Well, we’re on the other side of quarantine for both Bob and Claude, our two stray/feral cats. What a loud 10 days this has been! I’d love to say that all is well, and we now have two well-adjusted cats to add to our other five.  I’m really not sure, though, whether the two of them are fine…or just separated for nap time. Here’s how it all went down. 

When I last FB posted about these two, they were in separate crates in the Little Barn, awaiting their neutering day.  That was a Friday.  Monday, we took Bob in, and he immediately stole the hearts of everyone at our vets. “What a lover he is!” his vet tech told me. “I’d take him home in a heartbeat if I could!” our vet echoed.  Apparently, the only time he wasn’t purring and asking for belly rubs was when he was under anesthesia. When we got him home and back into his crate, he immediately curled into his bed and fell asleep. No worries, I thought!

Except Bob thought that a litter box was to simply fill with straw ~ while he went to the bathroom in the rest of the straw in the crate.  He was fairly sure that a water bowl was for tipping over into that same straw, and the food bowl was for rolling in while he asked for belly rubs.  After a day of all this, his crate was a mess, he was a mess, and he was done with being contained. His howls filled the barn whenever he thought I could hear him protesting. It was unfortunate that he still had two days to go. 

Meanwhile, down the wall, Claude was healing really well, and while he, at least, knew what a litter box was for, he seemed to echo Bob’s misunderstanding of what purpose food and water bowls served. After stepping on them, in them, and trying to dash through them (I think), he, too, was a mess, along with his crate.  Thankfully, his neuter day approached quickly, and we took him to the vets in the early morning. Not so thankfully, he hates the car. I’ll spare you the details of that ride. Needless to say, our vet tech was kind enough to give him and his carrier a bath before I picked him up. Everyone fell in love with Claude, just as they had with Bob. As soon as I walked in to pick Claude up, I heard, “You have the nicest cats,” and in the same fashion as Bob, the only time Claude didn’t purr was when he was under anesthesia.  He made it home  much more calmly then he had made it to the vets that morning, and as soon as he was back in his crate, he curled up in his bed and fell asleep. Again, I thought, no worries! Again, I was mistaken.

The next morning was Bob’s Freedom Day.  Because he was a stray and probably feral, I expected him to come out of his crate and run for the hills, so to speak. He had been contained, had surgery, and was forced to stay with other cats whom he couldn’t get to, all conditions that would not sit easy with a feral cat.  I was really wrong.

 As you can see in the photo above, Bob actually slithered out of his crate, moving slowly in a body crouch with his ears back and the tip of his tail twitching.  Slowly, slowly he made his way down the aisle between the hay and the pine shavings…right to Claude’s crate. Where he stopped. And started howling at Claude. Claude, not to be outdone, started howling right back. An absolute cacophony of cat howls filled the barn, and everyone else went running, including the sheep. 

Bob didn’t disappear that night or the next morning or any of the next five days. Periodically, the two of them would stare each other down, hissing and howling, ears back, tails twitching. Bob didn’t move far from Claude’s crate, and while Claude was healing nicely and I probably could have released him after the three day time period, I was glad that he needed additional medicine, which meant we kept him contained for five days.  Then it was his turn for Freedom Day. 

I was totally enthralled to see Claude exit his crate the same way Bob did ~ a slow slither, one paw moving cautiously forward, then another, body close to the ground and tail twitching.  His ears, though, were pointed forward ~ directly at Bob, who was crouched down a way off, waiting in the aisle. 

At this point, you’re probably wondering, “Gezz, Tracy, why on earth did you release Claude with Bob that close?” The truth is, I totally mis-read the situation.  Two days earlier, we had found a possum in the big barn, and I immediately thought that a possum’s claws, instead of Bob’s claws and teeth, explained the small cuts on Claude’s body the morning of the attack. And if Claude had pushed the possum into a fight, the possum would have won. Also, Bob had been dealing much better with the other cats ~ he was calmer, they were calmer, and I thought that meant that his testosterone levels had dropped considerably.  Apparently not. 

Once Claude was free, they were at each other, and the barn filled once more with a cacophony of cat howls and hisses, flying fur and scattered straw. Claude wouldn’t give up. They’d wrench apart, take a few breaths, spit out the other’s fur, then again, Claude would go into a crouch, his ears forward, his back end twitching, his calls getting louder until he’d pounce. They tumbled their way down the aisle, up over a wooden partition, down to the play area and into the center stall. Bob was always defending; Claude was always attacking.  It looked exactly as I imagined a young male lion challenging the reigning king for power would look. After two hours of this, Claude managed to conclude that things weren’t going his way, and he found the door to the pastures and walked away.  Bob didn’t give chase; he just made his way to the workroom floor in the center of the barn, laid down and looked around as if to say, “Really, Claude? You’d challenge me?”

Several hours later, I was incredibly relieved to see Claude laying in the Little Barn. He didn’t look much worse for his fight, and Bob was nowhere to be found. 

And so ends another day where I wish I were better at speaking the language of a species other than human.  The choice seemed to be between keeping two feral cats crated longer than healing called for, or releasing them. Freedom won this day.  I’ve learned much, though. I’ve learned that it takes one to two months for all the testosterone to leave a cat’s body after he’s neutered. I’ve learned that the position of cat ears are as important in their communication as ears are in dog and sheep communication. And I’ve learned that despite doing the right thing in neutering them both, my heart breaks sometimes at nature’s way of being. Ah well. Next time, I’ll have a bit more awareness in this arena of rescue. In the meantime, I’m really hoping Claude is done learning this particular lesson! I’ll keep you all posted!