Saturday, 2 July 2011
This was when I asked for advice from a friend who was an animal homeopath. Listening, she replied "Scaredy cat" and suggested another well known homeopathy trauma remedy. This time, the day after adding a couple of drops of this remedy to her food, Fizgig came out from under the house and with much meowing approached me. I picked her up and we had a rapturous reunion. She is not normally an affectionate cat but this time she snuggled into my shoulder with loud noisy purrs and much head butting.
She had lost weight and condition, her fur was coarse and rough to touch but she was back. I took her inside to my study where she liked to be. She promptly crept under a cabinet and stayed there. She would only stay inside for a while before disappearing back under the house again. It took about a month and several doses of the remedy before she finally came out and stayed out. (to be continued)
Friday, 1 July 2011
That was alright but she would occasionally do a 'Drama Queen' act where there would be this pathetic wailing either from the roof or from her hiding hole in the ceiling. "'I can't get down from the roof ---- I can't get out of this space" she would wail. We would get caught up in her drama as I would try to coax her down off the roof or Keith would climb up and try to get her to come out through the opening in the eaves.
Eventually we discovered this was all a big act and if we ignored her she could get herself out through the opening in the eaves and off the roof. Because she was getting older we became concerned that if she did get stuck in the ceiling of the house, or did get sick or injured and retreated into this space, the only way we would be able to reach her would be to remove sheets of roofing iron. So we made the decision to totally block this opening, after first making sure she was well and truly on the ground.
After this Fizgig disappeared (to be continued)
Thursday, 30 June 2011
She had a routine that included getting under my feet until I fed her. The fact that there was food in the bowl didn't matter. She had to actually hear the rattle of the container before she would stop pestering me. She had set times to be fed, set places where she could be found and she never left our section. I was the only person she trusted and when I call out to her, she would reply. Letting her in each morning is quite a routine with Keith silently laughing in the bedroom as we chat to each other. She is very polite and always gives a little vocal meow of thanks when doors are opened for her. She has a way of sitting by a door she wants opened, looking hard at it and if we don't respond, there is a petulant grumble of complaint that continues until the door is opened.
And so the years went by (to be continued)
Wednesday, 29 June 2011
A branch of the family in transit had asked us to store their baby's cot which was in the bathroom. (Where else would one store a cot?) A box under the cot with a cover Fizgig could burrow into and under, a kitty litter box plus food and water and we had a boarder in the bathroom. I patiently spent time each day trying to win this little creature's trust which proved futile, and after a week I took her to the local SPCA and asked "Is she feral?" After watching her for a while the response was that she was not feral but had been mistreated to a point where she had lost all trust in people.
Knowing this gave me the renewed patience to slowly and gently build up her trust in me. She reacts badly to males which made us suspect that she had been mistreated by a male. The sight or sound of a male would cause her to panic and run for cover so Keith wasn't able to spend any time with her initially.
After some time I was able to bring her into the sitting room in the evenings while we were watching TV. I would place her on the back of the sofa which was against a wall and from here she would sit quietly all evening watching us until I would return her to the bathroom. (to be continued)
I was taken into the classroom to see her in the cardboard box she had been put in and the cover someone had placed over her was lifted. There was this tiny scrap of black and white fur growling furiously at everyone. The teachers were telling the children that she was probably a feral cat and would have to be put down. I looked at the children's faces, looked at this little scrap of fur and said I would take her back to the vet in town and get her checked. If she needed to be put down, I would arrange it.
At the vet clinic this obviously sick little kitten, full of worms and struggling to breathe but still furiously growling was checked over. She made no attempt to bite or scratch just growled from the bottom of her little being. She had a strong little spirit and responded to treatment so after paying out $200 plus I found myself the somewhat bemused 'owner' of yet another cat. (to be continued)