I wasn’t sure how Mini Scaredy would react to me kidnapping her and hauling her off to the vet. Would she feel betrayed? Would she no longer trust me?
Well, last night she was waiting for me at the foot of the trail to my campsite. And she slept on my blankets all night long. Just like she used to. (I suspect she’s forgotten about the kidnapping part and just remembers me heroically rescuing her from the dark dungeon she’d been trapped in.)
In the morning she spent a lot of time roaming around the woods at my campsite. With the 3 kittens dutifully following along behind her in a row. It was like she was trying to take it all in. Like she couldn’t quite believe it. That she had escaped that black box and was back in her big and beautiful world.
And the kittens were all thrilled to see her. Its weird how Mini Scaredy has adopted them and become a mother figure to them.
Mini Scaredy seemed pretty much the same. Aside from she didn’t purr as loudly as she used to when I petted her. And she was a little more jumping, jerking her head whenever she heard an unexpected noise.
I suspect in a couple of days the whole ordeal will be nothing but a barely-remembered bad dream in the back of her mind.
I went down to the Berkeley Animal Shelter this afternoon to get Mini Scaredy and bring her back to the Berkeley hills after getting her fixed.
The worker at the Shelter led me upstairs to the kennel area where they kept the caged cats, this little room not much bigger than a closet. Mini Scaredy was in this small, dark cage, cowering in fear in the very back of the cage. Sad to see. She had been cooped up like that for the last 6 days, so she was pretty traumatized.
“Its OK, baby,” I said.
“She doesn’t hiss at you like she hisses at everybody else,” said the worker. “She trusts you.”
“Notice the name we gave her,” she said, pointing to the name-tag on the cage.
“Elohssa,” I said. “Nice.”
“Read it backwards,” she said.
“Asshole,” I said.
That’s what Scaredy gets for biting one of the workers. Ha ha.
“OK, I’m going to try and get the cat into the carrier,” she said. “Pray for me.” (anyone who thinks its easy to get a feral cat into a carrier, TRY it sometime)
“OK, you hold open the carrier and when I push the cat into the carrier, shut it as quick as you can,” said the worker. I hadn’t realized I would have to take part in the job, and after all of my previous failed attempts to do that, I was not filled with confidence at this point.
The worker made several attempts to grab the cat with her gloved hands. But Scaredy was hissing and growling and slashing and ready to fight to the death. You get a feral cat with their backs to the wall and they’re capable of doing ANYTHING.
Next the worker made several attempts to wrap Scaredy in a blanket. But Scaredy fought back like a Tasmanian Devil.
Finally, as a last resort, the worker took out this big fishing net on a pole. “OK, when I dump the cat out of the net, shut the carrier.”
Which is exactly what we did.
“YOU DID IT!!” shouted the worker.
We high-fived. We were both soaked in sweat by that point.
I took Mini Scaredy back to my campsite on the bus. Meowing all the way. And when I opened the carrier she took off like a rocket straight up the hill.
I left a big bowl of cat food for her as a Welcome Home party. Hopefully Mini Scaredy will forgive me and come back to my campsite.
The thing that pisses me off about having to deal with the kittens: In 2014 I actually had ALL the feral cats at my campsite fixed. So I figured I wouldn’t have to be dealing with that anymore.
Then one day these two completely feral cats — Owl and Feral Tammy — happened to be wandering through my campsite, noticed my cat food dish, and decided to stick around. Next thing I know, THEY popped out a litter of kittens and dumped them on my lap.
So here we go AGAIN!!
So then I managed to get ALL of those cats fixed. Except one, Scaredy Cat. But before I could get her fixed I was buffeted by a long series of other complications in my personal life that I had to deal with. And before I knew it I had even MORE litters of cats to deal with.
I swear, dealing with feral cats is like running on a treadmill. You have to keep running faster and faster just to keep from falling farther behind.