Holly's Story
A few weeks ago, an all-white cat was dumped at the side doors of the Humane Society. I'd like to say this was a first. Some days I hate humans as a species more than others, and I'd say dumping a living thing in a box, with no food, no water, knowing that the outcome is probably death... well that's a day I hate just a little stronger.
Because she was obviously a pet and not a stray, we took her in. She was negative for disease, and this was a day where our administrator would've ventured to animal services anyway to fill up a few empty spaces and save just a few more animals. It seemed appropriate to give her a second chance, but like so many dumped cats, Holly was very angry, and very scared.
Sometimes the best rehab effort is no effort. You leave a cat alone for a few days, with fresh food, fresh water, and say a few loving words. Typically a cat like Holly has led a miserable life at the hands of humans - one of either neglect or abuse - so a bit of hissing and swiping is natural. She thinks it's safer not to trust the hands reaching towards her, and I cannot blame her.
So we left Holly alone and after a couple days passed she calmed down significantly. She was just at the point of being adoptable when something absolutely horrible happened -- Holly broke her second chance. A member of the staff was cleaning her cage and made a sudden movement, and in a moment of fear and confusion, Holly bit a human. I went back in a few days later to find a red tag on her cage: a bite report. If in aggression, this is typically a death sentence.
The cat is put on a ten day observational period where food and water are changed, but interaction is forbidden for safety's sake. Though you may be thinking, "how horrible for the cat," I plead you to recognize this as a wonderful practice designed to keep both animal and human safe. If the animal is truly aggressive, it is put to sleep but this ensures that the gestation period for rabies has passed and the person exposed to the bite has no need to worry. Since the only true rabies test is through examining brain tissue, I like to look at this as more respectful to our cats and dogs as well, even if the outcome is the fatal sleep. If we find the bite was out of play (as is most often the case when a bite report is filed by a guest -- kittens play rough, folks), then the cat is put back out and up for adoption.
For one reason or another, I started to get nervous for Holly. She had an unusual beginning with us and was walking a thin line as she acted distrustful of vet techs who had administered eye drops to her after the incident. It wasn't looking good, and instead of having the "there are so many other cats that need second chances, if this one is not able to be rehabilitated so be it" mentality that I usually have (the greater good, in short), I felt a pang in its place. Something was not right.
So I went to visit Holly. I put my face down to hers and just looked at her for a minute, and then Holly reached out and grabbed my hand. She held it, little toes curled around my finger, and she pushed her forehead against the cage. She knew. I could see it in her eyes, and I heard it when she cried out to me as I left, paws flailing towards me. But what could I do? I cried.
Giving up, however, just didn't seem to be the right option. Everyone at the Humane Society works there because they love animals (it certainly isn't the pay), so they often go above and beyond to make things work. Today Holly had just one day left on the clock, and then time's up. Some how, the little white cat came up in conversation with a front office worker and she mentioned that she had wanted to take Holly home from day one. "Well, why can't you?" I asked. She looked at me and explained that she didn't know if she could right after the quarantine. Since I was doing cat meds today, I took the risk on my own and opened Holly's cage. In front of her would-be-human adopter, Holly put a paw on each side of my neck and started kissing my face. I melted. "You should take her home," I said. I had no clue what the decision would be on Holly, but I knew that she had proven too much a risk to go home with someone who wasn't a staff member. All we'd need is for her to act fine, go home with a family, and bite some little kid who startled her. It's sad, but human safety needs to be taken into account too, and we don't have the resources to match pets up with the ideal situation - we just don't.
I shut Holly's door and checked on my friend in the front later on. She had gotten the okay to take Holly home, and the little white cat received her third chance at life. I couldn't help but to visit Holly again and tell her the good news, and for the first time ever I heard Holly purr. Instead of reaching out to me when I left, I watched Holly curl contentedly into a ball in her cage and she looked peaceful.
To this I say - treat animals better than you'd like to be treated, because they'll always give back ten fold. Also, never underestimate the intelligence of a cat. I'd say "if cats could talk," but already I'm making a false statement. Cats speak volumes, it's just rare that anyone listens.
This post dedicated to Daughn O'Neil - a fellow cat-listener and Holly's new mom.
Also dedicated to Drizzle the cat, who got put on quarantine for rough play and painfully served out her time without love (okay, that's not true - I know I'm not the only person that visited that cat and talked to her as many chances as I could get). I was the lucky person who got to release her back into the cat room today, and after rubbing up against me in gratitude she launched a full-out play attack on the cat tree. Easily one of the happiest and most grateful cats I've seen in a long time. Drizzle still needs a home.
Awww....
ReplyDeleteIt's so good to hear a happy ending.