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Or, how to welcome a scaredy-cat

This summer is Tesoro’s third as a house cat in our little cottage. His first year here was passed in a state of anxiety hiding under the bed or sofa whenever me, the hooman was present. He came from a local shelter and was described as one of a colony of indoor cats taken out of a home in Ludlow. The attendant said he would be quite shy and be careful not to allow him to retreat to the closet corner; else, it would be a challenge to become acquainted. Therefore, that’s what happened. I wanted a cuddle bunny kitty. My feisty calico had been a friend and a challenge every day for our nine years together. She had a strong spirit of touch-me-not during the daylight hours, but, every night, slept soundly on my hip, learning how to turn and reposition herself should I roll over onto my back. I lost her. On a cold early January day, I came home to find her heart still slightly beating, but she was heavy and would not awake. Less than a week of sadness without her pushed me to welcome another feline home. This photo is of Tesoro the afternoon of his arrival.

In the first five months or so, he came out at night to feed and use the litter box. The first year passed with glimpses of him and a few contact moments. This house is tiny with two rooms upstairs and two on the main floor so we often couldn’t avoid each other. Always, he would look at me with darting eyes wondering which way to escape. Many attempts were made to lure him out from under the bed with toys and fake mice on a string dragged past his nose. Sometimes he would surprise me by coming down the stairs and hanging around the living room. His markings are a little unusual. Mostly, he is a beautiful snowy white with a variety of patches of black on his back and hind legs. His legacy consists of some tabby cat and a bit of calico to be sure. The tail is lovely and so long. He’s got a cute, most earnest expression in the eyes. How he can look so directly at me with all attention and inspect the hooman.

The first clue of connection came from the foster mom. In a conversation, she described how he liked to be petted inside his cube. He had a sleeping cushion in that shape and loved to go as deep as he could. She was able to reach in and touch him. Of course, this appeared in our home soon after and he did like to hang out in there. It was placed in the living room where he could be nearer to me. A window perch had been added some time ago giving him a chance to see the outside world. On warm days, I often leave the front door open with the glass storm door closed. When he sits at the door, he can see right out onto the street and expand his small world. The basement? Yes, it’s a lovely large space with a walkout yard level door. However, to Tesoro, it’s the home of the boogieman. He only would stare down the steps.

In vain, I consulted an animal communicator for a clue on how to reach him. She perceived he was quite pleased with his appearance and took great pride in his pristine white color. He wasn’t being stubborn or withholding a connection, it just wasn’t there yet. A meow? Yes, some time by the end of the first year together, he did manage a meow. Once the first one came out, others followed. He’s been a puzzle. I learned to refer to him as semi-feral, acclimated to hoomans but not overtly inclined to get close to them. The persistent look of fear did get tiresome. I, a gentle shy sort more at ease in the company of animals, had to learn the quality of space for this little cherub. Did I not extend warmth? Did I not consider his every need? But, what is it that he wanted? How do I bond with Tesoro? The dilemma continued…