A cat lover and his cat have a master/slave relationship. The cat is the master.
~Arthur R. Kassin
“I’m going to be late for work today,” my friend Michelle called to tell me. “My cat decided to have her babies this morning. In a basket of clean laundry.”
I laughed. “I’m guessing the laundry is no longer clean.”
“You guessed right. You’re going to take a kitten, aren’t you? I can’t keep them all, but I hate to take them to a shelter.”
“Yes, we’ll take one. I don’t want them at a shelter either.”
My husband and I already had one cat, a male named Tigger. He loved to cuddle, and he’d never met a stranger. Any time I sat down, he crawled into my lap for a snuggle. I just assumed all cats were that way.
Boy, was I wrong.
Several weeks later, Michelle told me that I could pick out my kitten. “I already know which one you’re going to want,” she said. “The runt is a female, and she’s so tiny and cute. You can have whichever one you want, but I predict you’ll fall in love with her.”
I smiled. The thought of a tiny, cuddly kitten had that effect on me. “We’ll come over tomorrow. Today is our first wedding anniversary, so I’m sure we’ll be too busy celebrating.”
But that night, after we’d had dinner at our favorite restaurant, my husband offered to take me to Michelle’s house. “I can tell you don’t want to wait,” he said with a smile.
He knew me well, as did Michelle. Her prediction was right. That tiny female kitten tugged on my heartstrings, and I knew immediately that she was the one I wanted.
We named her Annie, in honor of our anniversary. Our Annie-versary.
When we got home, I watched as Tigger inspected this new creature in his space. I was concerned that he might not like her, but I worried for nothing. Within moments, the two were snuggled together under our bed.
The next evening, Annie was still there.
“I can’t coax her out,” I told my husband.
“Just give her some space,” he said. “She’s still adjusting to a new place and new people.”
I took his advice and tried not to worry about her. But it soon became obvious that Annie wanted nothing to do with us.
“What’s wrong with her, Tigger?” I murmured into his fur during a snuggle session. “Can’t you tell her we’re nice people, and she doesn’t need to be afraid of us?”
If Tigger told her, Annie didn’t listen. She found every hiding place in our small apartment and used each one to her advantage. I would occasionally see a tiny black streak run by, but most days, I didn’t see her at all.
“How’s Annie?” Michelle asked after a few weeks.
“She hates us, and I don’t know why,” I answered. “She hides, and when I try to coax her out with food, she does whatever she can to get away from me. She avoids all contact with us.”
Michelle sighed. “Maybe she just needs more time to adjust.”
But weeks later, the problem had gotten worse, not better.
“She acts like she’s been abused or something,” I told Michelle. “She hisses at me any time I try to touch her.”
“I had a cat like this once,” she said. “They can be socialized, but it takes a lot of time and effort. It’s a big commitment. And if it doesn’t work…”
I shook my head and pictured that sweet, little face. “Tell me what to do.”
“You’ve got to make it impossible for her to hide from you,” she said. “Choose a room in your house and block off all of the hiding places in that room. Put Annie in there and visit her every day. Don’t try to touch her. Just let her get used to being in the same room with you.”
Our one-bedroom apartment had a small den that would be perfect as Annie’s new room. I blocked off the hiding places and moved Annie’s food and litter box into the room. It took nearly two hours, but eventually we were able to chase her into her new room.
The visitations started the next day.
When I walked in that first time, I could see Annie frantically looking around for somewhere to hide from me. When she realized there was nowhere to go, she backed herself into a corner and just stared at me.
I spent hours sitting in that room, staring at a cat who wanted nothing to do with me. Oftentimes, I would bring Tigger in with me, hoping that his friendliness toward me would influence Annie’s behavior.
No such luck.
Michelle said Step Two was to bribe her with food. “Put a tablespoon of tuna on a plate and set it a few feet away from you,” she instructed. “Still don’t try to touch her, but talk to her in a soothing voice while she eats it. If she doesn’t eat it with you in the room, take the treat with you when you leave. She’ll wait you out if you let her, so you need to teach her that she only gets the food if she comes close to you.”
It took two weeks before Annie ventured out of her corner to eat the tuna. And even then, she’d eat one bite, run back into the corner, and then venture out again for another taste.
It was so frustrating. “Why the mistrust, Annie?” I’d ask her softly. “I’ll never hurt you.”
Finally, after four months of daily visits, Annie let me touch her. It was the first time since the day we’d gotten her.
Gradually, she came close to me without the plate of tuna between us. She would allow me to pet her, and then one day, she crept into my lap.
It was amazing.
On our second wedding anniversary, I decided to let Annie out of the den, hoping she wouldn’t find a hiding place and stay there for the next six months.
Instead, she crept out of the room and slowly explored the apartment. Then she jumped onto the couch and lay down next to Tigger. When I sat down, both cats crawled into my lap.
I nearly cried with relief.
Annie taught me that relationships aren’t always easy, but they are always worth the effort. She taught me the fine art of simply sitting with someone, of being available to them when they finally come out of their hiding place and decide to open up and let us in. She taught me to go slowly and be patient, and to occasionally smooth things over with a tasty treat. And, most importantly, she taught me to never, ever give up on someone.
~Diane Stark
