18 years ago, in October of 2005, I adopted Alexander the Great from the VA Siamese Rescue. Yesterday, I had to make the difficult decision to let him go, to free his sweet soul from his old and failing body.
I wanted to write to thank you for everything you have done for cats over the years. Alex was truly one of the sweetest cats I’ve ever known, and I am so grateful to you for making it possible for me to adopt him and spend the last 18 years loving him. He grew into a confident cat, but he always maintained the sweetest and most laid back demeanor.
You and your team gave him his name because you wanted this sweet but shy guy to grow up into a strong brave cat. I couldn’t bear to change his name, because I had nothing better to offer, so “Alex” stuck. And it worked. He grew up to be a strong, confident, and adventurous cat. Many friends said he was like a puppy, because he would greet people at the door and follow people around the house. When I started taking him on adventures beyond his own back yard about 6 years ago, he was a welcome participant. And I loved it, because that meant he could go with me on my travels. He was truly one of a kind, and I hope he sends me another sweet kitty soul to fill his big adventurous paw prints.
Thank you again, for facilitating a perfect match for me and Alex 18 years ago. My heart is aching today, but I will be forever grateful to have had him fill my life with joy for so long. Thank you again for touching so many lives with your commitment to caring for rescue cats.
It was a year and a half ago when I left home to stay at ‘camp’, or so they called it. And camp out I did, in a cage, for seven months. Seven long months trusting it would be alright – and because I trusted, I waited, and I expected. I expected that the commitment that had been made to me would be honored. Yes, I had food and water, and yes, I had a roof over my head. It would be alright, they kept telling me. Someone would come back for me someday.
Well they didn’t. And just as well because obviously someone hadn’t explained to them about decency and responsibility. And so I lost that home, and spent seven months of caged life, and then came to the Rescue.
I can’t find my Dad …..
Here they know decency. And responsibility. Kindness and warm hearts and snuggles abound. And a commitment is made to each and every cat that enters the program – to do the very best by that cat that they can do. But these Rescue folks are up against tremendous odds. Because not only do they have to work to provide for the present and the future, but they work to overcome the past. These folks work to repair the damage done by countless other folks who don’t give a second thought to leaving us by a dumpster, closing us in the basement, kicking us down the stairs, or abandoning us in a kennel for seven months. The psychological damage can be overwhelming. The physical damage debilitating. The emotional scars long term.
Oh Dad, where are you…….
Some of us bounce back. Some of us, given the time and the patience, can conquer the demons – we can learn to trust again, to believe that we will have food and water, that we will be protected, that we are worthy of love. And with proper attention and care, some of us can also overcome the long term damage to our physical beings. And some of us can’t. Some of us will still bite, or swat, or pee inappropriately (mea culpa). Some of us will refuse to eat and some of us will eat until there’s no end in sight. And some of us, no matter what kind of intervention is taken, will lose the battle.
Dad?
The nice Rescue lady tells me there’s a new family for me, we just have to find them. While I look forward to that, I still wonder about Dad. I sure hope he’s okay, because I’ll miss him.
Well I looked. I looked and I couldn’t find him and I didn’t understand. Actually I don’t understand much of it at all. People may say that’s because I’m not as worldly, or experienced, or debonair as others. I don’t think that has much to do with it. It seems to be a pretty simple concept to me. A commitment made to care for someone who is dependent on you for that care should include a few basic things. Food and water for one thing. How can anyone who is purposefully closed up in a contraption built by another species with no way to escape be expected to find sustenance? I have to wonder what Chocolate thought at the close of the door and ne’er a goodbye glance as he was left alone in the apartment. And shelter. Shelter is defined as something that provides protection. Protection is not just from the elements. It is also from the BB gun that shot Kanoa and the hot oil that was dripped on Braveheart and the paint brush that turned Sherwin’s face white. And while a commitment may not ensure affection, it should. Or if not affection, consideration. Consideration that we too are sensitive, and that there are times where we may mourn, and we may be angry at the world, and we may be terrified. And there may be times where we too just don’t understand, and need reassurance.
It was 1997 – Siamese Rescue still just a passing thought. Whiskers of all sorts were joining the ranks of those who had moved from old to new house: felines Beeky, Broadway, and Triscuit; woofers Solomon, Scout and Benji. Right after the move came felines Opi, Suki and Duke plus woofers Smutty and Pepper. And not to let a few acres go to waste, along came cottontail Flopsy, Nibbles and Gobbler, the Nubians, and quackers Donald and Jemima (who were short on whiskers but made up for it in feathers).
The woofers needed some work on sibling relationships, and it wasn’t long until Scout ate Flopsy and Pepper ate Donald and Jemima. Solomon munched on a foster child which bought him a ticket to ride; Nibbles and Gobbler escaped one too many times, earning them two seats in the back of a VW bug as they headed to a new home. Meowm worked hard to keep her numbers up – she knew that X + 1 was always better than just plain X. After Suki (strong seal diva female) and Duke (soft dim chocolate goof) failed to fill her need for a smart but snuggly soulmate, Sapphire, Mamagayo, Whitney, Coffee, Blue, Taraatini, Jasmine and Blupert all auditioned for the job. Let me tell you, that upstairs Geezer Ward was a little tight on pillow space. It was a good thing most everyone was a sealpoint; Hubby1 never caught on that when he was home, everyone went by the same name – Meowm’s attempt to whitewash how many of us were actually in the house.
If I were to ask Meowm what the most difficult lesson of rescue was, there would be no doubt as to her reply – while every cat deserves a chance, and in an ideal world there’s a place for everyone, when faced with a limited number of rescue spots, one has to invite cats in that can be adopted back out. This was a fluid number depending on a lot of different things – how many fosters there were, how many adopters were asking, what the bake sales were like, what time of year it was, and so on and so forth. It was muddling my brain to listen to all the criteria that had to be considered every step of the way. And there’s no doubt, Meowm’s heart got the best of her early on. As a consequence, some of us Geezer Ward residents had to find alternate arrangements when the facilities were occupied.
You’ve read about Sapphire (Episode 1) – the one who stayed simply because Meowm hadn’t made it clear to her owner that rehoming was gong to happen. Mamagayo (lucky #13) was ‘older than the wind’, and obviously someone that age had only one last move in her – to the upstairs heated bed. Whitney was next – Hubby1 fell in love with her and he had been such a sport, Meowm had to say yes. (While he did have second thoughts when she peed on him in bed on Valentine’s Day, by then it was too late.) Then there was Coffee who won the ‘most muddled’ award (and came the closest so far to soulmate material); the Blues Brothers – Blue (who was a seal) and Blupert (a blue) (don’t ask me how they secured those names or a spot, but they did); Jasmine (a medical curiousity that never got figured out) and Taraatini – such a crabby seal diva she refused to budge. A good thing that by this point the Rescue Center had been built, because if two is company, 13 was definitely a crowd.
As if this wasn’t enough, Meowm followed some crazy lady’s online advice and signed up to rescue an Italian Greyhound. (HELLO Meowm, did you even READ that they are close to impossible to house train?) She figured the wait list was long and it would be months before she had to say something to Hubby1. But it was her lucky week and within two days she was bumped to the top of the list (rescue experience and all that (HA!)) and before Hubby1 had even been informed not one but two Iggys showed up on her doorstep. Does it surprise anyone to learn there was not a spot left for Hubby1?
By the time Y2000 rolled around, Meowm had roped in some amazingly good Beans – Beans who would not only be adopters but who would morph into all different cogs of the wheels of Siamese Rescue. Fosters, transporters, interviewers, crafters and many others brought their compassion and skills to Team Meezer. A Team that – despite many mishaps yet to be told – would become a family of friends, a community of cat lovers, a history worth repeating – pooling their resources together to save Siamese.
I, for one, remain furever grateful.
Yours truly,
Howard Beakman (follow me and my adventures by subscribing to this blog!)
Sapphire, looking purrfectly at home, was not going anywhere
In Part 1 on this topic, https://siriouslysiri.com/2022/02/06/dont-bite-the-hand-that-feeds-you-part-1/ we discussed some of the reasons that cats nip, or bite, as well as some of the ways to prevent this (sometimes) learned habit. In this post, let’s look at some of the ways to respond to, as well as to discourage, these biting behaviors. Keep in mind, however, that it is very helpful to try to determine the ‘why’ of these behaviors in the event that you or an external force is inadvertently causing the behavior.
While working to understand and ideally remove the cause of the behavior, it’s helpful to have a set response that you give whenever a bite occurs. One that comes naturally to most of us is the word ‘ouch’, and you can use this to your advantage by exaggerating this word in volume, tone, pitch, and length of utterance. To understand why this is effective, let’s backtrack a moment. When cats are kittens, they will romp and wrestle with their siblings; this activity usually accompanied by vocalizations of various sorts. This sibling interaction serves a very useful purpose in that the kitten is learning about both their strength and the effect that their behaviors have on others. There is an action/reaction sequence that occurs, teaching the kitten both what is acceptable and what is painful to another. (Realize, not every kitten has siblings and some kittens may be orphaned or may leave their family too early, so this learning experience may be lost.)
A high pitched, loud and exaggerated ‘OUCH’ will often accomplish the same thing, resulting in an arrest of the biting behavior. Very few cats are biting to be assertively aggressive, so realizing they have actually caused you pain may stop them in their tracks. If the cat is seeking attention (albeit inappropriately), removing yourself from the situation (and therefore the source of attention for the cat) often works as well, although it may not always be possible to do so. In cases where you can’t easily get up and leave the cat, removing the cat from the situation may need to happen – and this should be accomplished by a quick picking up, no cuddling or kind words, and a very quick deposit in another room – kind of like a time-out. (It should go without saying, but I have seen it happen aplenty, that when removing the cat from a situation you are doing so in a professional, business-like manner – there is no baby-talking or holding the cat close to your body or giving any kind of indication of warmth and comfort during this movement.) This time-out (ten minutes tops) must be used consistently so that the cat learns that biting behaviors result in loss of attention.
At this point it is necessary to point out that corporal punishment does not work with cats. Inflicting pain, whether it be a slap or a spank, will only make matters worse. Just like you would not play directly with your cat with your hands, you also don’t use your hands to inflict pain. You are much better served to use a ‘strong teacher voice’ and express how displeased you are about the situation.
Finally, don’t forget about positive reinforcement. When the cat is behaving and interacting appropriately, that’s the time to shower him with praise, with pets, perhaps even treats. Cats are smart creatures and if you provide consistent reinforcement, positive when they are behaving, negative when they are not, they can learn what behaviors are acceptable.
Questions or comments welcomed. We are always happy to try to help with cat misbehaviors in the home – feel free to contact us (vasrc@siameserescue.org) if you need advice. Many inappropriate behaviors can be curbed if addressed early, consistently, and by everyone involved.
Good day to you. I’m not sure we have been properly introduced? If you started at the beginning (https://siriouslysiri.com/2022/01/27/the-lessons-of-rescue-oh-my-part-1/) you probably caught my VA number (which was lucky 1000) – yup, I was the one thousandth cat to walk through the ‘doors’ of Siamese Rescue. But who am I anyway , and how did I come by such a distinguished nom de plume?
Life was not always as good as it was at the Rescue Center. You see, most of us came across hard times in one way or another, ending up here through no fault of our own. In hindsight, though, those hard times were the catalyst that led us here, and from here we ventured on to new adventures, new experiences and new furever homes. Since we can’t get there without having been here, and there turned out to be pretty good, I find that as a whole, we have few, if any, regrets. Change is hard – and particularly hard for us sensitive Meezers, but with the right recipe of TLC and a sprinkling of luck, it can be a positive experience.
The time frame immediately prior to Rescue is a bit mucky. Hunger was the driving force, for having had my claws removed by a woman who placed a higher value on her JC Penney couch than on my fingers (no comparison if you ask me), I was left to fend for my supper with some pretty old K-9’s and a few back teeth. The menu becomes extremely limited when you rule out fresh catch and are left with day-old donuts. My pawickies were sore from the hot pavement – the June sun baked the tar to tap dancing level. It hadn’t taken me long to figure I was going to be fending for myself when I saw all the suitcases and the hustle and bustle – particularly when my personal belongings were stacked in the corner. Because I’m an eldster, I don’t move as fast as I used to, and I suppose I slowed them down some, although my favorite Teen Bean never minded waiting for me to amble in for my morning visits. But ah, I digress.
Not being that spry has its good points, as does being older and wiser, and the swish of the early morning traffic stirred the smells emanating from the clock factory’s parking lot. I stopped to sniff the morning java, slightly acrid, mixed with the smoke, wrinkling my nose. A steady hum as the change in shifts passed each other to and from, and the rumbling in my gut convinced me to head towards the Bean stream. The stomp of boots muffled the rural Virginia accents and I nodded my head as I passed the factory men gathered for a morning smoke. Watching the gravel for a hint of crumbs, my eyes were drawn to a tin pail similar to what which Teen Bean took with her as she headed to the bus each morning. Figuring I had not much to lose, I ambled in that direction, studying the black leather bootstrings which rose towards the trees. The pail lay open at chest height and I caught the words “Suzy Q” on the edge of a clear, torn wrapper. My luck was holding out as I inched my beak towards what looked to be a delicious morning snack. The stream of rustic chatter continued uninterrupted. Not in a situation to be choosy, I sunk my mouth into a gooey but delightfully creamy substance, something akin to a vanilla custard I had once been offered on a Christmas Eve. Moving my mouth further forward, I found the edges to be of a soft but crumbly texture, not nearly as enjoyable as the first bite but certainly palatable. Suzy Q was obviously not bad in the kitchen.
Seize the moment, my Meowther used to say, and with that thought I made a somewhat feeble attempt to drag the remainder of Suzy’s breakfast production out of the tin pail to easier access.
“Hey!” The boot shifted as a gnarly old finger entered the tin pail’s arena. “Where’s my cheese Danish?” Time to get a move on, I reluctantly withdrew my mouth from the cellophane package and turned to leave. “Not so fast” boomed the boot. “You can’t just take someone’s breakfast without exchanging a word or two.” More gnarly fingers closed around my midriff. The ground faded away as I was hoisted into the air. Two chubby cheeks framed the curliest orange hair I had ever seen, topped by two piercing eyes. At least they’re blue, I thought quickly, wondering if a struggle would be worth it. “Why there ain’t nothing to you – you’se just a sack a bones,” Boots said. “No wonder you’re a beggin. Ya best not hang around here, my fellow, for them there neighborhood dogs ain’t going to take kindly to you, and heck, you’d not be more than an appetizer for one of them!” My stomach lurched as I swung trapeze-like through the air; Boots gathering up his tin pail in one hand, me in the other. I looked fondly at the remnants of the cheese Danish in the hopes that Boots would invite Suzy Q to join us, but his shift was done and we were headed out. I swallowed tightly, hoping the swinging back and forth would not result in the loss of Suzy’s carefully baked breakfast. Boots was whistling under his breath as he headed for the opened door of a faded blue cab. Plopped on the seat, I shifted my interest as a wide variety of cellophane packets in various stages of consumption came into view. Before I had a chance to jump down and investigate further, however, Boots had parked himself next to me and a horrible rumbling and crackling noise emanated from under the hood. Without claws and much anchoring it was all I could do to hold on, and I stumbled and staggered from side to side, occasionally bumping up against Boots as I tried to stay on my paws. Luckily this experience was short lived, and just as I began to think maybe hot pavement wasn’t so bad, we came to a lurching halt and the hood sputtered and died. “End of the road” mumbled Boots as the trapeze action began again and I swung helplessly back and forth. A clang and a clink and I was deposited on a cold steel desk where a female Bean with a face stressed beyond her years peered down at me. Boots and the Bean exchanged a few words as Boots scribbled some information on a form he was handed, gave me a quick scritch, and headed out the door.
The smells were overwhelming – many purrsonalities carried through the air. Lonely and mourning, confused, frightened, and plain old angry. More clinks, more trapeze action, and then my very own room. A bit small, 3×3, but it had the bare necessities – a soft towel, a cardboard box to do my business in, a dish of water, a bowl of kibbles. I wondered if by any chance Suzy Q sent her baked goods here. Something told me probably not.
Fortunately, those tiny quarters were only temporary. My handsome beak and warbling tenor secured me a quick audience with the CPS of Siamese Rescue. A few days and a number of miles later my accommodations were upgraded – first, to business class at the Center, and then to first class in the home. And that CPS lady? Not only was she the Chief Pooper Scooper, but she could make a mean cheese Danish. Life was good.
Yours truly,
Howard Beakman
(If you like my tails, and are curious as to how I got my Nom de Plume (which is some story, let me tell you), follow this blog to be notified when I next put paw to paper).
While there are some cats who have learned, overtime, that humans are awful and scary and therefore may be proactively aggressive with you, typically you see a cat bite or nip in reaction to something you are doing, or not doing – bringing some of the onus back to the owner.
Some of the more common reasons cats nip:
We have taught them to do this by our own behavior
They are frightened
They are seeking attention, albeit inappropriately
They are overstimulated
They are vying for Top Cat Position
They are declawed*
As a kitten, many people (and sorry, guys, but a heavy portion of the blame may fall on you) have actually taught the cat to pounce on hands. Think about the all-too-common scenarios – the kitten is on the bed, and you are wiggling your fingers (or toes) under the sheet, encouraging the cat to pounce. Alternatively, there is no sheet or blanket, and you are using your fingers to tempt the kitten to play. A pouncing kitten is often followed by a full hand-on grab around the belly, perhaps rocking or jiggling the kitten back and forth as a tease. While this behavior may seem like harmless fun, and yes, many of us did it for years, what we are teaching the cat via this behavior is that hands and fingers are toys. When that kitten goes from a 2 pound jumping bean to 10 pounds of solid muscle, it’s no longer funny – yet too often, we were the ones who taught the cat to behave this way. From the beginning, never ever use your hands as play toys – always use a cat toy as you encourage the very normal kitten behaviors of pouncing, chewing and ‘bunny kicking.’ Hands should be kept for soft movements, such as petting.
Cats who respond with biting behaviors when frightened, are, well, frightened of something, and often that may be you. It’s pretty simple. Stop whatever you are doing that is triggering the fear. Along these lines, realize that picking up and cuddling a cat is a human need – it’s not necessarily something the cat wants until they are comfortable with you, and maybe not even then. Just like you don’t force yourself on another person, do not force yourself on the cat until the cat is ready. And yes, some cats may never be ready for the level of interaction you are attempting. (One of our cats has been with us in a quiet loving household for ten years, and we still can’t pick her up).
As far as seeking attention, cats are not much different than children in that if they feel lacking in the attention department, they are going to seek you out, even if the interaction results in negative attention. While there are some cats who may by nature be standoffish and want to be left alone, cats in general are social creatures, and your typical house cat will, at some point, appreciate your attention – whether it’s playing with them, petting them, or just feeding them. If you continue to ignore them, some cats may revert to nipping or grabbing at your hands in an attempt to get you to recognize their need for interaction. While we will discuss ways to curb this behavior in a separate post, keep in mind that if you have taken on the responsibility of a pet, that responsibility includes paying it some attention, regardless of how busy your day was or how exhausted you may feel. This could be petting, if that’s what the cat wants, or it could be playing (feather wands are great for this).
Overstimulation can happen as a result of how you are interacting with the cat; it may also happen as a result of something external that is in the environment. If you are in the middle of an intense brushing session, for example, you may notice your cat’s tail begin to twitch, or the skin to ripple – and because cats can’t talk to you and say ‘ouch, you’re too rough’ or ‘that’s enough thank you’ they may overreact if you continue the behavior. Just as you might ask someone to stop if they were getting too intense with a neck massage, your cat may simply be asking you to cool it. Pay attention to those body signs.
There may be external forces at work as well that are causing overstimulation. If you’ve ever watched your cat at the window eyeing the birds, or perhaps another cat that’s outside, you are likely to notice some tail twitching and vocalizations of some sort. Should you choose this inopportune time to focus on petting your cat, or even just picking it up, you may find you get a smack or a nip. External overstimulation, or redirected aggression, requires you to pay attention to the environment and to selectively choose the times you are going to interact with your cat. It’s a two way street – when you want to give attention, your cat should indicate they are ready for your interaction, either by seeking you out or by demonstrating positive responses when you begin to touch them.
Finally, nipping can occur when the cat is challenging you for Top Cat. This is a bit more difficult to address and we see it a lot when a very smart cat is owned by a very ‘gentle-natured’ person:
Cats tend to live in hieararchies. Whether it be lions in the wild or multiple domestic cats in the home, there is almost always a Top Cat. Sometimes it’s obvious which one is dominant (they usually eat first, they are never usurped for the best sleeping spot, etc.), sometimes it’s very subtle and hard to tell. When you have just one cat and one owner, it’s clearly the owner who is supposed to be dominant. However, when the owner a) caters to every whim of the cat (you want to get up at 4am and play? Sure! You want to have a snack at midnight? Absolutely!) or when the owner is intimidated by the cat, the cat may take that as an indication that the position of Top Cat is available. This results in the cat expecting you to bow to their every desire, and if you don’t, reaping the consequences. If this is you, giving in to excessive whims of your cat, you may need to work to adjust that. You are the boss, you choose the rules. Sure, we accommodate and spoil our cats in many ways, but you can’t sacrifice your health and welfare to do so. And if you’re intimidated by your cat, (and I’m surprised at the number of people who are), you need to work to get over that, taking up the lead position in the relationship. You are bigger, stronger, and in charge, so while it’s important you are compassionate, kind and sympathetic to the cat’s needs, you can’t be frightened of the cat, or the relationship is not going to work.
*Finally, we should mention cats that have been declawed. In rescue and shelter situations, where cats have been traumatized at some point for some reason (abuse, abandonment, etc.) and then find themselves in a situation where they feel threatened, declawed cats are very likely to use their teeth as a defense weapon. Makes total sense when you realize that they no longer have their claws, so the warning swat no longer holds any weight. We won’t talk about the cons of declawing in this post; suffice it to say it pays to be aware that those cats who have been declawed may well become biters.
In Part 2, we’ll talk about different ways to address nipping and biting behaviors, so stay tuned. (If you enjoy these posts, please consider subscribing to the blog, and thank you!)
Bunny, after 10 years with us, will still not allow us to pick her up.
Like several of the significant steps in Meowm’s life, she didn’t do much research before taking the plunge. A rescue for Meezers, glamorous, right? Something she could do in her spare time – did she really think she had any, working a full-time job and raising a young daughter with a hubby home weekends only? Leave it to her to jump in with both feet and – as you have read – flip flops, no boots. And yes, the sh*t was deep!
First off, we were in the rural neverlands of Virginia. To get anywhere takes forever, including Meowm’s full time job – teaching – a good hour driving the back roads to and from. This meant leaving the house at O700, which, for me, meant morning nibbles happened about 6. A bit too early for Geezer Ward retirement – I was still deep in the throws of shuteye. I didn’t dare wait long, however, for that Mamagayo, older than the wind said the doc, could eat her weight times three. Crumbs left for the rest of us if we didn’t snap to Reveille, sounded by the slobbering woofers who thought every little movement deserved announcing. Spinning through the house and Center like a tornado, Meowm had bowls filled, pans emptied and mini-bean in the car, disappearing until dinner nibbles. I’d like to say calm ensued, but in reality, chaos was only beginning.
He was a real whippersnapper. I think Meowm labeled him as TB#1 and that stood for TroubleMaker Extraordinaire. A wild man from the get-go, he would hunker down at the window, peering through the slats until he saw that car leave the driveway and then, well, the cat was out of the bag. Since he was such a wild man, he was over here with us Geezers instead of at the Center; I guess there was hope he would learn some manners. While I’d like to say he kept us young, he mostly kept us crazy. People, he would have nothing to do with, but fellow felines, he loved to torment. There wasn’t a corner you could saunter around without that masked bandit making a play for the thigh and roll tackle. And the daily constitutional? Let’s just say you had to be one and done, and fast about it – otherwise, it was squirt and spurt.
Those woofers, however, thought he was the best thing since spilt milk. Actually, they didn’t care what he spilt, they were more than happy to lick it up, chew on it, swallow it – anything and everything Shammy batted to the ground, they disposed of in some form or another. Those six were in cohoots – the five dogzillas and Shammy – disasters in the making. Left the knitting out? Unraveled. That potted plant? Dirt everywhere. Pile of papers? Shredded. And the carrot cake? The one that Meowm worked on for hours getting the frosting and decorations just right? Needless to say, when four-thirty rolled around, Shammy was sucking the cream cheese from between his paws under the bed, us Geezers were innocently mid-afternoon nap, and the woofers were very busy working on who had the best ‘not-guilty’ expression.
Fortunately, our romper room times didn’t last for long – it only took Meowm one experience of falling asleep while sitting in her car at a railroad crossing to realize that something had to give. It was the students or us, and it wasn’t long before Meowm went from full time teaching to full time rescuing. As for Shammy? The beans were spilt. Caught red-pawed, he pled guilty.
It is Y2001. Siamese Rescue has been in operation for 3 years now. Oh, and what a learning experience we are having. One can never say that life here is dull. Ever watched someone on a trapeze? Up and down with a pit in their stomach, then butterflies, nervous yet excited, followed by that whoosh whoosh, back down and then up they climb again. So go our days.
There’s a bunch of us here. How many, people often ask. We lose count. Kind of like a revolving door most of the time, and you don’t bother with numbers. A few in, a few out. The home crew stays relatively steady, but the ones considered transient? So many new whiskers to twitch. Meowm and Paw do well. The cats we remember, they say. The adopters? They all look the same. I can see their point. I was never big on looks anyway. Now smells, that’s a different story. Specific looks don’t do much for us felines. Shapes, however, is another thing all together. Take Toko Thai for example. He likes tall blondes. And Annie? She likes wide people. Me? I’ll take anyone who has cheese danish.
Anyway, back to the Center. I’m never sure what to think about life at the Center. So many comings and goings. But compared with the previous digs, there is both comfort and variety.
We have two living facilities here now – the House, commonly known as the Geezer Ward, and the Rescue Center itself. Just a stone’s throw from each other, the House has the permanent residents – those of us who fit the mold of unadoptable for whatever reason. Then there’s the Rescue Center, hosting up to fifty furries at a time, all hoping for a new home. I live in the Geezer Ward.
In 1998, when Meowm opened the doors to nomad Meezers, they all stayed in the House. Meowm hadn’t quite grasped the concept of rescue and release, and the number of permanent residents increased within a few short weeks from two to six. Take Sapphire for example. She was VA0002. Her mom was moving to California and couldn’t take her. She came and visited with Meowm who did what she tends to do – rambled on and on about her idea of a rescue and all that was involved – without letting the poor lady get a word in edgewise. Hours later, the woman left, and Sapphire sprawled happily on the couch (she was happy just about anywhere provided there’s a food bowl within reach). It was only after the fact that Meowm realized she had been so busy yabbering that she had neglected to inform this lady she was going to find Sapphire a new home. And no, she had not gotten the lady’s address or forwarding number either (told you she was talking too much!) Feeling that it was not right to rehome her without the lady’s okay, Sapphire, the lump, stayed.
Who was VA0001 you might ask? No, not me I’m afraid – I waited to make my appearance until Meowm and Paw had this Rescue thing down pat (my name is Howard Beakman, and I am VA1000). Ming was the first. His family had gone through a divorce and left their trailer, and Ming, to do their own thing. By the time Ming had been found, however, he had gone so long without proper care that his glucose was off the charts. Meowm got two lessons for the price of one with him – Rescue wasn’t going to be cheap, and there weren’t always happy endings.
By the time we got to number 0003, she was getting the hang of it. JoJo, though a far cry for a Siamese, found a home not 45 minutes from here with a nice couple who weren’t allowed to leave until they promised to be on the Board of Directors – Meowm needed to create one so she could meet IRS requirements for a non-profit.
Ahh, those early lessons. The next three arrivals taught us that not every cat with a home lives comfortably, and not every cat is social. Responding to a phone call from a man whose wife had been hospitalized, it was a Meezer scavenger hunt in the wilds of the Virginia mountains. Windy roads led to what could be described as a goat path flooded by recent storms; the water cascading down the mountain sides. In sneakers and shorts, and with mini Bean (age 8) and Grandma Muddles in tow, what a picture of naivety as they were led to a sagging abandoned shed. It didn’t take a keen sense of smell to note that this would be a memorable experience. Forcing the door open, inches of cat feces blocking the way, the 6×8 room was a mass of flying fur – up the walls, across the ceiling, back down again. Other than furry ferals, the room was completely empty save some old French fry dishes with week old food. Waterbugs paddled happily in a bowl of pea green water. Any Meezers? Yes, quite a few, but it was impossible to get a count – every movement brought wild panic to their eyes as they launched like rubber band torpedoes off every surface. If you could have seen Meowm standing there with her mouth agape, carrier helplessly in hand – it was quite a sight. Last time she went anywhere questionable in shorts and flip flops, with her young daughter, elderly mother, no gloves or plan, let me tell you. I think humans call this behavior clueless.
Well anyway, after about 20 minutes of America’s Funniest Home Videos, as Meowm swooped the carrier through the air hoping one of the Meezers would land inside, one actually did. I’m not sure who was more surprised, the cat or Meowm. Luckily she thought to close the carrier door before the moment had passed, and she had it, her first real wild Siamese catch. His name was Shammy, and you’ll meet him in the next episode. https://siriouslysiri.com/2022/01/31/episode-2-shammy-takes-the-cake/
Yours Truly,
Howard Beakman
That’s me under the palm tree, soaking up the Sun.
Out of the box experiences! The bane of having a cat. The number one reason for cats being turned in to shelters or rescue groups. Without a doubt, the most frustrating, the most common, the most damaging issue with cat ownership. Yes, believe it or not, one of the easier ones to solve, IF you can take the time and do the detective work. And herein lies the road to returns – too many people don’t want to take the time, or don’t have the patience to try to figure out what their cat is trying to tell them. As Director of the Siamese Cat Rescue Center for 20+ years, I have scooped and monitored litterboxes for thousands and thousands of cats. Were there some whose litterbox issues could not be solved? Sure, but the numbers were miniscule compared to how many we could solve. And I mean miniscule. 20 maybe, out of, literally, thousands of cats who came in with box issues.
They are speaking to you, you know. And if we could all understand those meows, resolving the issue might be easy. But since we don’t speak cat, we must learn to understand what they are saying by doing some puzzle solving.
1) Let’s start with the basic tenets: your cat is over six months of age and is spay/neutered. What? Your cat is not spay/neutered yet? Stop reading right now, take care of that, and then, if the issue continues, read on. Females or males, if not spayed or neutered, are highly likely to pee (urine is directed downwards from a squatting position) or spray (urine is directed horizontally from a standing position) if they are not spayed or neutered. Read that again. Females will spray as well. 2) You have been to the vet and had the cat checked for urinary tract issues. You could be wasting your time spending lots of energy trying all sorts of behavioral strategies when it could be something as simple as an infection. Both males and females can get UTIs (urinary tract infections), crystals in the urine, even bladder and kidney stones (though less common). Particularly if your cat has been fine in the box, nothing has changed in the household, and out-of-the-box experiences begin, it’s time to take a trip to the vet. No one likes to spend money unless necessary, but infections and crystals are easily treated once you know about them, so rule them out first. 3) There is an issue with the box itself. Now imagine yourself at the last restaurant, concert venue or other public place you have been, and you need to use the restroom. You find where it is (was it obvious?) and you look at the row of toilets. How many of us are going to choose one that has not been flushed? Or smells awful? Or has urine on the seat or the floor? You know the drill. We are walking down the row of toilets peering in each one to find one that looks halfway clean. Your cat is no different (and arguably cats are cleaner than most humans). They don’t want to use a toilet that is full, or filthy, or smells. They want one that is clean. Because they may need to go more than once during the day, hopefully (see below) they have more than one litterbox to choose from. The box they choose needs to be clean, which means not just keeping it scooped, but keeping it odor free. This may involve scrubbing the box on a weekly basis (or as needed). Remember that a cat’s sense of smell is much better than that of a human. 4) There is an issue with what’s inside the box, assuming we’re not talking feces and urine. In other words, what kind of litter are you using? It may be nice and fine that you prefer dust-free, flushable or some sort of organic litter, but is that what your cat likes? Cats have very sensitive noses, so not only can they detect long-term urine smells, but they are also often overwhelmed by the scented litters. While many times it is possible to convert a cat from one type of litter to another, cats with sensitive feet (in particular those that are declawed) are often averse to anything that feels too gravelly or rough on their paws (pelleted litter for example). Additionally, while it may make things easier for us, many cats absolutely hate plastic litterbox liners. 5) There is an issue with location. Flash back to the public venue you were last in when you needed to use the restroom. Was it clear where that restroom was? Was it down a dark hallway that was kind of intimidating? Did you have to go up or down flights of stairs when you were feeling a bit arthritic? Was the bathroom located where it was terribly smelly, or loud, or sketchy in any way shape or form? Ideally, all of us would like to have a pleasant and relaxing experience when we use the toilet, even if it’s a quick one, and your cat is no different. So rethink locations that are in closets, down the stairs to a dark corner in the basement, behind the noisy washing machine, etc. 6) What about the type of box? Is it hooded, because you don’t want to see or smell it, but your cat is afraid of tight spots or dark places? Is it big enough the cat can get in, turn around, dig to China, and use the box without going over the edge? Does it have a high lip they have to climb over when they are old and achy? Is it motorized and makes a scary noise if they linger too long? 7) Finally, let’s talk about the number of boxes you have. Keeping in mind what has been discussed above, unless you have nothing else to do with your time other than scoop litterboxes, you likely need more than one box. The general rule of thumb is one box per cat, plus one more. This will ensure that there is always a clean box available when the cat needs to go. If you don’t have room for more than one box, and you have litterbox issues, then rethink the number of cats you take on. If you won’t use a public restroom that hasn’t been flushed or cleaned, don’t expect your cat to be happy doing so.
Cats are very clean creatures, and they function primarily by smell. They also have good memories, so it only takes one or two negative experiences to turn a cat away from a particular box or location. If the box is uncomfortable in any way (where it’s located or what’s inside of it), they are likely to pick another place to go. How likely are you to return to a public venue where you had an awful experience? In Part 1, we’ve touched on medical considerations, as well as talking about the location and the physical box components that are important. In Part 2, we’ll discuss the environmental, emotional and psychological issues which may affect litterbox behavior. (If you like this post and want to read more, please subscribe to the blog – you will be notified when there are new posts!)
Squeaks wants desperately to tell me what’s wrong…..
