Sammi! SAMMI! Come out from under that bed! Honestly, Sam, enough is enough. We’ve been through the same thing every day for the month and a half you’ve been here. It’s not going to get any better if you stay hidden 24/7. You really must get a hold of yourself.
Sammi was not an easy one. As a matter of fact, in all the residents we’d had here, she was one of the toughest nuts to crack. Couldn’t get her to open up one bit, could barely get her to share a snack. And look you right in the eyes? Forget it. Always staring away, eyes awash with terror. Fled if you approached. Daily therapy sessions were getting us nowhere. This gal was going to be here for the long haul.
Sammmm. It’s okay, I didn’t mean to raise my voice. Honestly. It’s just that, well, I’m so frustrated. We walk down this path every day. Nothing changes. It’s still just me, trying to be your bud, and you’re so frightened of it all. Try to relax. Just give it a shot. You don’t even have to look me in the eyes, you can stay curled up in your ball with your eyes tight shut if you like. But talk to me. Tell me what’s up – or down – or any which way for that matter.
I was met with the same thing as yesterday – the day before – and the day before that. Every muscle tensed – ready to flee at a second’s notice. Yet I thought I saw a twitch – or was it just wishful thinking?
Come on, Sam. Start anywhere. Tell me about the day you were born. Your first home. Can you remember that far back?
Silence. But another twitch.
What about your parents? What were they like? I crouched down and peered under the bed, only to be met by the largest, saddest puddles of blue water I’d ever seen. My heart tore without having heard a word.
Sam? I shifted my bony hips into a more comfortable resting position. Sam? I’m here, I won’t hurt you. Share with me. I want to be your friend, but I can’t do it without knowing more about you.
And then it came. The Niagara Falls of stories. And the blue puddles spilled everywhere.
I was an unplanned pregnancy, resulting in an unwanted birth and then just plain unwanted. As if that wasn’t bad enough, my second go round was an after-thought, without much, if any, pre-thought, for I was one of many. Too many in a small place, and bottom of the totem pole. I spent my entire life, hour after hour, waiting, watching, perched carefully where I could see in all directions, for you never knew. You always had to watch your back – and your front for that matter. Unpredictable was putting it mildly. One moment all would be quiet, and you’d take a deep breath. The next, out of nowhere, screeches and screams, a blur of voices and bodies, of blood and urine, and things grew dim – hidden under the bed or in the closet, ears and eyes covered, searching for that internal safety net. Blankets over my body, eyes tightly shut, ears scrunched closed, I could be safe; safe from the unpredictability and irrationality of the world. There it was just me, and I could take care of me, I just had to stay strong, had to have faith in myself, had to keep protected. Never let anyone in, never trust anyone, for even those closest to you could erupt without a moment’s notice. You’re born alone, you die alone, you’ve got to watch your own back.
Flying through the air. Voices. Objects. Terrified. Hunkered down, blankets over my head. Can’t see you, you can’t see me. No one will know. Closed up inside, safe, safe inside my head. Don’t let anyone in. Don’t open your eyes. Don’t listen. Quiet. The quietest breaths possible. Not a move. Stay very still. No emotion. Nothing helped. Just shut down – shut tight – keep safe. Safe. Hold on for dear life. They’ll find you if you’re not careful. Better move. Find another spot. In the closet, in the very back. It’s dark. That’s good. Secret. Safe. Holding tight. But have to pee. Bathroom is far. Far across the chaotic terrain. Can’t hold it. Got to go. Will just go here. Shhhh. Don’t tell. Got to move. Wet and uncomfortable. Under the bed, quick, dash! Look out! They saw! They’re in pursuit. Angry, raging, grasping, ripping at you. Hold on, dig in, oh please please PLEASE! Stop! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, don’t hurt me, please! Curl tight in a ball. Protection, protection. The pain. The knives, they slash, they cut. Over and over I somersault. And then. The ground shakes. Heavy boots. Harsh voices, yelling, glass exploding by my head, shiny glistening fragmented spikes snowing everywhere. They disappear. I meld to the bedpost, becoming one, searching deep inside for the path of safety – the one that takes me away. There it is, I can just see it. Close those eyes and ears tight, sink down, down deep, look, look hard, reach out, you can just grasp it if you try. Reach, reach, and hold tight, don’t move, don’t breathe, it’s inside, you’re alright, you’re alright, hold on, you’re going to be alright…..
My Zoomer is a VASR alum. When I adopted him he came with a lot of emotional baggage. His original owner had passed away and he proceeded to be bounced around 2 additional homes as well as his foster home before he came to me. Mine was the 5th location in 6 months. He had to be tranquilizer for his foster vet visit where he urinated/defecated all over himself. When I got him home I just left him acclimate on his own time. I remember, for about a year, he always had a worried look in his eyes. It used to break my heart. I used to assure him he was home now and didn’t have to leave ever again. For several years his interactions with vet staff were still traumatic but after 5 yrs now, he shows them his docile personality.
You can really see it in their eyes, can’t you?
Too, too sad. It breaks my heart to think about how often scenarios like this one play out. If this isn’t fiction, how did it turn out? Did Sammi ever have a breakthrough with you? did she ever learn to trust and love?
Hi Susan – great question. This was a compilation of a number of different cats, including Sammi, and how they behaved when they first came to us. I can tell you that every single one of them eventually came around – most, while with us still at the Rescue (and sometimes it was like a light switch going on – one day crazy terrified and the next day they had it figured out and they were fine); sometimes it did take going home and being out of the Rescue Center environment. Once they recognized the things that make a home – bed, couch, television, sounds and smells of home – they adjusted. I can’t wait to share the story of Teyla, one of our last cats here, who was crazy terrified and angry while with us, and now is the most loving cat in her home. Stay tuned for that one!