Question:
I have two animal-empathy stories for you. The first is about Blue Eyes, a one-eyed, cauliflower-eared Siamese cat who was one of several strays we fed regularly. He would not let us touch him, but he was a daily boarder at our outdoor food dishes. One day, Blue Eyes showed up with a half-starved, bedraggled, orange tiger kitten in tow. If you know anything about strays -- who never know where their next meal is coming from -- you will understand my amazement as Blue Eyes let the kitten eat his fill before going for the food himself. Blue Eyes has since gone to heaven, but our adopted kitten is thriving and now an important member of our four-cat (all adopted strays) family. The second story is about Panther, an all-black, male shorthair whom we adopted six years ago. Except in very cold weather, he is largely an outdoor cat that comes in to eat but then leaves quickly until he gets hungry again. About five years ago, I had foot surgery and spent a week in bed. The day I got back from the hospital, Panther crawled onto my bed and stayed there all week, except to eat and perform other vital functions. The interesting thing is that he carefully stayed on the side away from the recuperating foot at all times. When I began to move about again, he resumed his normal outdoor habits.
J.H., Westminster, Md Aug 15, 2010
Answer:
I have received similar letters from readers about a cat rescuing a kitten (like your feral Siamese), and about cats being attentive and aware of a caregiver's injuries. Your letter is a double whammy, and many readers will appreciate how Blue Eyes and Panther are telling us just how conscious and caring cats can be. My wife Deanna and I recently took in a second stray (Pinto), and he has turned out to be a playful young cat who is the best medicine for our older and very feral cat, Mark Twain. The magic here is that Twain now has a playmate whom he grooms like a doting parent, and now occasionally accepts being stroked by hand (rather than trying to take my hand off!), in addition to the regular stroking with a long goose feather that has been our only mode of contact these past seven months. We rescued Pinto from his first Minnesota winter, and estimate Twain must have somehow survived at least five of them alone outdoors with no human contact and care.
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