This is Katy, our reluctantly friendly nearly Russian Blue. There’s a very friendly little cat lurking behind a finely tuned instinct for survival beneath that fine gray coat. The nick in her ear probably comes from a territorial or defensive conflict with another one of Gods’ critters.
Click on the kitty to see more about him.
Katie adapts, nearly
Despite the name of this treatise you only get a tale of one cat here. The other is available on our sister story-site The Photo of the Week page at Corndancer dot-com. Click and go look.
Here at the Chez Dempsey, we are cat people. I came by in naturally since Dempsey men are imbued with a cat-loving gene. Patricia Ann, my spousal unit, fortunately bought into the cat deal lock, stock and yo-yo. She is now a certifiable cat-nut just like her spousal unit.
All that said, the object of our affection today is Katy, our nearly Russian Blue. Several years ago after we lost our beloved Grits Dempsey, a big ol’ super friendly Rag Doll cat, we did an internet search targeting a Russian Blue or nearly Russian Blue who get along with other cats and contemporaneously with the dogs who resided with the subject cats.
We found a “male Russian Blue about a year old who gets along with other cats and dogs.” Bingo. Perfection. We made arrangements to pick up the kitty at a nearby veterinarians. I began to suspect the description was lacking in the truth and veracity categories when I first laid eyes on a squirming little gray cat barely past the kitten stage.
When we attempted the transfer, she (not he) broke loose. The ensuing chase around the vet’s reception room made the Haymarket Square riot look like an octogenarian afternoon tea party. It was tantamount to a marathon confined to fifty square feet programmed like a pin ball machine on steroids. After we manage to catch the screaming meemie and get her into the carrier, she voices her objections for most of the 25 minute ride back to headquarters.
When turned her out she scampered to a closet in the back of the house and refused to leave. I could hear occasional movement in the closet but could not lay eyes on the little gray beast. We set a water and food bowls outside the closet door along with a cat box and hoped for the best. As the days went by we observed the food and water bowls diminishing and tell-tale signs of other bodily functions in the cat box.
After five days, we were sitting in the den and the reclusive little feline shocked us by hopping up into Pat’s lap. She stayed for a while and then repaired by to her (my) closet. Little by little she made peace with her surroundings.
We discovered that when we picked her up she goes berserk, which means that sometime in the past, someone picked her up and did some mean things to her. I continue to hope I can meet this sorry piece of humanity sometime and that on the occasion of the meeting the Almighty will see fit to put a table leg or Louisville Slugger in my hand at the same time. The results will not be pretty.
Now, though she is acclimated, she is no one’s cat in particular, but prefers me above all other humans. She comes to greet me in the yard. She sits on my chest at night when I am attempting to read in bed. She comes to nose me around when I wake up. She usually comes in to visit when I mount the porcelain throne. She also loves laptop keyboard as a place to recline.
She is still very suspicious of people standing up including me. My observation is that she wants to be friendly but her survival instincts set boundaries. Now that we understand that, she and I get along very well.
It is worth the effort.
Weekly Grist for the Eyes and Mind
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