A Change of Heart

In May, a co-worker approached me about taking in his cat while he went on sabbatical this summer. I explained to him the dangers cats face from coyotes at my house in far east Edmond. After thinking about his request, I decided that out of kindness I would offer to keep his cat in the house for the three months and thus not risk its life and they would have their cat upon their return. Looking sheepish, Greg confessed that the cat "wasn't really working" for his family and they did not want her back. I agreed to take the cat and acclimate her to my place and hoped that she would learn to survive as my other two outside cats have.

When Valentine arrived at my house, I soon learned what "not working" meant. She was a demon cat! She attacked everyone who came close to her and soon forced herself behind the washer, where she stayed for two days whenever anyone entered the laundry room. After two days, I told my husband that the indoor bonding was over and he helped me drive her to the garage, each of us armed with brooms.

In the garage, I placed food, water and a litter box, but I didn't know how long I could put up with her aggression. If I did see her, she hissed, attacked, and then hid. None the less, each time I went into the garage, I spoke gently to her. I did not react when she struck at me, so this ploy did not work for her.

Again, after two days, I began to believe I would have to go ahead and transition her outside. I hoped her interaction with my two outside cats might helped her disposition, but four days is just not much "bonding" time. On the morning of the third day in the garage, I went out to raise the garage door about six inches so she could go in and out. I was beginning to hope "out" forever. I opened the door to the garage from the laundry room and from acrossed the room streaked Valentine, demon cat. She ran up to me, cried and rubbed against my legs as if greeting on old friend.

I have since learned that everyone was afraid of Valentine and, more importantly, acted afraid her. When people cared for her while the family that owned her was gone, they would open the door to feed her just enough to put the food in and then slam it shut as she attacked.

Now I did not know in the beginning that my method of interaction with Valentine would bring about such a change. It was a great shock when she greeted me with so much friendship in the garage. She has not changed in attitude since. She greets me when I come home and seems to be relaxed and content.