The very many cats recently rescued from two locations, are now out of the elements (except those named for the ones on the periodic table). If any place can cure their sense of being out of their element, it is Tabby’s Place. The primary goal is socializing each of the cats and making the sanctuary feel like a home. In order to simplify things for the cats, staff, and volunteers, the elementals and their fellows of non-elemental nomenclature have been co-located in the Feral Room (within the medical office) and Suite A .
Several of the cats from these two rescue operations have already proven ready for relocation. Bello is taking over the Lobby. Chaz-matazz (Meet him and you’ll get it!) is clamoring for treats with wide-mouthed peeps in the Community Room. Others have already been adopted. Meanwhile, many of their fellow felines have not gotten the messages that they are safe, they are unconditionally loved, and they are home. We are all working on that.
“Work” is a not exactly the right word here. For the staff who provide medical and hygienic care (as well as cuddles, when accepted), the word “work” fall short. For volunteers who provide attention, time, patience (and cuddles, when accepted), “work” fails to capture the rewards for time spent with these cats.
These rewards for all are coming slowly, but they are coming. In suite A, it starts with a cat like Vaermino. He stares. Intensely. In a human, it would be considered rude. That direct gaze. That watching. That darting from place to place for a different view of the visitor. Back to still and staring. This is good. Watching leads to learning, and we hope he’ll learn.
With the offering of chicken (plain roasted or carefully selected treats), noses twitch. Hydrogen will brave any possible outcome and race in for delicacies. She and Chromium will take treats from a volunteer’s hand. Chromium will even lean in for a cuddle (SQUEEEEE!!!). Vaermino follows Hydrogen’s lead somewhat and will accept chicken from outstretched arm and fingers. Aluminum watches. She won’t turn down chicken, but only if it is placed near hear…but not too near. The tube cats haven’t figured out chicken (They’re a long way from cuddles).
The tube cats – so called (at least by me) because they create an impasse in the tube that connects the suite to the solarium – are, in fact, chickens. They are too fearful of even the kindest humans to be found within the suite when people are active. When the work day is done, they descend. That is when they feel the most in their element: in the evenings and overnight when they are left to the company of cats. Still, they watch. Well, whoever is closest to the flap at the suite-side of the tube will watch.
It’s a start.
They can see when Gallium approaches a person for her share of the feast. They see Cobalt come out of his cozy nook in his own time and at his own pace. They see him shyly accept scritches and chicken. For the record, it’s fun to watch Cobalt tear into a chunk of chicken.
Eventually, the remaining elements Helium and Zinc, along with the non-elements Meridian, Polaroid, Rubiks, Tapenade, Tetris, and Hircine will learn that life in Suite A, life at Tabby’s Place, is a good thing. Eventually, they’ll learn to trust us enough to come down for chicken, or maybe they’ll already be down waiting. Hopefully, they’ll learn enough to be graduated from “desperately needs socialization” to “well socialized.” Once socialized, we can hope for adoptions (We always hope for adoptions!).
Until then, we’ll stick to the basics. This is How-to-Cat Kindergarten. Lesson plans include “I’m just a person sitting here doing my own thing,” “I’m just a person reading a book out loud,” and “I’m just a person playing soft music on my phone.” Chicken is recess for some. Nighttime is recess for all. If it takes the cat equivalent of learning the A-B-Cs to feel more at home, then A-B-Cs it shall be. Eventually, they’ll learn. It’s elementary.