Remember Scout the Half-Feral Barn Cat? Well, I think I’ve created a monster.
After two weeks of trying to get used to living inside four walls, and a wretched attack of bacterial diarrhea last week (that’s what you get when you grow up drinking duck water and your mom compromises your immune system with vaccinations, relocation stress, and neutering), we have a cat who has morphed from silent, terrified, hide-under-the-sofa-and-only-come-out-to-crap cat to PLAY!PLAY!PLAYPLAYPLAYPLAY WITH ME RIGHT NOW AND I AM NOT RESPONZIBLE FOR LOST LIMBS!! cat.
I have never had a cat this attached to me before–not even bottle-fed Otto. He’s nearly killed me several times by running between my legs while I’m on the stairs, and if he’s not sure where I am he’ll meow until he hears my voice.
The real trouble is that he is not getting along with any other feline crew members, most particularly the elderly Teacup and Sunny, who mightily resent his playful slaps on the butt as they’re running for cover. I’m hoping that some of this aggression is due to some residual testosterone. Being completely inactive for three weeks hasn’t helped either.
So far, the only thing that’s prevented utter chaos is the fact that Scout is still deathly afraid of every other human being in the household besides me. He has tried really hard to make contact with the boys and HM, but so far it’s been the briefest of chin-rubs on extended fingers before dashing off. This has resulted in the kids and HM obviously being used as human shields by the feline home squad. It’s pretty pathetic.
If all else fails, we can always see if they can use him on set of the Master and Commander sequel--with ears at full mast and a stiff breeze, he could double as a frigate.
In an effort to wear him out yesterday, I dug out some old rabbit-fur covered cat toy mice, and Scout (all business) promptly picked one up and disappeared into the other room. A few minutes later I walked in and found this weird olive-green plastic thing in the middle of the floor–a completely denuded toy mouse. He’d eaten the fur and the tail right off the plastic base.
That was the end of that game.
So I found a (sturdier) stuffed monkey that I rubbed in some catnip, and he’s been enthusiastically mauling that. He learned the Pounce On Scritching Thing Under Bedcovers game last night, which came to an end when he bit my toe–hard– through the quilted bedspread, heavy blanket, and flannel sheet.
Apparently I need one of those suits like they train police dogs with.
This cat crawls up in my face, on my shoulders, and throws himself dramatically down in my lap in all kinds of positions, and has already been showing jealousy toward things that divert attention away from Himself (like the laptop, the dog, books, etc.) And this is a cat who’s only allowed himself to be touched since about the end of March.
I may be in trouble here.
Pork Belly Acres 