MSI Press Blog

  When a Cat Bites Hard: Helping Tissou Learn Another Way Tissou is a beautiful tortoiseshell cat with a complicated past. Once a loved housecat, she was abandoned to a horse stall for two years after her owner died. She wasn’t properly fed, she wasn’t shown kindness, and she was occasionally mistreated. She survived by shutting down, protecting herself, and fighting when she needed to. Now, at ten years old, she has a home again. She’s warm, safe, and fed. But she bites. And not just warning nips. She bites hard—hard enough to break skin. It’s not constant. She can be affectionate and calm. But if she’s touched in a way she doesn’t expect, or feels cornered, startled, or overstimulated, she reacts with teeth. There’s no time to stop her once she’s decided—it’s lightning-fast and deeply ingrained. We love her. But we also need to be safe. So how do you help a cat like Tissou learn not to bite? Step One: Take It Seriously Many people excuse biting with phrases like “She’s jus...

  Wooper by herself in the hallway The Would-Be-Only Cat in a Multi-Cat Household Some cats clearly—or subtly—present as preferring to be the one and only. Sometimes it's fear. Sometimes it's jealousy. Sometimes it’s both. These cats may coexist with others, but their emotional well-being and overall health often show the cost of that compromise. It can be difficult to differentiate between cats who are genuinely frightened of others and those who simply don’t want to share the attention of their beloved human. Either way, their needs are different from those of cats who seek feline company. Wooper is a classic example. We adopted her from our veterinarian’s office, where she had lived for a while after being rescued by the vet’s neighbor—found as a tiny, abandoned kitten in the grass. She was sassy with the clinic staff, which we took as a promising sign that she might handle the dynamics of a multi-cat household. At the time, we had two boys and one girl, and we hoped she mi...

  Tissou and one of her humans, CB She came with a limp, a crumpled ear, a bent tail, and a story that arrived in fragments. A ghost of someone’s loyalty. A survivor of someone else’s neglect. We didn’t know her name. We gave her one: Don Gato , a commanding title for a cat who marched—crooked but purposeful—into our home and made it hers. Later, the vet would gently shift that to Dona Gata with a quiet smile. Later still, we’d learn her true name— Tissou —and realize she had always known exactly who she was. We were the ones catching up. Tissou’s story, like too many others, carries the echo of abandonment. After years as the cherished only pet of a kind vet, her world collapsed when he died. His widow left her locked in a horse stall and walked away. For 18 months, Tissou cried into the walls of her exile. Neighbors fed her. Her sadness made enough noise for someone to eventually hear. Now, she lives with us—eight cats, nine humans, and a catio that buzzes with morning sun an...