CATS IN THE CITY
Jann Burner
November 18, 2007
I have problems with wild cats, at least the urban variety. I had nine here at one time, and they were so wild that I couldn't even pet them and the SPCA wouldn't come collect them. Thought I would go nuts and then they were wiped out by some feline disease. Only two survived, a black mother and a pure-bred looking Siamese that I know for a fact is her daughter. They alone survived the plague of '96 and I felt somehow bound to them as if it was my duty to tame them and let them sleep on my bed and feed them for Eternity!
The coal black mother was very aloof. She would consent to eat food I left out and would even let me approach within about two and a half feet. I thought, great, finally making progress with my taming of the wild creatures. I would slowly put out my hand to pet her and she would look at me with a very Egyptian expression of bemusement. And then suddenly there would be blood dripping on my kitchen floor! From MY HAND! She was so fast that I could never observe her move. I would reach out to touch her and there would be my blood on the floor and yet she would not appear to have moved at all. Very humbling.
Her daughter, the very skittish Siamese, would never let me within twenty feet of her (I used to refer to the mother as Slash and the daughter as Flash), but if I were sitting down she would run right over and leap in my lap. One day she was sitting in my lap when she began to make strange movements. I looked down from my book and she was disgorging a kitten on my leg! Right there, within thirty seconds, she deposited two kittens in my lap and she hadn't even appeared to be pregnant. I was astounded. Wildlife giving birth--on me! Where was the camera? She seemed more confused than me. Mothering was not her thing. She just was never able to grasp the concept. The only thing she seemed sure of was that they weren't dinner. So I set up a box at the end of the couch with towels, etc, and deposited her two kittens. The black mother, who had given birth a week before somewhere outside, came in and strolled over to view the box with the kittens. I came home from work that night and there were seven kittens in the box! The original two from the Siamese and five that belonged to the black cat.
The black cat was a born mother. Well, enough is enough. I finally broke down and had both cats fixed and managed to find good homes for the kittens. And then...about two weeks after the last kitten was taken away, I looked out the window and the black cat was standing out under the palm tree in the backyard giving me one of those Egyptian looks and grooming a black kitten of the same age as the ones I'd given away. In some deep genetic recess she knew that kittens placed in the hands of humans tended to disappear, so she saved one to be raised--wild! And although we have become great friends (she now talks to me and sleeps at my side), her one wild kitten has remained totally wild and has never come around for food, although I do see her from time to time passing like a Halloween shadow along the fence. I doubt that she will ever be tamed by any human.
The coal black mother was very aloof. She would consent to eat food I left out and would even let me approach within about two and a half feet. I thought, great, finally making progress with my taming of the wild creatures. I would slowly put out my hand to pet her and she would look at me with a very Egyptian expression of bemusement. And then suddenly there would be blood dripping on my kitchen floor! From MY HAND! She was so fast that I could never observe her move. I would reach out to touch her and there would be my blood on the floor and yet she would not appear to have moved at all. Very humbling.
Her daughter, the very skittish Siamese, would never let me within twenty feet of her (I used to refer to the mother as Slash and the daughter as Flash), but if I were sitting down she would run right over and leap in my lap. One day she was sitting in my lap when she began to make strange movements. I looked down from my book and she was disgorging a kitten on my leg! Right there, within thirty seconds, she deposited two kittens in my lap and she hadn't even appeared to be pregnant. I was astounded. Wildlife giving birth--on me! Where was the camera? She seemed more confused than me. Mothering was not her thing. She just was never able to grasp the concept. The only thing she seemed sure of was that they weren't dinner. So I set up a box at the end of the couch with towels, etc, and deposited her two kittens. The black mother, who had given birth a week before somewhere outside, came in and strolled over to view the box with the kittens. I came home from work that night and there were seven kittens in the box! The original two from the Siamese and five that belonged to the black cat.
The black cat was a born mother. Well, enough is enough. I finally broke down and had both cats fixed and managed to find good homes for the kittens. And then...about two weeks after the last kitten was taken away, I looked out the window and the black cat was standing out under the palm tree in the backyard giving me one of those Egyptian looks and grooming a black kitten of the same age as the ones I'd given away. In some deep genetic recess she knew that kittens placed in the hands of humans tended to disappear, so she saved one to be raised--wild! And although we have become great friends (she now talks to me and sleeps at my side), her one wild kitten has remained totally wild and has never come around for food, although I do see her from time to time passing like a Halloween shadow along the fence. I doubt that she will ever be tamed by any human.
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