Today we celebrated have Mama cat in our house for four weeks (well I am noting it here, no actual celebration was made). She marked the occasion by finding a true hiding place. I actually thought she had escaped. When I went to her usual spot, she wasn't there. I combed all of the rooms where she could possibly be and there was no sign. Under beds, in closets, nothing. I can't imagine where she went but 10 minutes later she miraculously reappeared in her usual spot.
My latest triumph is having her eat out of my hand while I attempt to scratch her chin. She sits on the steps and I stand below, sticking my hand through the staircase spindles.
And still the naysayers haunt me. "Let her go. She would be happier outdoors." "You won't be able to tame her unless you confine her to one room." Since there are so many schools of cat thought, I look towards the positive voices. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. She is better off inside. It is a rough life outside in Jersey City."
I would have to agree. Others have taken in ferals and seen them turn into lap cats. It may take two years, as was the case for S., who took in a pregnant feral and kept her, along with two kittens. Whatever the case may be, I still hold out hope for Mama.
Izzy Eats: The art of raising a gourmand, one bite at a time
Stirring tales of eating, cooking and foraging in my never-ending quest to provide, great-tasting (local and organic whenever possible) EATS for me and my boy(s).