Our latest feral cat has taken over a month to overcome enough nervousness to keep from diving under the house at our least movement, to emerge and sit near us when we are on the porch, and to come inside on occasion to feed on the kitchen counter. She looks so huggable that it takes great self-control not to spook her out with constant approaches. The girls have had it impressed upon them that the cat must make most of the moves.
Midday today I was making friendly overtures with some slivers of meat dangling enticingly from my fingers, but the pounces only happened as soon as I dropped them.
This evening, though, came an excited call from granddaughter Rhiannon on the intercom — finally, daughter Robyn managed to stroke the cat who apparently immediately discovered she loved this sort of attention and squirmed herself inside out, purring. The first time, to our fairly certain knowledge, that she had ever been petted. I do so wish I had seen it.
Probably any non-cat person would be bewildered at how thrilled we all are.
Colonialist's Blog 
The enchantment begins…you have been deemed worthy.
Very cool.
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Increasingly, she is finding that we provide entertainment and amusement as well as food.
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I completely understand the excitement. We are feeding a feral little black kitty ourselves. We are slowly making a little progress at approaching. Even if we don’t get as close as I’d like, I’m just so happy we are providing regular nourishment. Poor little thing was really skinny when we first noticed him/her trying to eat birdseed out of a lower bird feeder! Now he eats like royalty. LOL!
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Lovely.
After, as a young boy, taming a wild royal antelope over many weeks by sitting day after day near the dish where he came for water, until I could finally pet him and he would join and follow me on walks, I have learnt the value of time and patience.
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“taming a wild royal antelope,” oh my goodness! I can’t even begin to imagine the thrill that would elicit. What a story!
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It provides priceless memories, going for rambles through the unmatched beauty of Knysna Head area before it was more than a village of a few houses, with Billy (as I called him — Billy the bluebuck) joining me and staying with me the whole time. If I had a companion, he would not appear.
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Persistence and patience sometimes offer up great rewards. 😀
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Indeed; see my comment to Debra.
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What a beautiful little thing she is. She’s dipped her paw in the water and that’s a good start.
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I eagerly await the day when she approaches one of us for a cuddle. That may take some time.
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Pingback: The Proof of the Petting is in the (Rep)Eating | Colonialist's Blog
It’s my experience that cats often make a beeline for decidedly non-catty persons. Maybe they sense it might be a pristine body to offload their fleas on?! 🙂
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I think it is a mixture of them enjoying a challenge, and being perverse for fun.
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That’s very sweet, Col. What a lucky black cat that is.
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Lucky to have her, methinks!
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We rescued one cat and it took some doing to get it to the vet to treat it for an abscess. It was eventually adopted by my Sister-in-Law who promptly renamed it. I had called it Silver because of the color of its fur.
. . . she renamed it, Barney. Oh, well. It was her cat and she gave it an awesome life.
We also took in another Sister-in-Law’s cat which we ended up keeping. That was our last cat and it took some doing to get it to trust me.
https://dispersertracks.com/2011/09/18/miss-kitty-june-1991-september-2011/
Eventually, she was a good companion, if a little standoffish at times. I’m sure your rescue will adapt to being served hand and foot.
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I loved your Miss Kitty story.
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Thank you . . . it was cathartic to write and share.
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I’m sorry you didn’t get to witness the happy event Lesley, but you must be chuffed just the same to have been accepted by the pussy cat.
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The inevitable happened this morning: granddaughter R tried to pick her up and set her right back again. Shouldn’t take long back at the drawing board now, though.
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No; she’s coming round.
We English used to consider black cats lucky, I recall we had one before the war, It’s name naturally was Nigger, and we let the ARP Wardens borrow her as a mouser in their shelter; trouble was they never gave her/him anything to eat it had to live on the mice it caught, and when we got the poor thing back it was skin and bones.
It was a good cat though. I recall it well.
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Silly wardens should have known that the cat would hunt mice with even greater vigour when well-fed.
We’ve had a string of gingers, so it is nice to have a black one again.
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In 1940 -41 I don’t think many were well fed human or pet. but they surely could have given her/him some milk and a bit off of their plates
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I understand perfectly, though I’m a doggy person. However, a cat, that didn’t like anyone according to its owner, got up on my lap, made himself comfy, and fell asleep.
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Me too pensit, I’ve had the same experience with a strangers cat.
We must be doing something wrong; I don’t know what my dog would think if I told him!
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I guess I had a comfy lap as I had a lot more padding then
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I use to be like that; until I mislaid my stomach somewhere, and I’ve been a bag of bones since 😀
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My stomach is still there, just not so much of it.
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at least you have some, I have none
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…. and have now become the Lincolnshire poacher?
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ha!!. This was in Wales, and it wasa ginger tom!
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