Monday was Thanksgiving Day for all of us Canadians (Americans celebrate it in November, but we folks in Canada are usually too snowed under to be grateful come November).
Even though it was a long weekend, it was a “crap day” for me. All of it “thanks” to my new cat, Monty.
Many of you know that I’m disabled so I don’t have a 9 to 5 job. This means that I am at home a great deal and since Monty is a “house” cat, we are at home TOGETHER a lot of the time. (sometimes too much of the time).
I adopted Monty from my local Humane Society. At the Shelter, as I was wandering through the “Cat Condos” and trying to decided (and holding my breath against the pungent smell of cat urine), I came across Monty’s cage. He was next to 3 other cages that all held several kittens. So, poor ol’ Monty wasn’t receiving too much attention. In fact, I first noticed him when one little girl remarked,
“Look at this cat Mommy. I think he’s going to die soon.”
I followed her pointing finger to … Monty.
Now, I spent several years on a farm as a child, so I know a thing or two about animals. Although “Montgomery” (as the Shelter had arbitrarily named him) was not moving as much as a whisker (and he has a lot of them), he didn’t look sick. His eyes were wide and bright, there was no discharge from them or his nose or his ears. He just looked rather… um, tired of it all. Basically I thought he looked healthy but really depressed. I could relate. And understand too. I wouldn’t want to be in a small cage for days with strangers poking at me every couple minutes. (and of course you men will relate to not liking the neutering part).
Since I am not overly adventurous, I decided to take a step back and just observe Montgomery, the kittens, the giggling little girls and “life” for a while. Several other people stuck their hand into Monty’s cage (I held my breath the first couple of times) and stroked him, but there was no reaction from him at all. None. Zip. Nada. Not even his eyes moved.
Person after person opened his cage, gave him a rub or a tickle and then shut the cage and moved on.
I went over and found his “portfolio” which is a piece of paper in a file on the wall which has a photo of the cat, the cat’s cage number, a few details about the cat: “2 year old, neutered, male” and then a large area for “Comments”.
This last area is usually written from the cat’s point of view and is suppose to inform us of the cat’s personality and try to entice us to adopt them.
They usually read something like:
“Hi. My name is Princess. I’m a 4 year old spayed female. I don’t jump and play as much as I used to but I love to cuddle and I will purr for you if you want to rub my tummy. Because I am calm and older , I’d love to be in a home that has children because I’m so easy to get along with and respond to lots of attention. Blah, blah, blah.” (You get the idea).
On “Montgomery’s” Portfolio under Comments … completely blank. I must have looked at 20 portfolios by then and I had never seen one with no comments at all. Not much help to me there.
So I went back to “Montgomery’s” cage and opened it and stuck my hand in. He accepted the pet and rub (like all the other ‘millions’ of hands that had stroked him) with absolute complacency. And like everyone else, I gave an extra pat and a “poor boy” and then closed the cage. As I started to move away, he raised his head and looked at me. It was the first reaction I’d seen from him in 30 minutes. And in that one motion, something went “ping” in my heart.
I am still grieving pretty bad over Mom’s death, especially because we lived together for the last couple years of her life. A cat seemed a good idea because it was WAY too quiet at my apartment, but the main reason I was getting a cat was because of the mice I discovered running around my home. It wasn’t that I particularly wanted a cat, I just preferred a cat to having the mice.
I spent 5 hours at the Humane Society getting interviewed, filling out forms, doing paperwork, getting his medical record, etc. And went home that night with Montgomery, which I instantly changed to “Monty”.
For the first 3 days he followed me everywhere and was very needy and affectionate. He clung to me at the slightest sound. He was so tiny, scared and adorable. But he gradually came out of his shell and became what he is now. A clawing, biting, bundle of destruction.
Any cuddling now is definitely a “no no”. He comes and checks to see that I’m still around if I haven’t made any noise for a while (like when I’m reading), but apart from filling his food and water dish, he’s made it pretty clear that he doesn’t need me. I don’t even think he likes me. He pretty much just tolerates me.
So now in my apartment, everything on the kitchen cupboards has been removed (except the Lysol wipes and paper towels because I need them constantly). I can’t use the oven or stove because he’s always on them and any cupboard or drawer open for longer than 2 seconds is fair game for him to jump into. All garbage cans are hidden away and I’ve accepted the idea that everything I own, from clothing to books, will at some point be destroyed by Monty. I can’t even figure out how to wash my dishes because he keeps putting his paws and tongue all over them the moment they come out of the clean water.
The words “move”, “get back”, “No”, or “stop” mean absolutely nothing to him and I get the joy of cleaning up his “packages” anywhere between 6-12 times a day.
I am not allowed to pick him up, touch him for more than the occasional pat or scratch (if he is so inclined) and any part of my body is fair game when it comes to those fierce little teeth of his. And when I’m in a nightgown, he will suddenly lunge at my bare legs to use as scratching posts.
Besides his regular male cat behaviour, he has something like the cat version of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder because apparently he was a stray for quite a while before being picked up by the Humane Society.
And let us not forget that in the 6 weeks I’ve had him, he has been to the Veterinarian for deworming, eye infection, eye drops, antibiotics and behaviour issues which were answered by my Vet with (“I don’t know. I’ve never heard of a cat doing that”). Which is the same thing they said the 3 times I phoned the Humane Society Behaviour Hotline.
I’ve also taken to the Internet to find answers from other cat owners who tell me I have to assert myself as the “alpha male”. I lived on a farm so I knew how to “assert myself as an alpha male” when I was only a 7 year old little girl. Believe me, Monty couldn’t care less if I’m an “alpha male” or a Neo Nazi.
On the farm I also dealt with dogs, cats (of the wilder, barn variety), cows, horses, mice (which in those days I would spin and fling by their tails), squirrels, frogs, caterpillars, birds, and bugs. I’ve always had a sense about animals. A “way” with them, as people have told me. But on Monday, Monty drew the line!
He was more antsy and spastic than even usual and I decided while it was still warm enough weather I would take him for a walk. I thought we could both use the outing before the snow flies and we end up snowbound for the winter.
He has a little harness for when he goes walking but he decided that he didn’t want me to put it on. And, Oh Brother, he really meant it!
Now, he bites me all the time, but I’ve gotten pretty fast at getting my hands out of the way AND I know how to hold him so that he can’t get at them very easily. I tried several of these “tricks”, but he managed to get his teeth into me and WOULDN’T LET GO. He was hanging from my hand by his teeth.
There’s a way to open a cat’s jaw ( like when you need to feed them a pill) and I made that move on him pretty fast to get him to release his jaw and detach from my hand.
He had already been extra destructive and hostile (thus the “walk” idea) so by the time he took a bite out of me, I had had it!
I quickly put him in the bathroom where his Litter box is kept and slid in (also quickly) his bowl of water.
A few minutes later, I let him out but shut myself into my bedroom. He protested very loudly about my shut bedroom door because he feels he should have complete and absolute freedom in his apartment. But I needed a “time out” even more than he did.
I came out a few hours later to clean out his Litter box and give him his supper. I tried to pet him and make up with him, but he didn’t want any thing to do with me. So I just let him be.
Then my brother came over and brought a Thanksgiving “care” package of food, fresh garden veggies, pie, and paper towels (amongst other things). And they were “Bounty”. Which are the best kind of paper towels and with Monty making messes, I never have enough paper towels!
So I was sitting there Monday evening thinking about whether or not I should keep Monty. And doing a lot of praying about it too. As far as I know, nothing has been done in the apartment building about the mice running around, but I haven’t seen even a sign of them since I got Monty. However, if it gets to the point I can’t even touch Monty anymore, how can I care for him properly? (And let’s not even mention my poor bleeding hands).
If he can be so suddenly vicious …? Well, … twice already I’ve had to push someone’s hand away to keep Monty from leaping and biting it. I certainly wouldn't let a child into my apartment without shutting Monty up in a room.
To be honest, I was expecting some bad behaviour from Monty after he started feeling more secure. It often happens with younger children who have been abused too. Once they feel safe, they become so distraught they make the “terrible twos” look like a trip to Disney land.
But after 6 weeks I'm getting so nervous and jumpy because I know Monty may bite me at any time for any reason: on the leg if I’m standing/ on the arm if I’m sitting/ on any body part he can get to when I’m sleeping.
I hate to send Monty back to the Humane Society because with his hostile behaviour this pronounced he might not be able to be adopted out to anyone else. But mostly because I hate to give up on anyone: cat or human.
Basically, if I can’t help a cat because he’s lived on the streets, been without the security of a home, has had to find his own meals out of garbage cans, knows what it’s like to be afraid day and night and can't even express love without biting, then HOW can I ever help a person who has been in that situation?!
And while I was doing this thinking and praying, Monty was roaming my apartment seeing what he could get in to. Doing his “weird” things too. (like literally trying to climb the walls, getting spastic and hissing at absolutely nothing). Then he got his “hands” on a roll of paper towels. I was about to get up and go and take it away from him, but before I could, he inadvertently pushed it off the counter top and it fell on the floor where I couldn’t see it. One second later Monty dove off the counter top to land on top of it. I couldn’t see him behind the cupboard, but I could hear him yowling and growling and no doubt ripping and tearing. I was just starting to get up to intervene in the situation but the Lord said to me very clearly, “By the time you get up and get to the paper towel roll it will already be unusable. Let Monty have his fun with it for a little while. It’s only paper towels and I just got a bunch of Bounty paper towels delivered right to your door. So you can spare it. Leave him his moment. He needs it and it doesn’t really matter. Does it?”
Since Mom died, that’s the thing that Jesus has been helping me with the most: what matters and what doesn’t.
I get it all straight in my mind and then I get caught up in the little trivialities of Life and I get uptight about things again.
What matters most: my cat or my paper towels? Making sure that everything is prim and proper or having a few moments of fun? Getting upset or chilling out?
When it’s my turn to join Mom in Heaven I won’t even remember those stupid paper towels. Or that I lost some belongings or the scratches on my arms or the bites on my hands. In fact, one truth I’ve discovered about death, it’s the unique things; the things that are not the normal or everyday is what is remembered the most.
A few hours after Mom died, I came home from the hospital to finally get some sleep. I decided to sleep in one of Mom’s nightgowns (she had done that when her Mom died, so I knew it would give me some comfort).
I knew exactly which nightgown I wanted. I had bought her a lovely one and a couple minutes after she put it on for the first time, she spilled chocolate pudding on it. She was so upset for ruining the nightgown that I had given her. And she washed it again and again and again to try to get the chocolate stains out. They never did come out and that first night without her here, I slipped into her nightgown and looked at the stain and thought how much it’s the things that make us different from each other that make us the most precious. The stain she hated was the stain I treasured (and still do).
So when Monty was apparently “killing” the paper towel roll just beyond where I could see him, I decided to heed God’s advice and just “let him be”.
When Monty’s “noise” behind the cupboards stopped I decided to sneak up and take a picture of what I guessed would be a paper towel roll ripped into tiny little bits and Monty with a “demonic” cat expression.
Here is the photo of what I found.
“MONTY” HIDING UNDER PAPER TOWELS (he stayed there for 15 minutes)
Monty is teaching me about patience, about loving someone when they are hurting you and about never judging what’s going on inside someone. Sometimes when you think someone is purposely being evil and destructive, … maybe all they’re really looking for is someone to accept them as they are and to find a place to hide. (Even if it’s just for a little while)
“Lord? Thank you for Monty. Thank you for the surprises in life. Thank you for pushing me beyond what I think I can do. Thank you for giving all the wisdom and strength I will need to face whatever is coming. And thank you for always being with me.”
Happy Thanksgiving.
And I hope you find your blessings, wherever they may be hidden.
Love Laura-Lee (and Monty - my "training wheels" of life)
