We adopted another new street kitten a few days ago. She is much younger than Frida was when we adopted her. One day Señor Mustache came walking into the yard with two pretty kittens. I thought it really odd that a male cat would escort kittens to the house, Penelope the white cat I assumed was the mother since she had been pregnant, even though she seemed rather standoffish. After several days of deliberation, Penelope’s continued hands-off approach to rearing children, and certain physical clues on the father’s side (such as missing male anatomy parts and a glimpse of nursing nipples) it was determined that Señor Mustache was actually Señora Mustache. Since Señora is a skittish feral, a hands-on approach to the subject was not advisable.
Both kittens were quite timid: there was a white one with some calico spots and a striped tail; and a fuzzy tortoiseshell with disheveled fur and a deformed corkscrew tail.
Esperando put out the cat crate so our subjects would be used to it before the door snapped shut on the wild life they had known, and we began putting food in the crate. After about two days of this the white kitten would race into the crate, the little tortoiseshell would hang back frightened, but eventually follow in along with mom. Esperando considered we should carry out the act on a Saturday, but I said no let’s wait for Sunday. As we came back up the hill from our Sunday walk we saw the little white kitty lying dead in the road—a car had run over her. Now if I had done as Esperando suggested on Saturday, the little white kitty might have stood a chance at a better life. Ah well, as the screw turns.
Sunday we caught Poppy (short for Little Poppet). Again as before Winnie came to the crate and calmed her down, but unlike before Winnie had not been watching her from the window for an extended period of time. Winnie followed all the same moves he did with Frida, went in her room, hung out, showed her where to eat, showed her the litter box, but did not seem committed to enjoying her company as he had to Frida’s. This morning I thought she might like the company of another cat so I brought Winnie in, was petting the kitten then put her down, she skittled over to Winnie showing some signs of courage other than just huddling in the sink which she has been doing every since we snatched her—and he hissed at her and raised his paw to bat her. He was going to leap on her and attack, but I intervened. It was terrible blow to my taming program. She zipped across the floor to go and cower in a corner. You tell me why a cat likes one cat and not another one?