MSI Press Blog

  Tiger asleep on Anemone's wheelchair, one of his favorite spots Tiger really is a tiger, for all practical intents and purposes. An orange tabby, he looks like one. A feral even after 14 years, he behaves as one.  Raised as an only child (after his sister died at the too-young age of one), he was the central focus in the life of my disabled adult daughter, Anemone, living independently and alone after the too-early death of her fiancé. That made her Tiger's central focus. They bonded deeply.  Tiger followed Anemone everywhere. He would ride around on the arm of her wheelchair, which he, naught boy, would sometimes use as a scratching pad -- the pads had to be replaced from time to time. At times, he even slept there. He would also nestle down on her lap for a long sleep.  When she snapped her fingers, he came running. And when anyone came to the door (which was very seldom), he stood guard, tail up and quivering, claws at the ready. And he would spring -- from his...

  Tiger, the great and powerful orange tabby, has been untouchable for 14 years. When his owner, my disabled daughter, whom he fiercely and forcibly protects, moved from her apartment back home with me. Tiger would not go into his carrier. No way. No how. Not chasable. Not touchable--put claws all the way through my shoe and my son's glove, his teeth baring in a loud, prolonged threatening hiss. Not enticed by food even after eight hours of packing and alternately encouraging Tiger to be part of the process and let us put him in his carrier--one big enough for a large dog, anything else being unthinkable that he would enter. We contacted a friend with a feral cat trap and made plans to leave Tiger alone overnight in the empty apartment and try to catch him with the trap after being hungry for even longer. But, Tiger is a smart cat. As my son and I headed out of the apartment, followed by my daughter in her wheelchair, Tiger went into the carrier and looked at us. He was not to be s...

  Kokee (Sophia) posing with her owner by her choice Sophia came to me courtesy of the one and only local TNR volunteer. Normally, cats in her situation would go to a shelter—but no shelter would take Sophia. She was “too wild.” She’d earned that reputation. The first time she was trapped, she somehow escaped the cage, streaked through the room like lightning, clawed her way up the curtains, hissed, spat, and evaded every attempt to recapture her before vanishing. When she was finally retrapped, she was put under close observation. Snipped, but not subdued, she allowed no one near her. “Not adoptable,” they said. Like so many of my cats before her. Sophia—whom the four-year-old in the household quickly nicknamed Kokee for her Sokoke breed—was special even among the feral arrivals. The Sokoke, from Kenya, is considered the last truly wild domestic cat breed. They are rare in the United States, known for their intelligence, agility, and fierce independence. We placed Sophia in the c...

  Moo yucking Because we found some unwanted guests emanating from Tiger (worms, probably pre-installed before he moved here from an insect-infested apartment), the whole feline crew got a dose of deworming. Moo, our lanky teenage optimist, was thrilled —a new experience! He even opened his mouth like a baby bird, ready for the mystery morsel. I dropped in the pill. And then… betrayal. His eyes widened in cinematic disbelief. Was this poison? With operatic flair, he launched the pill halfway across the room, then began a dramatic tongue routine—rapid in-out flicks, punctuated by a chorus of “yuck, yuck, yuck, yuck…” that lasted a full minute. The only meow he ever uses came next—a high-pitched squeal of accusation. Then, with the dignity of a wronged prince, he turned his back, leapt off the counter, and vanished into the bedroom. Guess we’re shopping for the liquid version. For more posts about Moo (the un-cat), click HERE . Learn more about cats. See our many  Caturda...