Today I trapped Big Boy. He is Martin's best friend. I hope that very soon they will be calm enough to find reassurance and strength and enjoyment in one another once again. They are in this together now.
Good morning! After a night with not a little crying, Uncle Grampaw and I let Martin out of the crate. This is not recommended or normal, if you have any thoughts of embarking on a similar journey. There is a protocol. But magic happens when Grampaw and I work together, and today is a magical day. I an convinced that long ago Martin lived in a house home with people. He had forgotten it. In years of caring for him I could scratch his head or butt some while putting the food down, but I could not lift him or call him to me. And in picking him up twice this morning I can tell you that he still does not like to be picked up. So we will only do that when we have to. Also, at 330am I sat in front of Martin's crate for a while with the door ajar, and scratched and comforted him in the little triangle formed by wall and me and crate door. He made no move to come out, and was fine with going back in again all on his own. And with these steps we are moving forward. Again: results not typical! We are operating on another level here and appreciating the grace of this experience. It is 28 hours after trapping the dashing Martin. For 25 hours I've been watching him huddle in the cat carrier that is in the extra large dog crate that he is housed in while he transitions to being in a human house home. At one point today he got so scared he climbed into the back of the litter pan in the crate and stayed there for quite a while. I have to say I was feeling some despair and worry about whether I'd done the right thing in trapping him, and if trapping the colony cats was going to work at all. He is such a big and beautiful cat, and he was in my home terrified and making himself so small you really can't see how he could do that.
Then tonight he began crying. And that gave me hope. Now, you must be wondering if I am some kind of monster to be glad for a scared cat's crying. But feral cats do not cry. They do not call out to people or other cats. They are silent. Martin is not silent. His cries were calls out to me and to the other cats in the house. Calls that told of his fear and longing. When he cried tonight I sat in front of the crate and spoke to him. He stayed in the carrier, as far back as he could be. I spoke to him and he called back ot me in the tiniest little voice. Then I enlisted Uncle Grampaw. Uncle Grampaw is another colony member who lives with me. Our story together began in November of 2013, but it is a long and magical one. For now I'll say that Uncle Grampaw is a Cat Whisperer. And I brought him to Martin's crate and asked him to speak to Martin. He did. They had a little conversation. Then Grampaw stared me down for a while as I spoke to Martin with my hand through the bars of the crate. Martin began sliding out of the carrier a little at a time as if made of water. He stretched his hand out to me and we held hands (the only other cat I've held hands with is my Seamus). He rolled out and onto his back, stretching hands to me. He put his head against the bars where my hand was. I scratched his head and ears and spoke to him for a while. Grampaw stalked off a bit jealous. And in a few minutes I noticed that Martin's body was shaking some. I could not tell if it was nervousness. Then he went back in the carrier. And that is it for tonight. I think Martin lived in a house home before, with people, and is just now remembering. Holding hands with Martin tonight will go down as one of those amazing kitty miracles that I have been experiencing. I am very humbled and grateful to have shared that moment, and gained that trust. And now I have hope for Martin and I. We are going ot work things out. A few years ago I was involved with a local Occupy group. We met in a large park in the city here. One day I noticed a group of cats hanging out in one corner of the park. I met them and fed them. There was an elderly extra large cream colored cat with large bright blue eyes. He was only there the first two or three times I came to see the cats. After that he disappeared. I have always believed that he was passing the torch to me, putting the colony in my care so he could leave them. I think of him as Gandalf. He left the colony in my care, and so for the years since I have cared for them.
They are in a park 17 miles from my home. It's not easy to get there, because I do not work due to disability and for the entire time I have cared for these cats I have struggled to support myself. but the cats come first and they have only ever missed a meal when I was trapping them for spaying and neutering. Somehow, we have always made it work. I call them the GPKs: the Greenfield Park Kitties. They live in a park that has a significant crime rate. There is traffic coming through their area. And although I feed them in a corner of the park, their actual "safe space" is the back yard of an adjacent home. The owner has never wanted them in the yard, and has complained to me a number of times about the cats in the yard. But they have no place else to go! Recently the owners have decided enough is enough, and police reports have been filed. The cats have to go. In order to save their lives I am attempting to trap them all again, this time to go into foster homes and then into adoptive homes or into sanctuary, perhaps. It is a stressful time for us, and we do not have the equipment or space we need. This website exists to let folks know what we are trying to do and let people help us as they can. The Greenfield Kitties will survive. May they all be safe and secure now and forever. |
Catlandia Jones aka Roxanne
I moved to the south 11 years ago and was drafted into the cat care biz by one cat after another. Now I am a dedicated and passionate feral cat defender. Archives
April 2015
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