithe beauty with an over-sized rat. The verdict was in—and I.C. was out…

As ever, this cat landed nimbly on his toes (according to the Judge, who has adorned her apartment with expensive crystal and antiques, “He weaves his way around the crystal, you see how lightly he walks? He doesn’t breaks anything. The maid and I have broken more things than he has. He is really a very good cat.”) I.C. has retired to a life of cosseting and travel between the exclusive domain of his luxury Penthouse apartment in Belle Meade, his rambling country estate modestly referred to as ‘The Farm’ where he enjoys the company of the local barn cats (I.C. is far too refined for snobbery), and the occasional jaunt to his mountain hunting lodge in North Carolina. On those occasions when his doting mother and father travel further a field, I.C. vacations in his private cat quarters (reserved exclusively for his use) at the Farm at Natchez Trace, perhaps Tennessee’s finest feline boarding facility.

“Of course, he’s too macho to purr much,” the Judge confides. “But at night, he likes to curl up on my chest for his ear rub. Then he forgets all that and he purrs. Yes, he purrs for his ear rubs. Mostly, he just takes me for granted. But he loves his Irby. I don’t know what it is between those two. Of course, I’m the one who cleans up after him, men just don’t do that sort of thing—and I.C. likes a pristine litter box.”

In a world where so many stray cats meet with unkind fates, I loved learning about one ginger darling who became a Society Cat.

Pet Cemetary

2007-02-02T09:17:00.000-08:00

Freckled with plastic flowers and granite headstones, Nashville’s only pet cemetery rambles up a green hillside, the metal chimneys of the ramshackle crematory barely visible from the road. Two cement dogs stand guard at the entrance of the trailer/funeral parlor. The undertaker is a young man in a trim red beard and knitted cap with mud on his pants. He introduces himself as “The Pet Grave Digger”, his gentle humor immediately evident because his whole manner proves a stark contrast to Hamlet’s grave digger and the craggy grave-diggers of Hollywood horror movies.

We tour the grounds and the new crematory. He is candid and kind. “People bring their pets here to honor the love they shared, to give the pet a dignified burial.” He shares an industry secret, “When your vet offers to dispose of the pets body, unless you specify that you want a return of the cremated remains, or you request that the body by part of a mass cremation, more likely than not, the body will be dumped in a mass grave at a local landfill.” Every Tuesday, he travels a southern route, picking up euthanized pets, some for individual cremation, some for mass cremation, others head to the landfill. “I don’t like doing that, but when I bought the business a year ago, that was part of the package, but I don’t offer that service to my new accounts—only mass cremations or individual cremation or burial.”

The burial services aren’t cheap, starting at $750 which doesn’t include the casket or the headstone. But the pet cemetery maintains a trust that guarantees that the grounds will be maintained in perpetuity (or something close to it anyway.)

The undertaker’s father is a Baptist preacher, but defines his Christianity much more loosely. “God knew what he was doing when he created pets—he offered them to people as an experience of unconditional love. I don’t think humans can truly love each other unconditionally, we all bring too much baggage to our relationships, even with our own children. But a pet can love you unconditionally, and that gives you just a taste of what it feels like to be loved by Christ.”

A large poster of The Rainbow Bridge Poem seems a startling display for a devout Christian. “Oh the bible says there are animals in heaven—and that poem touches so many people, it’s just another way of approaching it.” But, of course, not everyone agrees with this interpretation of the Bible. Sitting in the funeral parlor, surrounded by urns and cutesy animal illustrations yellowed with age, he continues, “One family that owns several plots, just buried two cats, only weeks apart. Mr.B--- , who is Southern Baptist, always says a prayer at the graveside and concludes with an assurance that one day he will join the cats in heaven. One of his brethren is offended by this—and they have had several rounds of arguments at their church. But Mr.B--- says that until he knows for sure, he will certainly hope to see his beloved pets again in the afterlife.”

Of course, the irony in all this is that the undertaker’s only pet is a hermit crab.

Caring for Carnivores: Feline Conservation Center

2007-01-29T07:50:00.000-08:00

Flashback: Feline Conservation Center, Rosamund, CA August 2006

Pulling yellow fat from purple horse muscle, slicing, chopping until the blister at the base of my index finger bursts. Half frozen, the meat holds its blood, but makes my hands numb. This is strange work for a vegetarian. A poignant reminder that my beloved felines are dedicated carnivores.

A cigarette droops from the young zookeeper’s lips. She takes a long drag, then tips her ash in the trashcan, drops the cigarette on the kitchen’s cement floor, squashes it, picks it up with bloody fingers and deposits it in the can. Melanie is pretty and jovial, but just as at the cat shows, the smoking baffles me. Like smoking in church—a sacrilegious act.

The whole kitchen smells like menstruation. And then the wind blows the wrong way and that is overcome by the powerful aroma of scat and decaying meat from the dumpsters.

Most of the people around me are volunteers—none of them studied zoology. Kim owns a Chem Dry carpet cleaning company. Lisa is an electrical engineering student. Jeff, a pear-shaped small animal vet. Roger, a self proclaimed “Building Maintenance Technician” (this said with a zealous mix of discomfort and pride.) Roger loves the bigger cats—the jaguars, leopards, lynxs. His banter with them alternates between sappy falsettos of affection and bursts of foul language.

As I wait for feeding time outside, sweat pools behind my ears. The desert heat thaws my hands. We will feed all the cats at twilight.

What struck me most today is that these cats are cuddly and lovable as cubs, but they are transformed by adolescence and the onset of their sexual drive, so that they become dangerous to humans. Even the smaller cats. When we enter their cages to clean, we don’t turn our backs on the cats, we mutter sweet-nothings mixed with stern warnings to behave. An occasional adult cat will exude affection, like Angora the Siberian lynx, utterly charming in her rapture at being stroked and scratched. But the zookeepers are even wary of the tiny adult sandcats, yet they romp and cuddle with the enormous 6 month old Chinese leopards, holding these cats on their laps, ruffling and rumpling them like kittens, though the occasional ‘leap, lunge and swat’ warns of things to come. In a couple of months, humans won’t be able to enter the cage to clean unless the leopards are locked in their boxes.

How will they get these ornery adults into their boxes? Clicker training. One of the zookeepers, Marie, uses clicker training with the leopards, lions, tigers, cougars and even the brutish jaguars.

In spite of drinking copious quantities of water, the heat and mild dehydration conspire into a pounding headache. This volunteer work is very physical. Perhaps too physical for me. Raking, scooping poop, disposing of chunks of uneaten, stinking meat covered with ants. Hardly glamorous, the reward of being close to these cats draws the volunteers.

I feel conflicted about this place, “The Feline Conservation Center”. A not-for-profit breeding facility, that the founder refers to it as a “Noah’s Ark” for small cats. The pens are truly not as nice as the outdoor enclosure I am planning for my pampered housecats. In the wild, these cats have a natural territorial range of 3.5 miles or much, much more. At the center, they pace in cages not much larger than my bedroom. Bored. Over 80 cats.

The exhibit pens are better with moving water features, but most of the pens seem more like prisons. The ‘conservation’ breeding program supplies zoos around the world, including Estonia and the Czech Republic. One large leopard whose loud “sawing’ could be heard throughout the compound, was in quarantine preparing to return to Estonia. I asked the zookeeper, “What is the zoo in Estonia like?” The clipped response was, “How would I know?”

The memory that claimed my imagination was of the caged lion I encountered at the Budapest Zoo in 1989. Oozing eyes staining his face, no room to turn around in his little capsule of concrete and bars.

On the other hand, the Feline Conservation Center is purportedly keeping many of these species of cats from extinction. Jaguarondis—the weasel looking cats from South America—have 38 chromosomes, 2 more than the usual 36. They bring to mind Elizabeth Marshall Thomas’s assertion in her book “The Tribe of the Tiger”, she calls the ‘Mongoose Tribe’ the evolutionary precursor of the cat, the hyena and the mongoose (as opposed to the fox tribe that evolved into the raccoon, dog and bear.) These Jaguarondis, known as the ‘prehistoric cat’, are intensely shy and delicate. Very sweet. It is a rare and wonderful experience to stroke thier tiny faces.

Then there is the Pallas Cat that looks so much like my cat Helen with her ears back. It is speculated that the Pallas Cat may have been cross-bred with the domestic cat to create the Persian cat centuries ago. Hunted for its beautiful coat, this Mongolian cat is on the verge of extinction. Its protective impulse is to freeze and assume an imagined ‘cloak of invisibility’ which makes it easy pickings for human predators. The Feline Conservation Center is the only group that has successfully bred these small cats in captivity.

Earlier in the day, I bought 30 feeder fish at PetSmart for $7. Such a large sacrifice of small lives in exchange for a few minutes of pleasure for the bored cats. The Fishing Cats wade in their pools, chattering with anticipation. They swipe at the orange fish, scooping them with their claws, into their mouths where the fish pop audibly. Even the Margays enjoy this sport. Sleek, beautiful small wild cats that remind me of Bengals—though they aren’t as keen to get wet as the Fishing Cats.

Blue shadows cool the surrounding desert as the cats stretch and pace. Mealtime is predictable if you've ever fed a house cat. The cats gather by their food dishes, vocal in thier anticipation of their evening meal. Its no wonder that the big cat noise is refered to as 'sawing'--it sounds exactly like a metal saw hacking at wood. Food is provided, the horse meat mixed with vitamins and a few thawed chicken necks. All raw. Heads bow over metal bowls. When the meal is done, careful grooming ensues and then relaxation while digesting. Their mannerisms are so familiar. It is easy to see the temptation to approach them like housecats, in so many ways they are identical: the gentle velvet of their noses, the cocking of their ears to investigate sounds, even the rough sandpaper tongues (I had read once that a tiger's tongue is so rough that if it licked you, it would peel the skin of your body. I know now that is patently false, so many of my comrades having enjoyed the sensation, intact.)

Epiphany

2007-01-23T21:00:00.001-08:00

Plagued by a search for meaning, the first two-thirds of Cats! confounded me. Who were these cats—these bedraggled and frankly rather ugly Cats! ? Their costuming and the sets were the first stumbling block—very Madonna circa Lucky Star (you know, fashionably tattered) and all sporting Leg Warmers. Yes, it was the 25th anniversary tour, but I would have thought in twenty-five years we would have enjoyed some costume updates.

The words were stirring, jocular and occasionally incomprehensible but they seemed to jar with the staging. And there was nothing catlike about most of the pseudo-modern jazz dancing. What was it all about? Was it actually about cats? At intermission, I overheard middle aged women espousing feline devotion with little girls wearing painted whiskers and flamboyant gay men who had seen the original Broadway production. The entire 2500 seat theatre was sold out to an audience that offered standing ovations and ‘Bravos’ at curtain call.

But what was it about? And then suddenly during Grisabella’s spin-tingling wail of “Touch me! It’s so easy to leave me! All alone with my memories of my days in the Sun!” the entire thing fell into place for me.

Who were these ugly, aging cats who gather in the ruins of a garbage dump to sing songs about their glory days by the hearth?

New Orleans. The stage looked like the ravages of New Orleans. And the cats were Katrina cats. The left over, unneutered cats that have been mating into third and fourth generations. Only the aging cats remember what it was to be a hearth cat—and then be left behind. That is who these singing cats represent. Thousands of untended cats. Rescuers say that there are so many colonies that they can only get to some of them once a week to provide fresh water and some food.

For the rest of the play, all the brittle, spiky hair spoke of dehydration. The description of Grisabella as having sand in her coat and a crooked eye spoke of cats so malnourished that they stop grooming and become aggitated and aggressive. Each note was a call, an invitation to go to New Orleans to touch these very real cats.

Jellicle Cats

2007-01-21T09:53:00.001-08:00

As a teenager, I was precisely the sort of maudlin theatre-geek who ran around belting my woeful, emotive rendition of “Memory All alone in the moonlight, I can smile at the old days……” And though in the late eighties, I was privy to plenty of professional musical theatre extravaganzas, I have never actually attended a performance of Andre Lloyd Webber’s “Cats! The Musical”—but I am going tonight to witness its 25th anniversary tour passing through Nashville.

When I announced my intentions to my husband, he smirked, “Oh—is it the original cast?” He disrespectfully declined to attend and made me promise to stop prancing around the house (my delighted daughters in tow) crooning, “Jellicle songs for Jellicle cats, Jellicle songs for jellicle cats” at least until I could confirm whatever the hell “jellicle” means.

I hastened to remind him that at its heart the whole “Jellicle cat” phenomena is really T.S. Eliot, a poet with whom I shared a profound one-sided relationship in college.

He scoffed, but April was excited to accompany me, so I hastened to Wikipedia where I learned that according to T.S. Eliot a Jellicle cat is a dear little black and white cat. Although Andrew Lloyd extended its meaning to include all cats of any color or purrsuation. Thus we continued to annoy my spouse with our repetitive refrain.

I have long suspected that (no matter its faults) Cats! The Musical significantly contributed to the ascendancy of the cat as America’s most popular pet. Thus, I can no longer resist the allure of “MacAvity, MacAvity, there’s no one like MacAvity, he’s broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity….”

To be continued....

Channeling My Inner Cat

2007-01-20T10:44:00.000-08:00

Ostensibly, the bird feeders and the ensuing wildlife that gathers around our pear tree are for the benefit of the cats. But I find myself similarly entranced by the flittering motion, the bright colors and varied personalities of these little critters who feed on our seeds. The cats have three comfortable views of the tree. In the living room, they can recline on the chaise lounge or in a comfy cat basket filled with soft pillows both strategically placed next to the window. In the dining room, I placed a Queen Anne settee in front of the window (a cleverly disguised cat bed—defended against my husband’s aghast “More cat crap? When does it end?”) Upstairs, the window in my office looks down on the pear tree. The elaborate cat tree affords an alternate perspective (I am allowed a surplus of ‘cat crap’ in my private space).

Some lazy mornings, when the children are at their adorable best, all of us will pile into the oversized chaise, Aaron & I, the kids and most of the cats to watch the birds. If we’re lucky, Allegra and April form a naming cooperative, “That red one is Joey Jo-Jo” “No, Joey Jo-Jo James.” “That’s a cardinal.” “What is that? It looks like the cardinal but not so red?” “Maybe that’s his wife?” “Julie!”

Chester, the petite, scrawny tailed squirrel provokes our young Calico, Gussie, into the ‘Aka-ak-ak’ hunting call of the inexperienced cat. I have come to suspect that Chester is actually two squirrels, but my children insist that he is a singular entity. He (or they) is a breathtaking acrobat (though unfortunately very camera shy) who hangs by one hind leg, gently swaying upside-down as he munches on nuts pilfered from the bird feeders. I purposely didn’t buy ‘squirrel-proof’ feeders, knowing next to nothing about wild birds, my only concern was entertainment for my indoor cats. However, it seems that Chester is the affable sort who doesn’t mind sharing with his winged companions, as all species tend to dine together.

On weekday mornings, when I have survived the daily struggle of getting the girls appropriately dressed, fed, brushed, with bags packed and faces cleaned, dropping them at their respective schools, hopefully with a minimum of clichéd (‘she’s looking at me! She touched me!’) bickering from the back seat, I return to my silent home. The quiet up-turned faces of my cats greet me with an invitation to join them on the chaise. Together we can lose time, shedding ourselves in the dozy comfort of warm cats and flighty birds. I gaze out the window, 13 pounds of heat-radiating fur toasting my hip, another 10 blanket my feet, and a modest 6 grazes my elbow. Together we blink and watch and wait for nothing in perfect bliss.

Book Review: An Unlikely Cat Lady

2007-01-18T07:27:00.000-08:00

Last night, as I lay on my purple love seat, covered by three purring cats, savoring the last pages of "An Unlikely Cat Lady", it occured to me that posting reviews of my favorite cat literature would offer you the same pinnacle of pleasure: reading about cats (holding printed paper in hand)while experiencing them--all at once.

In her book, Nina Malkin claims she is an unlikely cat lady and her publishers probably concurred because her writing is edgy and candid, peppered with evocative similies and sentiments that are guarenteed to offend--yet so accurate and honest that their unexpected familiarity makes you gasp and then chuckle. For instance, she describes one friendly stray as "floppy and amenable as a hooker on qualudes." Instantly, I knew this cat.

In many ways, her lack of concern about political correctness makes this book loaded with guilty pleasure. Her naked distain of one unneutered feral dubbed "Yeff Smeef" is unsettling (and perhaps unfair.) In her view, this sniveling, malevolent Uriaha Heap of a cat is the bane of her feral colony. And yet, he forms an interesting literary counterpoint to the near religious devotion with which she tends to the rest of the colony. "...the villanous Yeff Smeef pursuing Nancy from yard to yard, his lecherous proboscis inches from her prepubescent coochie--distresses me no end."

In fact, Nina Malkin is not an unlikely cat lady at all. She represents the next generation of cat ladies, not the blue-haired biddy in a billowing house coat, but a sharp-witted modern woman with a heaping dose of 'cattattraction" that is drawn cat by kitten into the world of Trap-Neuter-Return.

Vignettes

2007-01-17T19:47:00.000-08:00

Queen Helen

Helen has been regressing. The move and our stay in the temporary apartment were not good for her. She gained a bit of weight and reverted to her skittish, nippy behavior.

But she is happy today (as we set up our new home), reclining on her heated throne where she can servey her Queendom at her leisure. So appreciative of her heated-window perch, she deigned to be cosseted and stroked for a full 30 minutes before becoming irritable.

As a cat ages past seven years, she needs external sources of heat to help stay comfortable. At nine years old, Helen is overdue for such pampering. And yes, Helen has a time-share arrangement with the other cats, who also enjoy an occasional nap in her spot.

Tara and Loco
Walking along Lake Avenue in Pasadena, past the posh shops, with a dearly beloved client who had become a friend, I spotted a homeless man ahead. Keeping the hulking, army surplus clad figure in my peripheral vision, I prepare to skirt a wide detour around him. But my companion, a petite, refined red-head has no such plans. Instead, her purposeful stride stops at his side and she reaches up to visit with a Tabby perched on his shoulder. “How’s Tara doing?” She asks the man. “She’s cool,” responds “Loco”. In his early twenties, with a scraggily beard, my entire perception of him changes, seeing that a cat has claimed him.

As we walk away, I marvel at how calm the cat seems. My friend is more dubious, “He keeps her on a leash, so I’m not sure how much choice she has in the relationship.” Still, the cat seems relatively healthy and mellow. My friend surprises me, the depths of her devotion to cats knows no bounds. She slipped him a twenty “for cat food.” “Usually, I give him a Petsmart gift certificate. I gave him a gift certificate for a nearby vet, hoping that he would get the cat checked and vaccinated. But I haven’t asked if he used it.”

(I know, I should have had my camera with me.)

Pierre-The Dog-Running Cat (move over Cesar!)
Occasionally a cat completely captures my imagination—I’m sure this is where pet psychics make most of their money: from clients who are dying to know the ins and outs of their pet’s back-story. Pierre, who presents like a well-mannered bouncer at a Chicago speak-easy, was found running the streets of said city with a pack of stray DOGs. And not some pack of pansy lap dogs—BIG dogs, German Shepard mixes and one enormous beast beyond identification. The leader of the pack. I imagine him like Cesar Millan (the famous dog whisperer) who can walk over 40 dogs off leash simply by the command of his presence.

Now retired in the luxury of a loving home, this bruiser maintains his dog like ways, first at the door to greet guests and clearly in command of the three large dogs who share his home (no relation to his street gang).

Ben and Henry
My two beloved boys had been studiously avoiding each other ever since Henry arrived. Until one blustery afternoon, when they inadvertently (or so it seemed) ended up sleeping very near each other on the couch. The sight was too much to resist, so I knelt next to them, stroking each, hoping it would encourage their friendship. Without further prompting, Ben began grooming Henry. Henry responded with a full throated purr. To which Ben responded with more grooming. Henry (who is ever hungry for attention) nuzzled closer to Ben to further encourage this tenderness. And the grooming carried on for a full ½ hour!!

Since then the boys have been thoroughly bonded, Henry joining in all the kitty games as an excepted member of my feline tribe! Yeah Henry! And Thank You Ben!

Death Threat

2007-01-05T22:27:00.001-08:00

The story on the radio was about cats, so of course I shushed the children and listened attentively. Cats vs. Birds. Cats, the predatory blight on the bird population. The lead into the story accused cats of killing millions of birds.

I know cats can kill birds. When Ben first began insinuating his way into our family, he would leave us offerings on the porch. I delighted at every garden blight—the moles and gophers, but the yellow down of finch or the innocent crest of tit mouse (not a mouse at all but a perfectly charming bird) filled me with shame and remorse. Once Ben was ours, I belled him and started to transition him to being an indoor cat. I spoke to my neighbor, Peggy, who had been his caregiver (along with about 20 other cats) about belling her cats. She looked at me incredulously, “But then I would be denying them the taste of bird!”

You know the issues. The back and forth—are cats destroying the bird population—or is it development and all the other mitigating factors. Reknown biologist Roger Tabour swears that it isn’t cats at all. That studies of the contents of hunting cats stomachs (outdoor cats killed by cars and other mishaps) demonstrate that the vast majority of the contents are rodents and garbage—not birds.

But the story on NPR was prefaced with certainty that cats were the culprits. The scientists putting together a new data study were open to the option that perhaps cats’ control of the rodent population actually provides more opportunities for birds to flourish—it’s a possibility since rodents are also an enemy of birds.

Then the story veered toward the dramatic. Another bird scientist had been advocating that hunters shoot any feral cats they see on sight. On the radio, he exclaimed to the interviewer that he had received numerous death threats. Real death threats left on his answering machine because of his position on this issue. He played one and it went something like this, “You are a cat murderer. A cat murderer and let me tell you, what goes around comes around. I officially declare open season on you.” The woman’s voice (and you knew it would be a woman) tore at my heart—her pain and her passion evocative of every road-side carcass of soft fur, mangled into meat by a swift moving car. But deliberate. To take aim and fire at the one who shares your bed at night, licks your tears, welcomes you home.

In the story, this woman was dismissed, cast aside with no more consideration than the boast that she is now in prison. And the story returned to the birds.

Who is this woman? Does anyone out there know more about her story? This hysterical voice on an answering machine. This hysterical voice and her agonizing commitment to Karma. Who is now in prison. Nameless prisoner—female vigilante for cats. If you know anything about her—will you post it here? In the comments? I want to know her back story.

Is she a convict now because of that voice message?

When they tossed around the term death threat, I expected someone who had purchased a gun and knew the guy’s address. Someone with a Columbine kind of determination. What I heard was a woman who day in and out traps and neuters and releases cats, who scrimps and saves every penny to feed other people’s cast offs. A woman who hand-raises kittens and spends every Saturday of her life at Petco or Petsmart hoping to find a good home for her charges. A woman who heard that this scientist was pushing for legislation that would make it legal to shoot outdoor cats on sight, because some people believe that they are a threat to the bird population. I heard a woman consumed by grief.

A woman who spilled her rage over the phone and then was cast off, silenced, imprisoned.

There must have been more to this story—some real threat, some tangible threat to end up in prison. Something more than ‘What comes around goes Around—I declare open season on you.”

This story did not help the status of cats. It did not mention all the cat activists that advocate keeping cats indoors. It did not mention numerous studies that provide opposing viewpoints. It did not mention the individual feline lives at stake in this human drama.

I am left unsettled. This story is a pinpoint on the map that connects the status of women with the status of cats. A story so unsettling that it is easily dismissed. Wicked Women and Their Wicked Cats. It is the undercurrent that has followed us for centuries from being burned alive together on the stake to the present day—the subtle innuendo of a radio news story.

The Nashville Paw

2007-01-03T21:04:00.001-08:00

There are so many ways to give service to cats—to aid in the plight of animals, increase awareness etc. Heather Davis has certainly found her niche as editor and publisher of the Nashville Paw (www.NashvillePAW.com) The articles are meaty and informative, challenging and interesting—not to mention well written, the format and design are professional and engaging. I was thrilled when I picked up my first copy at a local pet supply store. I sent her writing samples—very eager to be involved. We lunched yesterday. She’s tired—carrying a mostly one woman show, pouring her own resources into it.

We are told repeatedly that the pet industry is a multi billion dollar industry—and yet I see so many brave, dedicated souls that scrimp and save and give their life’s blood to the cause of animal rescue and rights. Heather said they almost didn’t pull together the finances for the sixth issue—they didn’t make enough ad sales, fortunately some donations saved the day. Of course, Heather has also been helping to fund the endeavor from her personal finances (much like Lorie, my friend and editor of the Southern California Pet Gazette.)

I worry that the Nashville Paw will fold. Why is that important? Because the Paw is a unifier, a communication tool that links all aspects of the pet world: the business people, the rescuers and activists, the veterinary and behavioral professional and the public—all of them, the pet loving and merely pet curious. It provides the opportunity to deepen everyone’s understanding of their animals. And learning to understand animals has been such a profound transformation in my life, everyone deserves at least the chance to move beyond casual affection to experiencing the soul of another species—that only comes through understanding.

On a more practical level—it also provides an excellent resource guide. The listings at the back of the magazine can help pet owners who need a pet sitter, a trainer, a behaviorist, a vet—not to mention local rescue groups. Just knowing where to look to find these resources can help pet owners overcome the many challenges of sharing one’s home with animals.

So, I discussed it with my husband and decided to postpone launching my business for a month. I committed 20 hours a week to the Nashville Paw for the next month—to sell advertising. My commitment is short term—just to bridge the gap until she finds the permanent person. I don’t want to turn into an ad rep person, I want to focus growing my cat behaviorist practice, my writing, as well as developing other cat education projects, but this is important. I think that Nashville Paw needs to stay viable. In many ways, Tennessee is a bit behind the curve with regard to animal issues. Animal Control is criminally under-funded to the point that they simply can’t respond to most animal cruelty reports. There is little awareness about the importance of spay/neuter, feral cats are mistreated, dogs are tethered. There is a strange dichotomy between the upper middle class that can support the pet stores, the luxury boarding facilities, animal masseuses (and dare I say, cat behaviorists—after all, this is where Pam Johnson Bennett made her name) and the rest of the population that is dramatically under-educated about these issues. The Paw offers free information and a focal point for communication between groups.

Plus, in all honesty, it is the only local print publication that makes sense for ME to advertise in—so if it goes belly up—there goes the easiest way to get the word out about MY OWN business.

I tossed my first pitch tonight—going for the big sale, the back cover of the February issue to the company that is installing the whole house HEPA filter in our new home. The owner is very proud to have saved many animal lives, helping improve the home air-quality and designing allergy relief programs for pet owners who find themselves reacting to pets. The Nashville Paw is a perfect match. I”ll let you know if he buys the ad space!

I just want cats

2006-12-29T12:04:00.000-08:00

I am being swallowed by a book. Over a year ago, I attended the author’s workshop about writing sentences, constructing them with powerful words, evocative images, varying rhythms. When I told someone in my creative writing class that I was taking a workshop called “How to write a sentence”, he laughed at me (ignorant) “What is that, like, a grammar class?” But it was so much more. Janet Fitch. I had LOVED her White Oleander, loved it before I knew that Oprah did. And her workshop transformed the way I write.

She agonizes over every word. It is a miracle that she produced another book. But this book is agony to read. “Paint it Black”. The book’s violence and darkness yanks me, page by page, into depression. So why read it? Because I love this woman, this writer and her incredible mastery of storytelling. Its like a premenstrual catharsis. But once I finish it, I don’t want to visit the inner dialogue of human strife again. I just want cats. They keep me light. Keep me gentle and easy.

Little Bit came and snuggled with me as I read, distracting me. Her exquisite face close enough to examine every detail. Bitter chocolate with the lights off and then the most startling blue, like the frosted eye liner of a 7th grade girl. Tracing the slight ski-slope bump of her nose, I am inclined to forgive the imperfections of my own nose, so charmed am I by hers.

The tapering of her coloring after her ears to café au lait with milk chocolate shavings. A delight to touch, smell and admire.

My period is coming, drawing a blanket over my emotions, making me crave a solitude that admits only my cats. With them, I can be alone with my thoughts, yet not lonely at all. Is it any wonder that women and cats are a perfect pairing?

In Between Time

2006-12-29T07:03:00.001-08:00

This is the in between time. I have been waiting and planning so long that I am desparate for the heave of real life. Launch my businesss, network with the cat world—more, all of the classes and learning I have planned for the year. Tellington Touch, Feline-ality, Bereavement Facilitator Certification and a Pet Loss specialty, Clicker Training, going deeper and deeper into my understanding of cat behavior through interviews, seminars and more reading.

Everyone gave me my old standby for Christmas—women’s contemporary literature. I used to revel in it. Eating those books like candy. But I pick one up and I am just itching to return to my cat books. Last night on Animal Planet they were showing Jane Goodall’s Talk with the Animals. A poignant reminder of how much more I have to learn to communicate with cats—I want to push beyond understanding them to the Goodall level of interaction.

But we are cramped in this apartment, children crawling all over everything, their stuff swamping the place. I am organizing, planning, coordinating furniture, movers, contractors. Drafting plans so that every room in the house has something to offer the cats, without overwhelming my husband. A refined home where he can invite his collegues, but at the same time, a cat’s home.

Soon. Within two weeks. The wait will be over.

The Nashville Cat Scene

2006-12-25T17:38:00.001-08:00

The upper middle class folk of Middle Tennessee take their pets seriously.

With two stores just 20 minutes apart that are devoted to all things feline, one would think that Feline Affirmative Action has made great strides in this area. Both stores sell cat food, litter, toys, as well as a host of cat nick-nacks. (here is a photo of the Christmas tree we decorated with ornaments from both shops!)
Both stores offer shelter cats for adoption.

The Feline Fetish is the smaller and newer of the two, located in Franklin. The owner, Stephanie, boosts that they have adopted out 83 cats since they opened in April of 2006. She hosts three cats at a time. “I like to pick the ‘hard cases’ from Williamson County Animal Control. Cats that have been abused or have little chance of being adopted straight from the shelter. I rehabilitate them at the store until they are ready to go home with someone.” With great affection, she strokes ‘Tortie’, “Of course, she isn’t a true tortie because of the white on her chest and paws. But that’s her name. She was abused and just terrified of everything. But look at her now. Every time a big man walks in the store and she strolls up to him for a pat, I feel fantastic.”

While I was visiting, a woman entered the store. She seemed taken with Tortie, stroking her and asking questions about adopting. My daughter, Allegra, was playing with another cat, bouncing the laser point around the store, while a silver tabby, Gracey dashed after it. “That one looks fun.” I sized the lady up, thinking that Tortie would be a much better match for her. Gracey has a bit of petting aggression and definitely needs to be played with. I wasn’t sure that this woman was up for meeting Gracey’s needs. Tortie seemed a better match to me.

When I returned to the store for another visit, Stephanie said that the woman had returned and adopted Gracey. I hope it works out.

The Cat Shoppe in Nashville usually hosts about 15 cats amoung its merchandise. A couple of the more aggressive cats are in cat cages, many of the cats lounge in the windows, while others enjoy a cozy outdoor enclosure. This store has been around for a long time. I first learned about it in the dedication of one of Pam Johnson-Bennett’s books. (She is the cat behaviorist that I consider my guru—a Nashville resident.) I had been eager to visit for years, but the owner was preoccupied with customers and we didn’t have a chance to chat.

Nashville has its own free ‘pet magazine’, The Nashville Paw, edited by Heather Davis. She launched the magazine about a year ago and its reputation is so strong that Nissan asked her to do a special issue for its 5000 employees that were relocated to the Nashville Area. It is a very well done rag. I picked up a copy at the Feline Fetish and noted the invitation to their Christmas fundraiser. When I called to RSVP, Heather herself answered (I will never get over my inclination to expect that these people will have ‘people’ who answer their phones for them—and my astonishment at how accessible most people in the cat world really are—even the ‘celebrities’.)

The party was held at the crème de la crème of pet boarding facilities: The Farm at Natchez Trace. I brought my eight year old daughter, April, who shares my delight in the ‘Silent Auction’—she made sure that we weren’t out bid on any of the items we really wanted! We toured the facilities and I was pleased to see that the cats had the nicest accommodations that I had seen at any boarding facility (and they should at $38 a night!—though I maintain that the San Fransisco SPCA had even nicer quarters for most of their cats.) Each kitty had a five story apartment, an entire wall of which is glass looking out at the delightful wooded grounds. The litter boxes are on the bottom. Food and water on higher levels. Each apartment is probably about three feet wide and six feet high. So it isn’t expansive but the emphasis on height is a plus—what really makes them winners though, is the view. One wall of each apartment is wire mesh, allowing the cats to see and smell the common area. Each cat is allowed five 15 minute intervals to explore the common area and play with the attendants.

What particularly caught my eye was one apartment that was labeled ‘exclusively for I.C. Robinson. “Oh, that apartment is reserved just for Muriel Robinson’s cat.” The attendant informed me. “Who is Muriel Robinson?” “The Judge? Oh she’s a force majeure in these parts. She loves her cat.”

I have to meet this woman. She must be spending a small fortune to ensure that I.C. has his own private accommodations every time she leaves town. There must be a story there.

The cozy party gathered around the roaring fireplace in the Farm’s lobby. Musicians strummed and cooed and $3500 were raised to help local rescue groups. April was delighted with the modest bounty that we acquired at the auction. And Heather suggested that she might want me to write a column for the Nashville Paw.

Several days later, I had completed my moving and house buying duties for the day and had an extra hour and a half before picking up the girls from school. I decided to take a detour and ended up at the Williamson County Animal Control building. The scene was not what I had expected, four of the lovely ladies of WCAC greeted me from their gold tinsel bedecked counter. When I introduced myself as a cat behaviorist, new to area and interested in possibly being of service, they embraced me warmly. “We are all cat lovers. We all have cats at home.” We talked about the work at the shelter. It was pretty grim. Lots of euthanasia. “We have no trouble placing kittens, but no body wants the full grown cats. We had another lady here from California. She was sure that in California these beautiful, healthy cats would be adopted, she just couldn’t understand why no one here wants them, so she set up her own rescue.” (Another person for me to meet!) “People around here are okay about fixing their dogs, but no one thinks about the barn cats—just throw them some slop and water and leave em be.”

Their eyes watered with tears as they discussed their jobs. “I’ve loved animals all my life, I never thought that when I grew up I’d be killing them for a living.” One woman quipped bitterly. These kind women were shrouded in grief. “Do you have anyone you can talk to about your mourning for these animals?” I asked. “Not really, no one wants to hear about it, half the people hate us and the other half just don’ t want to know—or don’t care. Its hard, its really hard working here, but atleast we know we are able to help some of the animals.” One woman pointed to a cat displayed in the lobby. “I nursed him back to health, now I just hope someone will adopt him before…”

“But we do have good news! Williamson County is finally hiring a vet to work here. Its very exciting.” I was shocked, “You are animal control and you don’t have a vet on staff? Surely you have Vet Techs at least?” “Nope, nothing. Most of us here started as kennel attendants—we actually have an opening for a cat kennel attendant—if you are interested?” I thought about it for half a second—but I couldn’t. I’m not brave enough, I’m not tough enough. I have just spent the last three years on a journey to understand the soul of the cat. I couldn’t handle a job putting them to sleep simply because no one else values them.

So very soon, the wealthiest county in Tennessee will have a veterinarian on staff at its animal control. They will be able to offer spay/neuter clinics—and actually treat the medical needs of the animals that arrive at the shelter. “Until now, its mostly been guess work, just drawing on our experience, but I worry that we are putting animals to sleep because of minor infections—things that really don’t warrant euthanasia.”

I carried their grief with me. I thought of a woman who raised her hand at the Cat Writer’s Conference. She spoke about working at a shelter and the unbearable grief that filled her. How she learned to hate humans and their carelessness and the ongoing horror of one death after another of trusting pets that had been cast aside. “Someone needs to address the grief of shelter workers. Someone needs to help us.”

Kids and Cats United

2006-12-25T16:11:00.000-08:00

On Christmas Eve, Allegra and Little Bit spent a solid hour burning off their three year old squirrels. Allegra would gather six ping pong balls, sit on a cushion and throw them, one at a time, across the room. Little Bit gave chase to every one as it scampered across the floor, and then look to Allegra when it came to a dead stop, cueing Allegra to throw another. When all six were dispensed, Ally gathered them all up and began again. Over and over and over again. Finally, they both tired of the game, Allegra moving on to something else, Little Bit curling up into a dead sleep.

Kids Vs. Cats

2006-12-23T16:52:00.000-08:00

The thing about kids vs. cats: For most cat behavioral issues, all you need is some solid information to solve the problem. I just don’t find the same to be true with kids.

For example, I have decided that Little Bits penchant for drawer diving has gone beyond what is reasonable, safe and tolerable. One of these days, she will get hurt. The solution is three pronged (aside from just trying to keep the drawers closed and inaccessible). Keep an empty soda can with a few pennies inside ready to shake whenever I see Little Bit casing an open drawer. Work on clicker training the ‘come’ command to get her to come back out if she does get in. The third thing is the most important though. As I plan the cat’s environment in our new home, I want to provide Little Bit with lots of interesting caves and crevices to explore that are safe for her. Little Bit gets bored easily, she needs lots of play and action. Plenty of appropriate places to climb and explore will keep her from needing to investigate what is behind every drawer.

It just isn’t that simple with my kids. Or perhaps I am mistaken. When I think of Little Bit, I think of her intense need to use up energy. The kids have similar issues. These days one just doesn’t set kids loose on the world letting them explore at will (kind of like keeping one’s cats indoors.) Perhaps I should focus on creating opportunities for the kids to combine exploring with releasing energy.

I am told that clicker training works on kids too. Hmm….

A Formal Feline Introduction

2006-12-09T20:52:00.000-08:00

Before we journey any further, you should know the cast of characters in my personal feline drama.

Helen: Born on the mean streets of downtown LA, our paths crossed when she was only two weeks old. Trapped with her little head wedged between the bars of a storm drain, her yowling caught my attention as I parked my car. She was filthy and nearly overcome with fleas. I pried her loose from the drain while she hissed and slashed at me, but the instant that I held her to my chest, she purred and blinked at me with beautiful blue eyes. My husband, Aaron, and I had only known each other for six months. My cat, Dorothy and I had moved in with him just two weeks after we met. I knew Aaron was a keeper, because he and Dorothy had bonded instantly. In the mornings, they would feed his fish together and enjoy a good chat (Dorothy was rather vocal.)

But I wasn’t sure how he would respond to the arrival of a vermin invested kitten. I hid the kitten while I stuttered and stumbled over myself to win his favor—I shouldn’t have worried. He was delighted. Immediately, we set about cleaning her up. It took six rounds of sudsing and rinsing before the water ran clear. The flea comb wasn’t catching these crafty critters, so we ended up tweezing about 100 fleas from Helen’s little body. This trauma would haunt her skin for the next eight years. Even with several rounds of surgery to remove the scaling, she had persistent allergic dermatitis until changes in her diet finally resolved the problem.

I was completely smitten with this kitten. She was so beautiful and loving. But she would never overcome her fear of other cats. Shortly after she arrived we rescued another cat, Athena, whom we believe had recovered from distemper. She has severe mental handicaps and I suspect that her bizarre social cues confused Helen as she developed. Helen never developed appropriate cat etiquette. Now, in our household of five cats, she is the persistent pariah. Even when a cat approaches her in a friendly manner for a gentle nose sniff, she responds as though being attacked, hissing and bearing her teeth.

Her skin is terribly sensitive and though she loves to be loved, sometimes being touched is more than she can handle.

She is the only cat I ever had that went into heat. She matured early, at four months. Her writhing and calling took me completely by surprise. But the intensity of it ensured that she went to the vet for surgery the next day.

During my pregnancy with April, I was very sick. For four months, I could barely eat anything. I couldn’t read, watch TV or move around without throwing up. So I was confined to my bed, initially in a dreadful state of boredom. Helen was my constant companion, still very much a kitten, she was more open to affection during those months. We spent hours, upon hours communing. Dorothy was there too, but I particularly remember Helen staying by my side during those horrible months. I am forever grateful.

Ben: Ben is perhaps the most exquisite cat that has ever lived with me. He chose my daughter as his favorite, even while he was living with our neighbor. She had rescued him from the parking lot at the Ontario Airport Marriot in California. But his stay in her household of twenty cats was short lived. He was destined to be united with my daughter. (Their love story will appear in Cat Fancy magazine sometime in 2007.)

He is divinely handsome and endlessly amiable. He is the cat who greets our guests and wins over even the most reticent of non-cat people. He is as soft as a rabbit, charming and playful. He was gaining a bit of a middle aged paunch last year when we brought home Gussie.

Gussie: My daughter, April, needed to interview a cat rescue worker as part of a book report project for school. I contacted my friend, Jan from Happy Strays Rescue. During April’s interview with Jan, April fell head over heals for a 4 month old calico that Jan was offering for adoption. There was something special about Gussie, so we brought her home. Ben couldn’t have been more delighted with his young girlfriend (and personal trainer.) The two romped and frolicked through the house while the ounces fell away from Ben’s midline. Their mutual affection was enchanting, but the relationship was shortlived because a few months later, we brought home Elizabeth (referred to as Little Bit because my three year old daughter mispronounced her name so perfectly.) Gussie, who is a feline social butterfly, formed an instant attachment to her new best girlfriend, leaving Ben somewhat disgruntled as Little Bit took over his role in the energetic games that Gussie so loves. It took him months to learn to share her, and eventually, he learned to love Little Bit too.

Gussie is a bit skittish by day. Last summer, my husband took our daughters to Vermont for ten days, and it was clear that the constant commotion of my human children is a real hindrance to her trust of humans. She relaxed visibly and became more intensely affectionate with me. This ebbed upon their return. She is now 1 ½ years old and her personality is blooming. She grows more affectionate and loving by the day. Her petite frame, silk fur and playfulness helps her maintain the beloved role of household kitten.

Little Bit: When I was seven years old, my parents cat-sat a marvelous Siamese cat for the summer. Bussalie. Intelligent and regal, she had mastered the art of pooping in a human toilet. From that summer on, I had longed to live with another Siamese cat. Last January, while visiting a mobile adoption unit of the Pasadena Humane Society, I found ‘Little Bit’ (a mixed breed Siamese).

She was ill when we brought her home. The combination of her fevers and the stress of frequent vet visits caused her to be very docile. She slept in my arms or my daughter’s arms every night during her first month with us. Once she recovered fully, she sprang into action—rarely slowing down since. She is the quintessential cat for whom the phrase was coined “Curiousity killed the cat.” If there is an open drawer in the house, she must investigate what is behind it. Her investigations are tireless—she will climb to any height, crawl into any crevice. It is for her that I have to be sure our home environment is cat safe. She is the cat that loves playtime the most—she will fly through the air, twisting and turning after a toy. Her good natured antics are endlessly amusing to the whole family.

Henry: Henry is the latest addition to the family. I adopted him just two weeks before we left LA for Nashville. As crazy as it seems, I had to. In the same way that April’s cat, Ben, chose her. I feel that Henry choose me. I spent years hiding a private jealousy of April’s relationship with Ben. Through many intense and loving relationships with cats, I was never chosen by a cat, not until Henry chose me.

My friend, Sharon Clark, of the Paw’d Squad rescued Henry. He had been hanging out at a convalescent home in Alhambra, CA. The management was planning to exterminate all the cats on the property, one of the residents that had been feeding the cats called the Paw’d Squad. They came and trapped the cats. Henry is a large, green eyed Tabby. His affectionate nature quickly became apparent and Sharon added him to the population of their shelter. He lived there for a year and ½ with 80 to 100 other cats, keeping peace with all of them. Henry is a true pacifist. Unassuming and avoiding all conflict.

The first time I visited the Paw’d Squad, he planted himself squarely in my lap. The second time, I wondered if I would see him again. I sat in a pile of about 15 cats, when our eyes met. I knew it was him, so I called out his name. His face lit up, but then he looked cautiously behind him, as though to confirm that I wasn’t calling some other cat. I assured him that I was calling him. With weathered optimism he approached and found his way right back into the center of my lap, where he curled up, purring and gazing at my with an invocation for love.

I thought about him for weeks. Then I returned a third time, when I entered the shelter, I called his name and he came bounding in immediately from the other room. That is when I felt it unequivocally. This cat had chosen me. His headbutts and purring, his direct gaze and the sheer expressiveness of his whole body assured me that I was right. Henry and I belonged together.

My husband had already laid down the law. No more than four cats. Period. What would it take to convince him? I offered all sorts of intimate favors. But nothing was worth a fifth cat to him. Finally, I asked him, “What will it take?”

“Well, there is that motorcycle that picked me.”

A $15,000 motorcycle that I had absolutely forbad him to consider. We don’t have the kind of money to afford that sort of toy. But this was the bargain that I had asked for. “You can take it out of the house sale money.”

And so we spent $15,000 to bring home a neutered tomcat tabby, with tattered ears and a scarred nose from his pre-pacifist days on the street. And my husband got his dream motorcycle.

Henry was worth every penny. When I returned to the Paw’d Squad to ask him if he wanted to come home with me, he gave me and incredibly forceful headbutt on the chin. On several other occasions, he has displaced an uncanny ability to understand English as well. He is the most affectionate lap cat that I have ever had the privilege of loving.

When I asked my husband what it would take to bring home a sixth cat, he answered, "A maserati."

My Home

2006-12-09T11:53:00.000-08:00

Life overwhelms me sometimes. How did I end up with these kids? And this husband? Like living with strangers, sometimes. And I take solice in my cats. Their soft paws, silky kindess. They comfort me. They are my home.

Moving Cats

2006-12-08T17:49:00.001-08:00

There are people who feel that you shouldn’t move a cat because a cat’s attachment to place is stronger than its attachment to people. Most cat rescue people will tell you unequivocally that this is wrong—bring your cat when you move, because a housecat left behind will most likely have to fend for itself—and it needs its people. Moving pets interstate is certainly a challenge. Last Friday, I moved five cats, two large dogs, two small human children and a guppie from Los Angeles to Nashville, Tennessee and it was no picnic (although my cats behaved beautifully through out.)

So, are cats more attached to place than people? Roger Caras writes about the theory that cats have a sensory perception of the earth’s magnetic fields. When he introduces a new cat to his home, he keeps it isolated in a cage for three days, while it gets its ‘magnetic field bearings’, then when he releases it onto his farm. The cats seem to locked into the location of thier new home.

The magnetic field perception would explain the amazing stories of cats that find their way back to their home from incredible distances. If the cat is navigating magnetic fields, honing in on the longitude and latitude that it identifies as home, that would explain its ability to traverse unfamiliar terrain over hundreds of miles to return its original home. But, is the cat traveling to return to a place, or is it hoping that it will find its people there? The anecdotes about this are unconclusive, but there are certainly many instances where the cat was clearly in search of a beloved human.

Clearly, this is not a skill to experiment with—many cats get lost, never to find their way home. But researchers have recently conducted studies of bats and concluded that some bats do have an internal magnetic compass that helps them find their way home over many, many miles, even when they have been purposely disoriented. Perhaps some cats share this ability?

On the flight from Nashville, all five cats rode in the cabin with us (my husband, two daughters and a babysitter.) Most of them bedded down in silence after a good dose of Rescue Remedy, though they were clearly distressed—perhaps by the isolation in cages, the strange smells, the noises and presence of so many strangers so tightly packed together. But I did wonder, if cats are able to experience the earth’s magnetic fields—what would it feel like for them to fly? Moving so swiftly across that pull.

There is no question in my mind though—my cats are far more attached to me than to location of our home. They are clearly feeling insecure in the new location, all of them more actively seeking affection and reassurance than usual. I have been keeping the litter boxes immaculate, fresh food flowing and lots of attention. I brought their favorite toys, beds and food in our luggage to help the new place feel familiar.

Being accustomed to a home with hardwood floors, they love the Wall to Wall carpet in our temporary apartment, rolling around on it and stretching out for a snooze as though the whole place were one big cat bed. An open window is an invitation to press their noses against the screens and breathe in all the exciting new smells of Tennessee. They shift as the breeze changes, raising their little nostrils to the wind.

As each day passes, they grow more relaxed, bolder, they establish their favorite sleeping and grooming spots. I would have thought that the queen-sized bed that came with the apartment wouldn’t allow for as much feline company at night (we are used to a king-sized bed), but the cats are not deterred and snuggle in piles with us all night—rather than spreading out as was their custom in LA.

I had planned on sharing all of the logistical details of moving our little zoo across country, but it was boring and irritating enough in person, to share the entire minutia would be too tedious. Suffice to say, the American Airlines personnel were odious. We were dressed down, pushed around, looked over and then they would sloooow down. Their eyes blazing with petty power, “I can make you wait. And I will.” One particularly petulant clerk would stare my husband in the eyes, shuffle papers, then stare at him again while she contemplated untold bureaucracies, determining whether or not the batteries on the guppy’s portable fish tank would be meet airline safety standards.

The most comical moment was certainly when I had to remove each cat, one by one from its carrier, while the carrier was x-rayed, and the cat and I traversed the metal detector. Then I returned the cat to the carrier and went back for the next one. Five times in a row. Naturally, the TSA officer monitoring the metal detector had a severe case of Ailurophobia. She would shudder visibly and leap back each time I passed.

The hero of the day (I promised him that I would mention him in my blog) was our Armenian airport shuttle driver that brought us to LAX from Pasadena. It took us two hours to check our large dog, Blake (too big to travel as checked baggage) into American Airlines Cargo. During that time, Harot Sassounian (of PrimeTime Shuttle) cheerfully attended to our other dog, Shyan, walking her, cleaning up after her and generally providing moral support in the face of American Airlines petty bureaucrats. Thank you Harot!!!

My darling little Calico, Gussie is busily grooming herself in the chair next to me, a clear invitation to bedtime. She will sleep curled into my waist, just as she did in Los Angeles, because in spite of any adjustments to the magnetic fields, she recognizes any bed that hosts my body as her preferred place to sleep—in cat terms, that would be home.

Weekly Cat Quote:
Most beds sleep up to six cats. Ten cats without the owner. ~Stephen Baker

Day-glo and soft hearts: Moscow Cats Theatre

2006-11-28T16:36:00.000-08:00

I just met with Yuri Kuklachev of the Moscow Cats Theatre. You can’t see it from the photos, which accentuate the more garish aspects of clowning—quite the tribute to greasepaint and Day-Glo, but Yuri is utterly charming. When he speaks in Russian, it sounds as if he is purring. A cat charmer—not a cat trainer.

He wouldn’t disclose the intermediate steps between observing and playing with his cats to the sudden leap forward to performing tricks in front of a loud, raucous audience. But he did express many an inspired sentiment about the cat. Most striking: “A cat won’t willingly stay with an angry family.”

Inwardly, I cringed. Maybe that is why I am so drawn to cats—I don’t want to be an angry family. I can see how my cats suffer when I lose my temper with the kids. There is altogether too much yelling in our house. But until my conversation with Yuri, I had been stuck focusing on the immense contrast between my cats and my kids.

My Cats: Gentle, quiet, loving, a relaxed relationship with few mutual demands, but much affection.
My Kids: Loud, demanding, in constant motion, rough, obnoxious and just plain exhausting.

My cats have been my respite from my kids.

Yuri says that in his view of the cosmos, cats were sent to soften the human hear. They are a healing presence.

Perhaps if I can’t muster the love and patience to relate to my kids differently out of love for those same children (who push and test this bond until it is stretched to its limit), I could try for the benefit of the cats. Sound whacked?

I am desperate for inspiration these days. I long to live in harmony with my human children, but my time with them makes me wonder about the dirty truths of human nature. How can we hope to stifle the conquerors instinct when my own peacenik daughters can’t sit in the backseat of the car for more than two minutes without erupting into a vocal brawl of whining and screaming that just makes me want to lay in my incredibly comfortable bed with my cats wrapped around me, an occasional paw outstretched as an invitation for affection, followed by a delighted purr.

When I look at my cats I feel the swell of love, when faced with my children (unless they are in the angelic repose of sleep), I just feel exhausted by the daily rituals of forgiveness and brief breakthroughs that characterize our family life.

A cat won’t willingly stay with an angry family.

Are we an angry family? I feel the most powerful surges of anger when my monkey children badger and whine unrelentingly. But we aren’t a violent family—just a loud one.

I am getting lost in my own whining (Oh—its contagious alright!) There was a moment of inspiration here—

Can my children be charmed the way Yuri charms cats?

He uses a lot of gestures, his face terrifically expressive, such a soft voice and touch. He stroked my hair—just as he had the newman from Fox TV. Very light touch.

This man clearly loves cats. He says that cats have taught him the significance of kindness, gentleness and reaching out to those around you with love. Keeping a positive outlook is a big part of his messages.

“Don’t overlook the beauty around you.” He instructs then he shares a parable that illustrates this morale. He found his first cat as a stray kitten in the streets of Moscow. A sickly kitten with pussy eyes, she was so helpless that he could not just walk by. He picked her up, brought her home, rinsed her eyes with medicinal tea, washed and fed her—and there she was revealed, a beautiful cat, who sweetly licked his hand in gratitude. “How could so many walk past her and not see the beauty that was there?” He asks.

I wanted to bring my daughter, April, to this show. I know she would have loved it. But I can’t trust her behavior these days, I was worried that she would launch one of her “I’m a bored eight-year old tantrums” during my interview with Yuri. So she is missing out. I wish that I could trust her more—but I simply can’t. She might have been great (because when she is great, she is an amazing, wonderful kid), but when she sours, she is uncontrollable. No amount of coaxing, warnings or pleading will change her course. Her cat, Ben, is the only quick remedy I know of to alter the course of one of her tantrums. His calming presence pulls her back into her center—but of course, we couldn’t bring him to the Theatre.

I am seated very close to the stage (at this moment, waiting for the show to begin.) I love the priveledges of the press—free tickets to the show and a chance to speak with a world-famous cat guru (through a translator.)

So I have to read his books to extrapolate his lessons about interacting with cats. The books still haven’t been translated from Russian. I truly can’t wait. I am hoping it will be a learning opportunity similar to the catharsis I experienced reading Pam Johnson-Bennett’s cat behaviorist books.

I wanted to learn right there during the interview all that he had to teach about communicating with cats. He mentioned observing the eyes, ears, the complex facial expressions and the tail (whipping his hands in a perfect imitation of an irritated cat tail.)

Clearly the key to ‘training’ cats is keen observation. Communication with cats is facilitated through watching and responding accordingly. “Use your heart,” he says. Very obtuse really.

He wasn’t very specific about anything—but I think the specifics will reveal themselves in the show (I’m hoping!)

I wonder how many of the people in this audience subscribe to Cat Fancy magazine, live with cats, or are just here because they are Russian. It does seem to be ‘bad guys’ night at the theatre. To my right is a recognizable Russian actor, Elya Baskin, who usually plays very, very bad Russians in Bondesque films. To my left, carefully disguised with a trim beard is Vincent Cassel (a French actor who played the very, very bad art thief in Ocean’s Twelve.) I wonder if they are fan’s of the cat—or they are just attending at the insistence of their children?

Yuri says that poor people in Russia have lots of cats, because they need lots of love, and that Russians are devoted to their cats. At his shows he raises money for a cat rescue that he founded in Russia. They catch street cats, spay/neuter them and then give them up for adoption at his shows.

He hopes that his shows help people to really see cats. Not just walk past them…

I have now seen the show. And the cats were wonderful. So was the audiences palpable desire to connect with the cats. The house was packed and I wondered if this was the expression of a deep longing for ways to experience our love for the cat collectively.

The show itself could do with more cirque de soliel and less loosely plotted buffoonery (particularly the glow-in-the-dark aliens with the knitted masks, as well as the ‘live dolls’, which were so absurd that they weren’t even creepy.)

But I was elated to see the audience endure all the nonsense, still elated by each kitties' lithe grace and amazing feats.

Weekly Cat Quote:
I had been told that the training procedure with cats was difficult. It's not. Mine had me trained in two days. ~Bill Dana