1 post from 2008

The little grey American Shorthair lived feral for a while, out in the alleys before we adopted him, which means he'll never be totally emotionally right. He's jumpy at all times, seemingly unable to experience pleasure because of his constant need to remain alert. He is a beautiful creature, so beautiful that each time you see him you're surprised again at how handsome he is, how just-right the light seems to be catching him, how much gravity his expression or posture holds. He's a remarkably beautiful animal. And it's all the more sad that such a beautiful creature can never rest, can never relax, can never trust and luxuriate and play and doze and smile. He just doesn't work that way.

You can lull him into a lazy, pleasured state in one of two ways. First, catch him at his low-ebb time of day: say 11am. It's unlikely you'll even find him at this time because he's typically holed up somewhere, sleeping deeply through the nocturnal day. But on the off-chance he sleeps out on the bed or couch, you may get the chance to approach him as he sleeps and he's much more pliable when drowsy. You might even get a rub at his belly every now and then (but take advantage of the opportunity carefully).

The only other way to lull him into a state approaching happiness is to sit with him and love him, on his terms, for a very very long stretch of time. This means of course waiting for him to come to you, then letting him climb up onto you of his own accord, then letting him get settled, and then not moving for a long, long time. About an hour in, he will have melted into your body and become inseparable from you. At this point, your legs are probably numb and glued to the sofa as well. But if you can ignore the complete deoxygenation of that 40% of your body, you can enjoy Vitaliy as at no other time. He's dead weight. Dead, smiling weight. He purrs a steady, deep, background purr and the flashing of his tail eventually goes still.

There's just no shortcut to that point, though. You can't beg, borrow or steal his trust. Once you meet him on his terms and get him into this magical state, he is absolutely yours. Putty in your hands.  Once, he'd reached this level of relaxation while lying across my lap in bed. I enjoyed it as long as possible but eventually I had to go to the bathroom. I gently rolled over onto my side, lightly dropping him off of me and onto the bed. He dropped onto the blankets with his legs in the air like a cat drunk, and just lay there, motionless, in bliss.

I've always taken cats' behavior as metaphor for the intricacies of the human heart. We all know people who were knocked around when they were developing. And we all know how hard it is to achieve intimacy with them, how squirrelly they are. How they will jump at any sound. And we all know that you just need to power through, power tirelessly through that shit until you've put in the hours it takes to calm these tortured motherfuckers down. Smooth their coats hair by hair until they lie flat and can be stroked.

Naturally, these moments of being with my little grey man are all the more valuable because of their scarcity. I can rip a bronx cheer into the bellyfur of my marbled Maine Coone anytime and she'll love it. But if that ever happens with him, it will be a once-in-a-lifetime experience.

I am quite relieved and grateful that my negotiations with touchy, post-feral personalities are, at present, confined to my feline pets. I have had more than enough of dealing with that personality in people. Of course, I am probably one of those people myself so it's simply a question of someone else experiencing the magic and mystery and pain. I do try to keep my fur down and not freak out at every sound from the hallway. But you know what they say about ferals: they form very strong emotional connections but they never really come down.