M-Taliesin
Regular Member
Howdy Folks!
A recent conversation with my wife went very much along these lines:
"What can we do about that last attack?" My wife asked.
"Well, considering the available answers, maybe the best way to deal with him is simply to take him out and shoot him!"
The wife replied, "You really are bleeding badly here".
"Yeah, he got me real good this time!" I said while trying to stop the blood flow.
"Wouldn't shooting him be a bit drastic?" she asked.
"What better alternative do you think we have? Who will he attack next? What if it's some kid? We can't take that chance! He wouldn't feel it. Not really. One .40 cal through the skull and it would all be over in an instant!"
Sounds like stuff you'd hear if you walked in on the middle of an action movie, but it is the very real and entirely serious discussion we had.
Now for the background of the story.
We had a beuatiful Russian Blue cat who had shared our home for nearly 20 years. But he became very ill and we took him to the vet. Shortly after we arrived there, knowing what we needed to do and feeling somewhat guilty about not doing it sooner, the vet put Pyewackett to sleep for the last time. We were very sad. He was a terrific cat. He was a wonderful companion, especially for my wife.
The best way to cope with the loss of a pet like that is to focus on the other critters that share our home. We have a Jack Russell terrier (Gator) and another cat, a yellow tabby named Talisman. But decided that there are many animals in desperate need of a loving home sitting in shelters right now, and their only hope is to be adopted by somebody before the clock runs out on them.
While visiting the Brighton Animal Shelter, I spied this nice little cat and asked about him. He was a medium hair cat maybe 4 to 6 months of age. I asked to handle him and he was just fine. I called my wife to tell her about him and she went to the shelter to see and handle him as well. We decided to bring him home and make him a part of our lives. Sounds like a great start to a new chapter of our critter continuum.
But once we got him home, I picked him up and he suddenly bit down on my forearm and sank those fangs of his clear down to the bone, while clawing the crap out of my little Irish skin! This was the first of several attacks that were suffered by both my wife and me.
We decided to call a location up north to see if they could find him another home, maybe as a barn cat on somebody's farm. They agreed to take him, but when I got there, they refused to accept him. The word 'feral' was mentioned, and they'd have no part of him at all. On the way back, I stopped at Brighton Animal Shelter to ask where they'd found this cat. "We caught him in a live animal trap!" Ah... so he was likely a feral cat. He wasn't socialized and was, true to the term, a wild cat.
Since he'd been chipped at the shelter when we adopted him, we couldn't simply release him into the wild. We talked about putting him in a shelter, but knew that his behavior would end him up in a cage marked "Bite Report" and nobody would take him home, putting him on the list for euthenesia. No "no kill" shelter would take a feral cat because they'd never be able to find a home for him. We considered having him put to sleep, but did not really want to kill him when we'd invested both money and blood in this little beastie!
Then he tore into my hand really badly one day when I was working with him. He ripped through the webbing between my fingers, latched onto my left arm and tore through the skin, and clawed me to shreds in an attack that was both sudden and vicious to an extreme. It was on the heels of that particular incident that my wife and I discussed taking him out and putting a bullet through his little skull!
I decided to put off any decision until after I'd thought about it awhile. My temper was white hot, and that's a terrible time to make any decisions at all. After I cooled down, I decided on another course of action. I started scanning the internet on how to tame a feral cat. I studied up and did a good deal of reading to learn how we might transform this demonic little ball of fur into a half decent companion animal and pet.
To make a long story short... or perhaps longer still....
I did not shoot the new cat. Because it was touch and go, and because his continued existence was questionable, we named him Hamlet.
Yeah, the name fits. Hamlet. "To Be.... Or Not to Be!!! That is the question!". There were real questions about whether he would continue "To Be!"
Still, after I cooled off from the last attack, I started working with him and using the information I'd learned from the internet. My wife also worked with him and we talked with animal behaviorists about how to change his behavior. We applied techniques that were recommended. We've made strides and he is becoming a decent little cat. Our senior cat, Talisman, has taken on the chore of socializing this young upstart and behaving like an uncle or older brother to get this juvenille straightened out.
Now Hamlet is turning into a really nice cat. I still watch his body language like a hawk because he can turn on a dime and clamp down on an arm or hand, so I don't yet trust him, but I haven't seen my own blood for a few weeks now. It is getting much better.
In the end, I believe he will become a terrific pet and wonderful addition to our family. He is coming along, and has even climbed up into my lap once or twice. And he's just as cute as can be. We find a great deal of amusement in some of his antics.
And to think.... I was ready to shoot him!
Kinda glad I decided against that!
Blessings,
M-Taliesin
A recent conversation with my wife went very much along these lines:
"What can we do about that last attack?" My wife asked.
"Well, considering the available answers, maybe the best way to deal with him is simply to take him out and shoot him!"
The wife replied, "You really are bleeding badly here".
"Yeah, he got me real good this time!" I said while trying to stop the blood flow.
"Wouldn't shooting him be a bit drastic?" she asked.
"What better alternative do you think we have? Who will he attack next? What if it's some kid? We can't take that chance! He wouldn't feel it. Not really. One .40 cal through the skull and it would all be over in an instant!"
Sounds like stuff you'd hear if you walked in on the middle of an action movie, but it is the very real and entirely serious discussion we had.
Now for the background of the story.
We had a beuatiful Russian Blue cat who had shared our home for nearly 20 years. But he became very ill and we took him to the vet. Shortly after we arrived there, knowing what we needed to do and feeling somewhat guilty about not doing it sooner, the vet put Pyewackett to sleep for the last time. We were very sad. He was a terrific cat. He was a wonderful companion, especially for my wife.
The best way to cope with the loss of a pet like that is to focus on the other critters that share our home. We have a Jack Russell terrier (Gator) and another cat, a yellow tabby named Talisman. But decided that there are many animals in desperate need of a loving home sitting in shelters right now, and their only hope is to be adopted by somebody before the clock runs out on them.
While visiting the Brighton Animal Shelter, I spied this nice little cat and asked about him. He was a medium hair cat maybe 4 to 6 months of age. I asked to handle him and he was just fine. I called my wife to tell her about him and she went to the shelter to see and handle him as well. We decided to bring him home and make him a part of our lives. Sounds like a great start to a new chapter of our critter continuum.
But once we got him home, I picked him up and he suddenly bit down on my forearm and sank those fangs of his clear down to the bone, while clawing the crap out of my little Irish skin! This was the first of several attacks that were suffered by both my wife and me.
We decided to call a location up north to see if they could find him another home, maybe as a barn cat on somebody's farm. They agreed to take him, but when I got there, they refused to accept him. The word 'feral' was mentioned, and they'd have no part of him at all. On the way back, I stopped at Brighton Animal Shelter to ask where they'd found this cat. "We caught him in a live animal trap!" Ah... so he was likely a feral cat. He wasn't socialized and was, true to the term, a wild cat.
Since he'd been chipped at the shelter when we adopted him, we couldn't simply release him into the wild. We talked about putting him in a shelter, but knew that his behavior would end him up in a cage marked "Bite Report" and nobody would take him home, putting him on the list for euthenesia. No "no kill" shelter would take a feral cat because they'd never be able to find a home for him. We considered having him put to sleep, but did not really want to kill him when we'd invested both money and blood in this little beastie!
Then he tore into my hand really badly one day when I was working with him. He ripped through the webbing between my fingers, latched onto my left arm and tore through the skin, and clawed me to shreds in an attack that was both sudden and vicious to an extreme. It was on the heels of that particular incident that my wife and I discussed taking him out and putting a bullet through his little skull!
I decided to put off any decision until after I'd thought about it awhile. My temper was white hot, and that's a terrible time to make any decisions at all. After I cooled down, I decided on another course of action. I started scanning the internet on how to tame a feral cat. I studied up and did a good deal of reading to learn how we might transform this demonic little ball of fur into a half decent companion animal and pet.
To make a long story short... or perhaps longer still....
I did not shoot the new cat. Because it was touch and go, and because his continued existence was questionable, we named him Hamlet.
Yeah, the name fits. Hamlet. "To Be.... Or Not to Be!!! That is the question!". There were real questions about whether he would continue "To Be!"
Still, after I cooled off from the last attack, I started working with him and using the information I'd learned from the internet. My wife also worked with him and we talked with animal behaviorists about how to change his behavior. We applied techniques that were recommended. We've made strides and he is becoming a decent little cat. Our senior cat, Talisman, has taken on the chore of socializing this young upstart and behaving like an uncle or older brother to get this juvenille straightened out.
Now Hamlet is turning into a really nice cat. I still watch his body language like a hawk because he can turn on a dime and clamp down on an arm or hand, so I don't yet trust him, but I haven't seen my own blood for a few weeks now. It is getting much better.
In the end, I believe he will become a terrific pet and wonderful addition to our family. He is coming along, and has even climbed up into my lap once or twice. And he's just as cute as can be. We find a great deal of amusement in some of his antics.
And to think.... I was ready to shoot him!
Kinda glad I decided against that!
Blessings,
M-Taliesin
Last edited:
