Every time a cat comes to Tabby’s Place, we find ourselves testing out new ground. At times, the terra is firma. That is to say, staff that meets that cat on intake will let us know if our newest arrival is “sweet” and “friendly,” or “shy at first, but loves attention.” Sometimes, a cat’s introductory crate is tagged with such warnings as “CAUTION,” or “Scared,” or “Go Slow.”
In cases like those mentioned, how to spend time with an individual cat is fairly straightforward. But, once in a while, terra firma gives way to terra not-so-firma, and sometimes the terra is quakeful or a downright muddy bit of sludge because a cat is “Unpredictable.” In such cases, it’s difficult to find solid footing.
With a cat like Savannah, who is still unsure of us, our heartstrings are tugged extra sharply because we know why she is at Tabby’s Place. Savannah lost her person. At 7 years old, that is – in and of itself – a difficult adjustment. To also lose one’s home, to land in a suite with multiple cats, to be surrounded by unknown people and daily habits, is to lose one’s sense of stability.
With patience and empathy, we reach out slowly and cautiously to this beautiful, long-haired tortie. With relief, she accepts our attentions…until she doesn’t. In a heartbeat, the ground changes. Sweetness gives way to fear or frustration or anger or any of a host of turbulent feelings that must accompany such a drastic life change. We should not be surprised if Savannah sometimes can be a little unpredictable in doling out a hiss or wanting to end a gentle, sweet interaction. We understand because the once-solid ground of her forever home crumbled under her feet.
If Savannah were a person, we would offer her a comforting warm beverage and a kind ear. We would explain the situation and that we are trying to help her. We would offer every tool in our collective backpacks to help her through her grief, to understand and adjust and become comfortable again. We would assure her that love is not a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. We would tell her that love is unconditional and unending.
Because Savannah is a cat, we have to follow a writer’s rule: show, don’t tell. We start by respecting her boundaries. When Savannah is finished accepting our affectionate pats, we must withdraw. We can offer her fish mush and crunchy treats, so she knows her belly will always be full. We can help her decide which are her favorite toys. We can provide cozy bedding, ample water, and temperature control. We can sit quietly nearby when we run out of other ideas.
Our greatest hope is that, eventually, Savannah will feel the ground become more solid beneath her toe beans. As it does, we hope that she will feel secure and loved. We hope that even the most subtle unpredictability and changeability will melt into an unprecedented, unchanging sweetness – more of the kind we know is there already. We hope in the most humongous way possible that some person somewhere won’t wait for too long. We hope that person will decide to prove to Savannah that love can strike again, as quickly as lightning, and a cat can gain a new forever person in a blink.
Until then, we – that’s a huge number of amazing staff members and fantastic volunteers – will do everything in our power to shower Savannah with enough love and attention that she will flourish like the landscapes that share her name. For now, we know Savannah must feel like she is on very uncertain ground. Accordingly, we will continue to do everything we can to show her that there is no terra more firma than the foundations of Tabby’s Place.