Cats with Attitude

I'm a dog owner by choice, and a cat owner by circumstances. I never adopt cats, but cats adopt me. Presently I have two cats, thanks to some heartless humanoids who dropped them off to be rid of them with no concern if they lived or died. Being the soft-hearted person I am, I had to feed them, and being the clever beasts that they are, they knew where their bread was buttered and never left. I've taken in five cats in all, including the two I have now, Nisi and Twinkle.

My cat "visitors" began arriving around 19 years ago when a skinny stray female calico with a tight collar around her bony neck appeared outside my house, meowing sadly. I fed her and removed the tight collar. I never bring cats into the house because I don't know how to train them from climbing up the drapes or sitting on the tables. Besides, as I keep big dogs in the house, either two or three at a time, dogs can turn into a vicious pack if they encounter a cat on their turf...unless of course the owner has brought them up together and trained them properly. That's not me.

It was summer when Cat-trina adopted me, and so I didn't worry about shelter. I just kept feeding and petting her. She followed me everywhere, like a pet dog. When it got cold outside, I brought her into my huge cellar/garage, put down bedding for her, and left a small opening so she could come and go as she pleased, and I didn't have to bother with litter boxes. Cat-trina often took off, but I noticed she always went cross-lots, never on the nearby state road or the dirt road we lived on, and that was comforting, as I hate seeing dead cat roadkill.

One night in a raging blizzard, a couple of years later, I suddenly heard her...or thought I heard her..., crying in the cellar. That was unusual, as she rarely cried, having nothing to cry about, being well-fed and well cared-for. She had all her shots and was in good health. I rushed downstairs to see what was happening, and found her lying quietly in her bed. Then I heard the crying again, coming from outside in the raging snowstorm. I opened the cellar door, and there on top of my stone retaining wall was a half-grown kitten, a beautiful calico female with a half gold and half black face and huge, frightened green eyes. I snatched her off the wall, brought her inside, and fed her. She was starved, and I noticed that the end of her tail was broken. Who could have been so cruel? If Cat-trina minded the intrusion, she didn't show it. Leaving more food and water, I went to bed, hoping they would get along.

>From then on, little Nisi (I named her that because she looked like Cat-trina's niece...I knew she couldn't be Cat's daughter because I had had Cat spayed), stayed in the cellar, never leaving at all. I had to put in a litter box for her. I think she was too terrified of the cruel world that had broken her tail and dumped her out in a raging snowstorm, and I didn't blame her. When spring came, Nisi stayed put in the cellar. She and Cat got along fine, and both of them filled out their once bony little bodies from the gravy train of food that kept coming. They devoured canned food, dry food, home-cooked meals, and evaporated milk, their favorite food.

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Early one morning, I had a frightening experience with Cat-trina and my dogs. I never let the cats in the house because I knew that Wulf, my huge black German Shepherd, was unpredictable, once having bitten two men on two separate occasions, for no apparent reason. He got along with my other two dogs, Orville and Chang, but I didn't trust him around my cats. Once in a great while, however, I would let Cat-trina in the house for a few moments while the dogs were outside in the yard. On that one morning when I let her in, the phone rang and I forgot she was still in the house. Just as I remembered, I saw her walking toward me from my bedroom, and in that split second, my three dogs bounded in through the dog door. I ran to grab her, but it was too late. Suddenly Wulf grabbed her and then all three dogs were on top of her, two of them weighing over 100 pounds. My screaming and attempts to pull Wulf off her were futile. As they snarled and fought, I panicked; I opened the door to the yard and the four of them tumbled into the yard. I ran from the house, jumped in my car and flagged down the woman who had just driven up to deliver my morning paper. She came back to the house with me and we found blood on the floor where the dogs had caught Cat, but no sign of her in the yard or anywhere else. I assumed the dogs had carried her body off.

All day I blamed myself for this tragedy. In the evening, just as I was closing the drapes, I saw Cat-trina coming across the yard, heading for the cellar. Stunned, I ran down, picked her up and carefully examined her. There were no injuries. A light went off in my head. I ran back upstairs, pulled Wulf over to me, and saw the dried blood on his nose where Cat had raked him. What a relief.

After that Cat kept her distance, but several months later, when I was outside with the three dogs, I suddenly noticed Cat sitting up on the top of my retaining wall. The dogs saw her at the same time, and Wulf rushed up to grab her. My screams made no difference, as he stood there for a few moments figuring out how to get her. Cat made no move to escape. Instead, she was making strange sounds, very irritating sounds, that must have infuriated Wulf. Suddenly he leaped up and grabbed her in his giant mouth. Just as before, my screams made no difference, I panicked again, and ran for the house so I wouldn't have to watch the slaughter. Later when the dogs were way out in the meadow, probably hunting, I went outside and found no trace of Cat. When Wulf came back, he had more blood on his nose, and later Cat returned unharmed. I learned a lot about cats from Cat-trina. They are little tigers and panthers. Don't mess with an angry cat.

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Getting bak to Nisi, I took her to the vet to be spayed a few months after she arrived and the snow disappeared. She had her rabies shots and also the end of her broken tail was cut off. Still, she remained in the cellar, too frightened to come out. When summer arrived, she began venturing outside, and I was able to remove the litter box for good. At first she never wandered far from the cellar, but one warm summer day, she decided to walk toward the woods. No soon had she left the safety of her cellar sanctuary when Orville, my Norwegian Elkhound, spotted her and took after her. Up a tree she went, with Orvy close at her heels, snarling and growling. I dragged him off and held his collar long enough for terrified little Nisi to rush back to safety. From then on she continued to venture out into the world, but with a watchful eye for Orvy, Monty and Wulf, my three dogs at that time.

In her second year with me, Nisi demonstrated her courage under fire. Sallying forth daily, she began hunting for small rabbits, occasionally bringing them back to the cellar and killing them, unless I rescued them in time. Soon she began a more exciting hunt, killing baby birds that were nesting in the tall grasses. For days and months at a time, I would see Nisi running back to safety while angry adult birds circled her head and dive-bombed her, getting even for raiding their nests and killing their young. The attacks continued for a couple of years until finally, she either tired of this chapter or the birds moved their nests to safer places.

In her third or fourth year, Nisi developed a more amusing game, targeting poor Orvy. Apparently remembering his cruel introduction when he treed her years before, she now took revenge. Anytime she spotted him outside, she would hide under my parked car and wait for him to run past, and when he did, she would spring out and attack, raking him with her claws, as he streaked by, screaming in fear. She never tired of this, and Orvy had to take his licks for years, until he died at age 10.

Nisi knew which dogs she could dominate, and which ones she had to keep clear of. Wulf hated cats and she steered clear of him. Years later when I had Heathcliff, a huge, unfriendly Newfoundland, she avoided him completely. But after Heathcliff died, I acquired another Newfoundland, Travis, whom I bought from a breeder in Kentucky. Eventually he weighed 160 pounds, huge like Heathcliff, Monte, Wulf, Orvy, and Teeko, and Nisi fell in love.

When Travis was full-grown, I used to let Nisi come up from the cellar when the other two dogs were outside, and she would rush to Travis, cuddle up against him, rub noses, and lie beside him. Travis loved her madly and at times grew so excited he would grab her in his huge paws; sometimes Nisi allowed it; other times she hissed, raked him with her claws, and fled to safety. I always kept the cellar door open during their love-trysts, in case he turned hostile, which happened now and then after she scratched him. But their love affair never ended until I lost Travis two years ago when he died of a heart attack. Nisi is now 17 years old, and her new love is my dog Lobo. She waits for him every day outside when I walk him, lures him over for kisses and cuddling until he gets excited, and then she hisses, scratches him, and retreats to safety. He is wary of her, but can't resist her, even after several sudden attacks.

Nisi once tried the same trick with Muppet, my current Norwegian Elkhound, but he dislikes her and doesn't fall for her attempts to lure him back. When we stroll past her on our daily walks, she watches us spitefully, but she's too old now to run after us, waiting instead for innocent Lobo out for his walk, to lure, kiss, hiss, and scratch.


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Cat-trina was with me for about nine years before she walked down the dirt road one day and died. I found her while walking the dog. She had been thin for a long time, though she ate her food. I think she died of natural causes, and I buried her under a big oak tree in the yard.

While Cat was still with us several years ago, a big black stray male cat with long white whiskers, whom I named Studley, appeared in the yard, obviously hungry. I fed the skinny visitor and he stayed, although he wouldn't let me near him. As he fattened up, he moved into the cellar with Cat and Nisi, ate and slept there, but never let me get close. If I approached, he hissed and backed away. Often I heard screaming cat fights in the cellar. I assume he was beating up his sisters, but I never saw injuries or blood. He stayed with us for two or three years. Occasionally he would appear with a big bloodied cut on his head, but I couldn't help him because he was unapproachable. I assumed he had fights with wild animals or feral cats, as he was away most days and returned only to eat and sleep. One day he went away and never came back.

Just before Studley disappeared, another stray black male appeared in the yard, skinny and starved. Based on his four white paws, I named him Twinkle Toes. Like Studley, he never lets me near him, and after I fattened him up and Studley disappeared, Twinkle moved in. Over the past three years, he has gotten big and beautiful, thanks to my generous feeding. All winter long he stayed home most of the time, but now that spring is here, I haven't seen him for over two months, but every night all the cat food is gone, and I know Nisi hasn't eaten it. She eats like a bird. I'm hoping Twinkle is the one who's making these nightly visits. If not, Then I expect I'll have another stray to adopt one of these days.

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Twelve years ago another stray cat appeared out of nowhere. She came directly into the cellar and began eating the cat food. Cat-trina and Nisi were intimidated by her, and I didn't blame them. She was not a pretty cat, light gray with a white belly and a thin, unfriendly face. Her body was long and slung low, close to the ground. She moved strangely and made sub-vocal sounds like growls. At first she kept her distance from me, but eventually she let me get closer, and after a few weeks, she let me pick her up, but she didn't seem friendly, and I didn't hold her for long. Then one morning, after feeding the cats, as she was circling near me, I picked her up. Suddenly she bit my arm, drawing a tiny spot of blood; I dropped her, and then she leaped up and began raking my legs with her claws and growling. Stunned and terrified, I raced back up the cellar stairs with her close behind, growling and attacking. Once inside, I slammed the door shut and saw the blood coursing down my legs. I wiped it off and opened the cellar door a crack. She was standing there snarling, trying to get to me, and I slammed the door shut again. I thought she probably belonged to my neighbor Pat, who often fed stray cats and had several of them at the time. Although it was early in the morning, I called Pat and asked her if she would come over and identify this cat that had just attacked me. She put on her bathrobe and drove over. We cracked open the cellar door, Pat looked at her and said it wasn't her cat. I knew then I was in trouble.

I called the animal control officer who said he'd be over, but when he got there and I told him what had happened, he was not anxious to get involved, saying that he didn't do cats, only dogs. I had closed off the small opening in the cellar so that Pet-ula, as I had named her, was locked in. I told the officer to come downstairs with me, but when we got there, she was hiding and wouldn't appear, to his obvious relief. He told me to catch her and bring her in, and they would kill her and test her for rabies. If I couldn't catch her, I would have to take the rabies shots. And then he left.

I spoke to several people who advised me to get a tetanus shot. I had just turned 60 the day before and never had had one. I got the shot and then, on advice, called the Rensselaer County Health Department. I told them I couldn't find or catch the cat, and they said I should come in for the shots.

Actually, I knew that Pet-ula was still in the cellar, but I couldn't bring myself to have her caught and killed. First of all, I would have had to get a Have-a-Heart trap and trap her, But I decided, instead, to take the rabies shots, and that's what I did. I had to go every week for four weeks, and despite all the warnings, the shots didn't hurt at all. But all the time, I was still feeding Pet-ula in the cellar. I was still scared of her, and I wouldn't let her near me. I never went downstairs without a spray-bottle of water that I squirted at her to keep her away, but I kept feeding her. Then I noticed that Cat and Nisi kept their distance from her, and soon they disappeared. She had chased them away. Weeks went by, and although I believed Cat and Nisi were coming back at night to eat, I never saw them. After a month, I thought they were gone for good, and I was very sad. Pet-ula tried to attack me again twice, and after that, I sprayed her more aggressively so she could never get to me, but I still kept feeding her every day. And then one day, she was gone for good. I don't know what happened to her. I hope she found a happy home...but I doubt it.

Weeks later, Cat and Nisi reappeared, but they wouldn't go into the cellar. I had to feed them outside for weeks. Eventually, they began returning to the cellar to eat dry cat food I left for them. I believe they waited until her scent was completely gone, and then they felt safe enough to come home for good.

Several people told me I should have had Pet-ula killed so that she wouldn't harm anyone else, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. She was probably a feral cat, and I have no idea why she suddenly came to me. Maybe she was blood-thirsty. I think she was just hungry and happened to find a generous steady food supply. I probably would have kept her if she hadn't left me. On the other hand, if it meant losing Cat and Nisi forever, I might have tried to capture her in a trap, taken her for a long ride, and then dropped her off. Ordinarily, I would never do that to an animal, but Pet-ula offered no other options, except death.

Many years ago I happened to be reading a Farmer's Almanac, and under my astrological sign, Cancer, the advice was: Beware of Calico Cats. Cat-trina and Nisi were calicos. Pet-ula was a grey and white feral cat. I don't think keeping cats is my strong suit, but if any strays find their way to my house, they're going to get a sumptuous meal, the welcome mat, and as much care as I can give them. Don't congratulate me, please; just don't drop off any cats anywhere near my house.