#cat behaviorist

My husband and I bought a house and had a wonderful roommate who lived with us. She brought her cat, who got along with our cats wonderfully. When she moved out, we felt a bit of a hole in our hearts where our previous roommate cat had been. We contemplated adopting another cat. We were no longer in our apartment, and our local laws didn’t have any stipulation on the amount of cats you could keep inside (outside of serious instances where Animal Control is required, but 3 was hardly near that limit). So we thought about it.

As always, we went to get some food for Heimdall and Sif, and in the window were these two beautiful orange girls who were snuggling together as closely as possible.

We were told they were Clementine and Savannah, and they were in the store because they had almost no human interaction at 5 months old. They were found outside at 10 weeks, and their foster home kept them in a cage. Their foster had trouble handling them at all, so they just left them in the cage with their food and didn’t touch them or interact with them at all. They were only touched to get ringworm medicine (which they had a rather nasty case of), and other upper respiratory medication. So their only human interaction was stressful on them. Putting them in the store was the last ditch effort to get them used to people so they could realistically be pets and not just terrified of everyone.

In the cage, Savannah allowed us to pet her when she ate. Clementine would not approach us at all. We asked to see Savannah in their meeting room.

She hid and hissed at us the entire time. Hair on end, ears flat, completely terrified. But I saw something in her while she was in that cage where she had spent so much time. Savannah had the ability to warm up, she just needed the time and patience to help her. 

We couldn’t decide if we wanted to adopt her though. It would take a lot of work, and they would probably NEVER be comfortable with people. My husband and I knew that if we took them home, we would be the ones to feed them and give them places to hide and exist as comfortably as possible. Take them to the vet and care for them. They would never be as friendly as Heimdall or Sif. 

But the Pet Valu manager told us that they were getting out of their cute kitten phase where folks were willing to look past their issues because they were so young. They were already hard to home, but in a few weeks, they’d go back to their foster home permanently. Kept in a cage and kept away from people like feral cats.

So we asked if the girls were a bonded pair. The manager said “Well, Savannah would be okay since you have cats at home. But Clementine would probably decline.”

So without skipping a beat, my husband chimed in with, “Then we’ll take them both.”

They normally didn’t do this, but our friend let us take them home on a foster to adopt 2 week window.

At first, Clementine ran under the bed and stayed there. We made sure food, water, and a litter box was close by for them and just left them alone. Savannah stayed in the carrier, too terrified to even run out and join her sister. But eventually I moved the carrier closer, and Savannah darted under the bed and sat with her sister for HOURS.

But, they would eat and drink after a few hours. We heard them use the litter box in the night. We left them alone and just spent a lot of time in the room with them. We didn’t reach for them, or try and grab them or pet them. Everything was on their terms. As long as they were eating, drinking, and going to the bathroom, they were okay. 

In less than a week, something amazing happened. These two kittens who were so scared of people began to come out of their shells. We couldn’t hold them, but they climbed into the cat tree and made noises in order to get our attention. Savannah did it first. Clementine tried to imitate her sister, but never quite got the hang of it, (and Citra has her wonderful little honk from that).

We thought of names. We just couldn’t think of anything that fit them. But then my husband, an avid beer drinker, suggested “Citra and Simcoe”, after hop variants. Cute names for little orange girls, and it kept the “C” and “S” names from Clementine and Savannah.

With that, they were named. And obviously, they were home with us.

They had a lot of growing to do. After a trip to the vet, we found out that both girls had FHV. Citra was able to eventually shake it after an ear infection, but Simcoe remains symptomatic on and off to this day. We work with our vet to keep her symptoms in check. Sometimes it’s just her being a little sniffly. Sometimes she sneezes. Sometimes she has discharge from her eyes or nose. She’s on some vitamins to help her immune system, and we keep a humidifier for her running all the time.

So how are they now?

I’m honestly still emotional over the huge turn around these amazing girls did. I’ll give you the run down one at a time.

Citra:

Our funny little Citra bear has gotten so much better at looking for human attention. At first, she didn’t want ANY. But now, she approaches our friends for pets, even if she’s not quite sure how to do it. Since she missed that ideal socialization window, she’s a little unsure about how to seek affection. She’ll often lean her head forward in that typical “head-butt” way, but while doing that she’ll walk away. She’s still skittish when it comes to people, but she will stand on the table and honk at you until you reach your hand out and let her try and pet herself on your hand.

However, she absolutely ADORES the other cats in the house. When we finally introduced them (slowly, slowly OH so slowly) to the other cats, she immediately gravitated towards Heimdall and Sif. She became fast friends with Heimdall, while remaining absolute best friends with her sister. They sleep, play, and groom together so well. As I type this Citra is laying with both Heimdall AND Seymour on the bed. 

Citra also has an A+ blep, along with just being incredibly silly. She’s an absolute joy.

Simcoe:

Our shy little girl has become a huge snuggle bug. She sleeps with us every single night and she absolutely loves being touched and pet. She’s very shy around people who aren’t my husband or I. But I tell people who visit if they want to see Simcoe, just come into the bedroom, close the door, and sit down on the floor. Sooner or later, she’ll come over and rub up against you. She requires a gentle voice and a gentle touch, but she was so starved for affection I feel like she’s making up for it now that she knows she’s safe.

I mentioned her health, and because she’s so sick, sometimes she gets too nauseated to eat from being congested. And, as I said before, we’ve worked very hard with our vet to get Simcoe to the best weight she can be and keeping her as healthy as possible. One of her triggers for FHV is stress, and with such a skittish cat, it’s very difficult. However, living in a cage would have been infinitely worse for this wonderful girl.

Simcoe has the sweetest expressive eyes. Sometimes I just sit down and pet her for so long because I remember how happy she was when she finally let us touch her. She was so starved for attention and when she finally got it, she didn’t want it to stop (it never will).

Citra and Simcoe are still each other’s best friends. They sleep together, play together, groom each other, share their food (they have separate bowls but they will just switch back and forth). 

I’m always so proud to see how far these amazing little cats have come. Simcoe used to hiss at me when I put her food down. Citra never made noise before coming to live with us. It was worth every single long hour waiting for them to get comfortable enough to eat with me in the same room. Or being willing to walk down the hallway and go into the kitchen. Or finally rolling over and showing us their bellies.

These girls are the ones that inspired me to get my certification. 

My local shelter was having a really hard kitten season. It started early and ended late in our area this year, and there was no room in the shelter. It’s a county shelter that doesn’t turn animals away. Any animals. When I went in to foster, they had a pig, a pigeon, and rabbits, not just your usual dogs and cats.

We had fostered before, but it had been a single kitten through a different rescue that I was no longer keen on using. At least with this shelter, if the cats got sick, I could take them to the shelter’s vet and have them seen by a professional, not the back of the van diagnosis I had experienced with my previous foster.

I told the shelter workers that my husband was still on the fence. I wasn’t working at the time, so the work would fall entirely on me, but he was still hesitant. So they said “Okay, we’ll start you out with something easy. Here’s a litter of four, almost five week old kittens. They’re all healthy, all weaned to wet food. They just need to be brought up to weight to be fixed, and that should be about three to four weeks.” (I am taking the briefest moment to mention as an aside - this is not the post to argue about the age of spay/neutering. This is the shelter’s policy and that was that. I could either comply with their policy or I could not volunteer with them). 

I took home this litter of four beautiful kittens. Three girls, one boy. They were unnamed, so I got to decide what they would be called. A friend suggested naming them after Steven Universe characters, so I did. They were Garnet, Amethyst, Pearl, and Steven.

The kittens honestly were hardly work for me. They were so young we handled them frequently, inviting people over so they could experience as many different people as possible. Their little personalities flourished and I felt so, SO honored to get to know these amazing little animals. Garnet was confident, willing to rough house, explore, approach new people without hesitation. She was a little more afraid of dogs (unfortunately without dogs in our house her only experience with them was adoption events). Amethyst was a little more shy. She would play with her siblings and with humans, but wound up getting bullied out of her food bowl if I didn’t give her a separate dish. She learned to push back and make sure she got what she needed, and went from the skinny little “we’re not sure if she’s going to thrive” threshold to feisty little girl. Pearl was a cuddle bug. We would pick her up to give her medicine, and I always had to do her last, because she would fall asleep in my arms every time I held her.

Then there was Steven. 

Independent, confident, curious, played beautifully with his sisters. If they had too much, he learned to walk away instead of pressing his luck with them, and was able to entertain himself with nearby toys or people.

He had no fear, and when their two week quarantine period was up, he met the household cats and absolutely meshed with them immediately. Keeping him separate from the rest of the house in the “kitten room” was darn near impossible, and he made his best attempt to escape and explore the house every time we opened the door.

As spay/neuter-day came closer, kittens began to get spoken for. Amethyst was first. A friend of mine messaged me and asked to meet her. It was love at first site. Amethyst is still Amethyst. Next was Pearl. Funny enough, Pearl now lives with my previous foster, Chainsaw, who is now Alice. Pearl also kept her name. Garnet was next, after a long push on social media to find a loving home. Garnet is now Widget. I still get updates on all three girls, and they are amazing and I’m so proud of them. (For privacy’s sake of their new homes, I can’t share current pictures). 

But Steven, for all our socializing, was so attached to me that it was tough to imagine not waking up and seeing his wonderful little face. Simcoe and Citra had also taken an IMMENSE interest in the kittens. Every single morning, we woke up with a mountain of toys laid in front of the kitten door, gifts for the babies they knew were on the other side. We became concerned that Simcoe would grow depressed with the absence of kittens. Normally, yes, cats can get over these things, but as a semi-feral and fairly sickly young cat, we have to keep Simcoe’s stress levels down as much as possible. And oddly enough, Simcoe is less stressed when she can take care of other cats.

I had the moment when I had to start taking Steven to adoption events, and knowing he would have to leave, I was sad, but knew I would get over it. The girls were sweet and wonderful, but they were never mine. Steven would come to me no matter who was in the room. He would climb on me and sleep on me, and while I did everything in my power to socialize him with as many people as possible, he still loved other people, he just preferred to be with me. Removing myself from his life for the sake of his care and his ability to be adopted out would be negligent to him, so I had to continue caring for him.

So my husband said, “He really gets along with the other cats, doesn’t he?”

He did.

“You’re going to be really upset when he leaves, aren’t you?”

I was.

So my husband paid Steven’s adoption fee as an anniversary gift. (Steven, mind you, was not the gift, we discussed his adoption prior and both agreed we could realistically home him here). 

But what to name him? We considered “Mosaic”, and would call him Moe for short, to keep with the theme of hops since he got along so well with Simcoe and Citra. But it didn’t fit. He already had an S name. We considered keeping Steven, but without the girls the naming convention wasn’t quite right.

A few other names fell by. Zevran was a tempting runner up, but my husband wasn’t terribly fond of it, and try as I might to call him that, he didn’t FEEL like a Zevran (Sorry, Dragon Age fans).

Remembering one of my favorite movies/musical productions, Little Shop of Horrors, I laughed and thought of the name Seymour. My husband liked it, but not for the same reason I did.

“Seymour Skinner, from the Simpsons!” He said. “Or Seymour Asses, like from Futurama...” I let the fact that Seymour Asses had been a dog slide, because as I called “Seymour”, over he ran, meowing happily. We didn’t name him. Seymour picked his name.

We did our usual slow introductions, but as always, the resident cats pleasantly surprised me with how easily they allowed Seymour into their group. Within a week they were allowgrooming and sleeping together. When they would play, Seymour could understand who he could play rough with, and who didn’t like to play as rough. Citra took a shine to him immediately, and Heimdall began caring for him like the nurturing big dude he’s always been.

Seymour is my little shadow. He comes when he’s called, he almost always needs to be in the same room as me, and if I’m sitting on the couch, he’s near constantly on my lap. That being said, he’s also the absolute friendliest cat in the house. While Heimdall is a relaxed and easy going cat, Seymour seeks out new people and will rub up to them and meow at them for attention within moments of someone walking through the door.

He’s also photogenic as anything. He just loves the attention he gets when I take pictures of him, so he’ll sit there and just let me snap countless photos because he knows it means I’m looking at him.

I adore all my cats. Each one has a piece of my heart for a different reason. Seymour was the final piece to our family to make our home and lives so wonderful and full. He’s comic relief. He’s a wonderful foible for every single cat in the house. He’s best buddies with Heimdall, a playmate for Sif, a partner in crime for Citra, and a snuggle buddy for Simcoe. 

And I couldn’t imagine my life without every single one of them.

Granted, twenty years ago, nine-year-old Dani would not have even considered this career path or passion. As an adult, I was diagnosed with ASD. A lot of my childhood clicked into place after that diagnosis. I thought something was wrong with me, but could never put my finger on what. Turns out nothing was wrong with me, we just didn’t know that I had to do things a little differently.

From a young age, I was introduced to theatre. I was in my first show at 6 years old, and was pretty much on the stage at every opportunity after that. I loved singing and acting. I went to a Performing Arts vocational High School, and had amazing opportunities to learn more about theatre and performing than I could ever dream of.

Unfortunately, the high school also taught me that while I loved theatre and I loved performing, I would not cut it in the professional world. I was big, and I was always big. I wasn’t the look most people went for. I had a low voice. Nobody wanted Ethel Mermans anymore, they wanted Kristen Chenoweths. This was, admittedly, not my own conclusion. I had a lot of teachers and special guest artists tell me that I “had a face for stage management” and if I didn’t like that “that’s just how the business was”.

So theatre, while a wonderful passion of mine, was not a good, viable source of income.

(Picture: myself, playing Dolly Tate in a local production of “Annie Get Your Gun”).

So, going into college, I was at a loss for what to do. I had studied a few languages. I took Spanish for several years in middle and high schools, but my love of video games and anime brought me to study Japanese in high school (where it was offered as a class), and in college, I turned to Chinese. But the aspect of leaving the country to pursue the education scared me. While yes, many people successfully leave their country in order to study, and many people even stay where they study, I was hesitant.

I had met who would eventually become my husband. With anxiety and health issues, leaving the country wasn’t exactly feasible. I studied American Sign Language for a brief period, but a long-lived arm/hand injury made me unable to move some of my fingers, and I was not a viable candidate for a translator.

(Picture: me and Garnet, a foster kitten from my most recent foster litter).

Now, my love of felines seems a bit out of left field. From an early age I loved animals. My parents did not like, or know how to care for cats, and my grandmother only tended to vast outdoor colonies that she would let inside her house. My experience with cats had only been these feral and semi-feral cats who hissed and would swat at tiny child Dani. I didn’t understand, and the people in my life ALSO did not understand, so my opinion of cats was, unfortunately, tarnished.

I grew up with a dog, Muffin, who was a long lived and long loved Bichon. She lived for 16 years, and was my absolute best friend. She even performed in shows with me. As I grew up, I met more animals, loved meeting more animals. My mother kept pushing me towards becoming a veterinarian, but it was not something I was interested in.

(Picture: me with Muffin, taking her down the street to the beach before she passed away).

I really didn’t know where that left me, though. I tried going to school to become a medical receptionist, but my husband and I moved, leaving me with half a completed certification. 

Then we met Heimdall. And while I had grown to adore cats over the years, learning more about them from friends with cats and more popular television shows about cats, I was smitten and went headfirst into cat guardianship the same way I go into everything - with my whole heart and no looking back.

Cats. Were (and are). FASCINATING. 

There was so much information out there about cats! How so much of the things I’d been told as a child were so untrue. I loved every moment of it. I loved my cats, I loved learning about cats, I loved spending time with cats. I was so over the moon happy and fulfilled learning about them that it was the first time in my life that I felt like I knew what I was doing.

(Picture: me and my hedgehog Guy Fieri.)

So I enrolled with the Animal Behavior Institute, worked hard, studied harder, immersed myself in helping cats at my local shelter, and found what I absolutely knew I loved to do beyond all else. I could still do theatre on the weekends. I could still study languages in my spare time. But working with cats was never working. It was enriching. It was worth while. It fed my soul.

(Picture: me with my cat Seymour).

So what do I do now? I work an office job during the day because good grief caring for five cats is pricey and I want them to live their best lives. 

I play video games all the time. Currently playing Katamari Damacy Reroll on the Switch, along with re-re-re-re-re-re-re-re-replaying the original Mass Effect series. One of my favorite non-cat related books is Smoke Gets In Your Eyes: And Other Lessons From The Crematory by Caitlin Doughty (proceed with caution Googling that, it discusses human death in a very matter-of-fact way and it’s definitely not everyone’s cup of tea, and that’s perfectly okay. If you’re okay with it, though, check it out). 

I have seven tattoos and I’m in the market for at least four more (for the cats, Simcoe and Citra are a package deal), and I’m just artist browsing at the moment. I run a regular D&D campaign, and I’ve been DMing for about two years, first with Pathfinder and now with D&D 5th edition.