The Bandit Under My Bed

My search for a cat to be a companion for Tuvok, my Maine Coon, was not at all what I expected.  Here’s what I learned while searching for a large male cat, 3-5 years old, who is not declawed.

Size in the cat world, like size at Old Navy, is impossibly small.  “Large” is a cat over 10 pounds.  “Extra-Large” is a cat over 15 pounds.  Tuvok, who weighs over 20 pounds, is completely off the charts (OH MY GOD!  He weighs HOW MUCH?).

People give their cats weird names:  Baybreeze, Loverboy, Docket, Ribbon. I even saw black cats named “Damien”.  Come on, that’s just not fair!  Pet owners and rescuers also cannot spell:  Sebestian, Perscilla, Rippley.

Ads on Petfinder, like personal ads, are written in code.  “Shy” or “Hides in back of cage” really means “feral, wants nothing to do with humans”.  “Lapcat” or “A real moosh” means “so fat that he can’t move”.  “Vocal” or “Very talkative” means “yowls so loudly that your ears bleed”.  “Playful” or “Very active” means “climbs everything in sight including unsuspecting humans”.

Surprisingly, the worst shelter that I visited was attached to a Veterinary Hospital.  From the outside, it looked new and well-kept.  The grounds were immaculately landscaped.  Inside was a completely different story.  The stench was overwhelming.  The cats were kept in large dog crates that were painted black probably to hide the dirt.  The cats themselves were growling and hissing, protesting the hideous living conditions.

The best shelter I visited was a municipal shelter attached to and run by the local police department.  There was almost no odor.  The cages gleamed like mirrors.  The cats were literally purring with contentment.  The lesson here is that animals receive better treatment when the boss is armed.

I also worked with a rescue group. Rescuers are a lot like realtors.  They call constantly with “the perfect cat”.  I got no sleep for weeks because I was still working nights and the rescuer would call every afternoon at 3 PM.  I finally agreed to “meet” a cat just to stop the phone calls and get some sleep.

“Ribbon”, an extra-large (16 lb), 3 ½ year old cat was being fostered in the next town.  The house was a cute ranch with a lovely perennial garden.  I had to step back and catch my breath when the foster mother opened the door.  The smell made my eyes water and my nose run.  She smiled brightly and said “You can’t tell I have 19 cats in here, can you? There’s no smell!”  I took a deep breath and gingerly stepped through the door.

Inside, the house was very clean.  She admitted that she had vacuumed before I arrived.  I saw only two litterboxes and no food or water dishes anywhere.  She said because so many of the cats were on special diets, she fed them all in different rooms and didn’t leave food out between meals.  But water.  They should have had water available, right? 

Ribbon was not a particularly attractive cat.  He fell into the “extra-large” category not because he was very large, but because he was over-weight.  He was billed as “very affectionate, greets you at the door”.  Mainly, he looked terrified.  She gently stroked his tail and remarked how well it had healed.  A month ago, she had accidentally slammed it in a door and injured it so badly that the vet had had to amputate the end of it.  After two days.  She had let him walk around in agony for two days until it became infected and had to be amputated.

19 cats, two litterboxes, no food or water, horrible injuries, insufficient medical care.  I had to get him out of there.  He was not what I was looking for, but I couldn’t leave him in that hellish place.  It took a few weeks to arrange for a mutually convenient time for his foster mom to bring him over and inspect my house but he is now residing under my bed.  He has the luxury of his own litterbox, plenty of food, fresh water twice a day, toys, a scratcher with catnip and a human who brings him treats every time she comes in the room. 

And Tuvok?  He’s terrified!  I left the bedroom door ajar the other day because Bandit was curious to see what was on the other side.  Tuvok saw the open door and trotted down the hallway to check it out.  He came face to face with Bandit and fled.  He hid under the kitchen table, trembling, and refusing to come out.