- Top Features:
- War Room
- Glenn Greenwald
- Broadsheet
- Joan Walsh
- Camille Paglia
- Since You Asked
- Follow Salon:
Read other letters about this article
My husband and I rescued a cat who had also been abandoned by his mother (under a lighting display in an industrial park) before his eyes were open. We bottle-fed him, etc., and then gave him to my parents, who were looking for a cat.
The cat grew up to be insane, much like your cat. He was a large, powerful animal, and alarming to deal with when he lost his temper, which he did unpredictably when my parents were around. Whenever my parents weren't around (for example when we were housesitting for them) he seemed to feel it was his duty to defend the property, and would fight anyone who came near him. After he filleted several people, my parents declawed him, so he took to biting and boxing with his paws, which was not an improvement. (Before anyone jumps on me, I don't believe in declawing.) Highlights of his career include the time he hid in the darkness on top of the china cabinet and leaped from it to my husband's head, the time he almost severed my index finger, and the time he tore a large hole in my father's blue jeans and bit him so badly that he had to have stitches in his calf. All family members except my mother have scars from encounters with this cat.
Our vet was of the opinion that his mom abandoned him because she knew there was something wrong with him. Although he could be incredibly loving when he was in the mood, he was more like a wild animal than a domestic one.
He also had an amusingly twisted sense of vengeance; if for any reason any of the other cats yelped in pain, for example if my mother accidentally stepped on a paw or a tail, he would race from wherever in the house he was - and attack the dog. Now, the dog in question is a small, mild-manned, droopy-eyed creature who has never made an aggressive move in his life. Nevertheless, in the demon cat's eyes, anything that went wrong was clearly the dog's fault.
Nevertheless, my parents stayed the course. The cat died this winter at an advanced age, from lung cancer. The last time I saw him, he had little energy to do anything but sit on my lap and purr while I watched television. But he still managed to work himself up to bite my husband. It was his last hurrah. The wounds he inflicted were still healing a week after he was in his grave.
Letter Writer, you've already said you can't bear to put this cat down. I understand. None of the other solutions sound workable. Therefore you are stuck with this cat. Laughter helps. Try the behavioral specialists (my parents read lots of books and websites in their quest for a solution), but be prepared for the possibility that your cat may not be entirely normal and maybe nothing will work. Remember, cats don't live forever, and someday this cat will make a great story.
