Neva posted some pictures on facebook on Saturday. She and her husband had rescued a young cat, and he needed a home. They are way beyond overloaded at her home, and anyone who has read her blog knows this.
My cat, Tempest, loves being an only child. Typical of cats, I’d guess. I’ve been thinking for months that I needed to rescue another cat. There’s a lot of guilt. Guilt knowing that Tempest is happy as an only-child, guilt thinking of all the animals needing rescue. I had come to the conclusion that if I took in another cat, I needed to make it a special needs cat, a cat who would have a hard time finding a home.
I had it in my head that I would rescue a blind cat. A special need that is given no chance at most shelters, but which is actually fairly easy to handle, from what I’ve read.
But Saturday Neva posted about Tristan. She told me that he loves other cats, and she also told me that his shyness would require a lot of work to get him to trust, and that shyness was the number one reason that cats get passed over or returned, in her experience with rescue.
So Tristan came to live with me yesterday. He’s a tiny bundle of cuteness. He loves to be held, he purrs constantly. He seems to be doing well in his new situation. For now he is living in my bathroom. I need to give him time before I let him loose in the rest of the condo, where he could find some impossibly small cranny to wiggle into, and I need to give Tempest time to get used to the idea. She’s afraid of him right now.
Tempest voices her opinion on Tristan from on top of the cat tree
The thing is, I feel like I’ve cheated. Tristan is a feral kitten, somewhere around 3 or 4 months old, who had been living in the yard of a building across the street from where Sean works. Sean had to work hard to trap him, and it was clear from Tristan’s skinniness that he’d been on his own for a while. But when they brought him to my place, and we all trooped into my bathroom and they scooped out the little guy and put him in my lap, he started purring. He’s stopped a couple times since he arrived, but mostly he purrs non-stop.
He loves to be held. He doesn’t mind being held upside down, and will actually flip himself on his back when he’s in my lap. He loves to play. I’m not sure he knew how to play with toys when he first got here, but he’s all over it now. Neva and Sean brought a toy for him when they brought him to my place; a squeaky mouse on a string that hangs from the door. I can hear him playing with that constantly. He also plays with the other toys I’d brought in that I thought he might enjoy. One of them is a giant plush toy; my hope is to get him to associate the playful biting and scratching as something to do to the plush toy, not to me!
He wants to play not only near me, but on me. He wants to climb my legs and jump from my legs to the floor and back again. He is already learning how to weave through my feet. He wants to be touching me all the time.
In other words, I’ve somehow accidentally cheated. I got the feral kitten who was easy! (Plus I think Neva and Sean did the hard work before he came to me.)
And so despite my best intentions of taking in a difficult to place cat, I have ended up with the cutest fluffiest friendliest little kitten anyone can imagine.
It’s hard to complain.