This post originally appeared on Blogjob in 2015. If Liza was alive in 2015, she was an old cat, even then.
(Topiccredit: Wendy Welchathttps://wendywelchbigstonegap.wordpress.com/2015/09/18/the-naming-of-cats-is-a-difficult-matter/.)
For afew years after its dedication as a Cat Sanctuary my home wascatless. Horrible. My mother thought she could protect the house frommice by leaving rat poison lying about while she spent weeks at a time in town. I came home to a house full of mice. Holding mynose, I said, “We need acat.”
AnotherCat Sanctuary sent me two kittens, Bounce and Pounce. “Their motheris wild as a cat can be, but my granddaughter’s made pets of the kittens.”The kittens ignored cat food, crawled up my legs, and tried to nurseon every exposed patch of skin they found. They were autumn kittens,not more than three months old. They shivered a good deal, more fromgrief and fear, I thought, than from actual chill, and cried.
“Youdon’t want the mother cat. She’s wild, won’t come near thehouse, won’t catch mice…”
Thekittens wanted her, I said. Kittens are meant to wean themselves gradually. over a lactation cycle that can extend for six or seven months; after two months they're normally getting most of their nourishment from solid food, but they continue to get some nourishment from the small amount of milk that remains available until the kittens are almost as big as their mothers are.
Later that week a man unloaded a steeltrap into the front yard. A very hostile orange cat erupted out ofthe trap, up the man’s arm, over his head, leaving a trail of bloodas she leaped down to the ground and streaked away into the woods. That cat had not wanted to part with her kittens, nor to be transported across the county in a cage trap, and she intended to make that man pay. Somehow she'd managed to sustain her lactation cycle over days away from the kittens. I did not know this right away; my immediate concern was bringing out cold water and Band-Aids.
Laterthat day the kittens persuaded their mother to be reunited with themin the barn, and came in full of milk, purring and content. The feralmother cat would try to sneak bites of leftover food when she thoughtI wasn’t looking, but would not eat food that was set out for her.“Silly yellow wild cat,” I observed, and, thinking of an oldchildren’s storybook, called her Liza.
Inbetween the arrival of Bounce and Pounce and the arrival of theirmother, on a job site I’d met Graybelle, the Third Queen of the CatSanctuary, also feral.For the first week or two Liza slappedand scolded Graybelle. Though Graybelle had kitten teeth and wasstill growing fast, she was already as big as many female cats get.Liza was an impressive “Big Mamma,” usually mistaken by strangersfor a tomcat, and not to be impressed by Graybelle’s size. Not yet.
Over thecourse of the winter, although Liza was mostly dense muscle and solidold bones, and Graybelle was mostly fluff, the size differencegradually reversed. Then Graybelle went on growing, being one ofthose Manx cats who revert to the full size of their wild ancestors.
Bounceand Pounce were the cuddly pets who did cute things and wanted to beheld. Graybelle was gentle but not affectionate. Liza gradually, weekby week, let her kittens persuade her to eat with them.
I didn’ttry to force Liza to be a pet. I set out food for Bounce, Pounce, andLiza in one bowl, food for Graybelle in another bowl. Bounce andPounce would eat a bit and then want to play and be petted. It wasamusing to watch Liza approach and avoid, approach and avoid, overthe winter. She liked kibble and loved fish, just like a normal cat. After a month or twoshe’d even let me stroke her back while she was eating.
Onesnowy day I sat on the porch and watched everyone eat, and Liza cameclose enough for me to pick her up and hold her on my knee. Shedidn’t scratch or bite; she froze. When rubbed behind the ears sheemitted an extraordinary noise. It was a sort of purr, but ahigh-pitched, more panicky than contented purr. She seemed unable tobelieve that she was being petted by a human and…liking it? Then astrange voice was heard from the road. Jehovah’s Witnesses were outmaking themselves tiresome. Liza retreated into the woods again.
She wasback in the yard for dinner, though, and now a new social dynamicappeared. Management of the humans is a point of social status forcats. Graybelle had been very dignified and ignored Liza once theywere about the same size–but now Graybelle was bigger, with statusto maintain, and she didn’t likeLiza. If I picked Liza up again,when I set her down Graybelle would slap her.
Lizacontinued nursing her kittens all winter. People who dislike catswill tell you that if cats aren’t sterilized they’ll have two orthree litters every year. Actually I’ve only ever seen oversexedadolescent cats, or cats whose first litter died, have two litters in a year. Mature female catspractice birth control primarily by nursing kittens for six months,which normally inhibits ovulation. Cat breeders cut off this process by selling kittens while the kittens are barely starting to eat solid food, which is sometimes justified as likely to produce an intense, though "neurotic," attachment to their humans. Cold weather also normallyinhibits ovulation, so nursing met an emotional need more than asurvival need for Liza, Bounce, and Pounce.
ByMarch, Liza had lost her fear of me and acted like a pet whenGraybelle wasn’t watching, though she avoided me when Graybelle waswatching. Then, since she was still feral, she eloped and I never sawher again. Maybe she moved in with her mate’s family andbecameQueen. It’s hard to say. A lot of cats look like Liza. All the ones I was close enough to see were male, but who knows?
Lizawas one of nine feral-born cats who’ve become pets, even indoorpets, with some encouragement from me. (Only six of them were mypets; Graybelle, Boots, and Muffin were definitely other people’spets who also recognized me as a friend.) People who listen to the Humane Pet Genocide Society
haveheard that feral cats can’t become pets. I say: bosh. Feral cats donot have the neurotic need for human supervision that some pet catsdo. They know they can survive on their own, which makes it all themore rewarding that they often will choose to bond with humans whor*spect them.
Wouldyou love someone who trapped you, kept you in a steel cage, separatedyou from your home and friends, performed drastic elective surgeries on you, then either held you prisoner ordumped you out on a street cornerwhile you were still bleeding from a major surgical operation? Feralcats don’t love the people who carry out Humane Genocide Societymandates on them, either. That does not mean that feral cats neverbond with humans, but it does reduce the chance that a feral cat willever learn to trust another human.
Wouldyou, on the other hand, love someone who shared food with you, helpedyou recover when you were in fact sick or injured, helped keepinsects from eating you alive, helped baby-sit your children, andprotected you from predators? Feral cats often do learn to love thepeople who help them, too. Be respectful, don’t make a feral cat aprisoner, and it will probably become your friend.
