March 6th, we had to put our beloved orange tabby to sleep. He had renal failure, and after months of fighting for his life, he just couldn't fight any more. My husband and I had raised Opie since he was a kitten. He was headstrong, mischievous, and full of catitude. But he loved us. When he died, I felt unspeakably lonely.
I can't explain it, really. I have a husband that I love, a wonderful family, and another cat (Mercury) who is a little sweetheart.
But there was an unbearable emptiness that I felt I needed to fill right away.
I missed the titter-tatter of little feet when they would play. I missed the way that Opie would look at me, his eyes filled with love and happiness to see me. Alright, so sometimes, Opie's eyes were filled with a little bratty defiance too. He knew how to tell us off in no uncertain terms. But even when he thought we were jerks, he made his love for us known.
The gnawing grief is what drove me to the local humane society in search of new pets. My husband and I wanted two kittens, but instead, this year old cat named Finnigan reached for me, and was super affectionate. They said that all he liked to do is cuddle up, and his demeanor was shockingly calm in light of the noise and chaos of the shelter.
I really wanted kittens to bond with, but the shelter told us that it would be just as easy to bond with an adult cat--maybe easier. They also told us that an adult cat's personality was "set" and so there'd be less surprises than when you get kittens.
Finnigan shed incredibly, he was older than I wanted, would prevent us from getting two kittens, and had a kink in his tail. But none of this mattered in light of his clear affectionate nature, and how well-behaved he was. His former owners described him as relaxed, a cat who loved other cats, and a cat who was well-behaved and great about using the scratching post.
I knew I could never replace Opie--and I didn't want to. But in my grief, I was desperate for a little furbaby to hug, to love, to help with the horrible emptiness that Opie's loss left in our lives and my heart. So after much indecision, and vacillating on my part, we decided we had made a connection, so we rescued Finnigan from the shelter thirteen days ago.
We had him checked out by our vet, given a stamp of health, and we slowly transitioned him from his isolation room into the household at large.
At first, he was the sweetest cat in the world. If you'd asked me a few days ago, I would have told you that the adoption was working out wonderfully and that I couldn't imagine why anyone would give this cat to a shelter.
I was learning to love him and he was learning to love me. But now that he has gotten comfortable in our home, and decided that he's here to stay, he's turned into a hellspawn.
He started tearing chunks out of the carpet instead of using the scratching post. He started openly defying house rules that he was cheerfully obeying when he first arrived, such as not going into the kitchen. When we try to correct him, he takes it out on the other cat.
He used to purr and rub against me when I pet him. Now he angrily stalks away, and licks wherever I touched him, as if to get my human stench off of him. He seems perfectly healthy, and he is not hiding from us. He just seems to think that we should be hiding from his gloriousness.
The first few days he was here, he was affectionate with our resident cat Mercury, but now he is increasingly aggressive. (Last night, he caused three skirmishes on the bed that caused me to get slashed and bleed.)
When we fed him, he used to purr happily and eat with relish. Now he tries to knock the can out of my hands, and growls at me and my husband. Of all his bad behavior, the growling is the thing that is setting me over the edge. It's completely unacceptable behavior in our home.
When he growls at us, he gets a time-out in the bathroom. Last night, there were three time-outs before it was finally just time to go to bed. But then he howled and scratched at the door all night. I waited for a lull in the tantrum, then let him out. When he saw that I'd put the food away for the night, he took it out on the other cat. (I joked that he decided to eat Mercury instead.)
By 3am I had kicked them out of the bedroom, and tried to ignore the gnawing sounds he was making. When I woke up, I realized he chewed his own collar off--the expensive one that my mom went out of her way to buy for him with a shamrock on it.
Perhaps if I had raised this cat from a kitten, I'd find all of this cute or charming. I know Opie had days when I wanted to throttle him--but he was my cat and there was mutual love.
Finnigan and I don't have that yet. We're still getting to know one another. And right now, I'm feeling totally resentful of him. His rejection has me missing Opie even more. And if he keeps growling at me and my husband I just don't know what to do.
On his worst day, when we were having to stick needles in his back to give him subcutaneous fluids, Opie--a big tough cat--never growled at us once. I can't tolerate that from a new pet.
My insides are all jumbled up, and I'm just not dealing with this well. The less Finnigan likes me, the less I like him, and I'm afraid it's going to be a vicious circle.
I can't explain it, really. I have a husband that I love, a wonderful family, and another cat (Mercury) who is a little sweetheart.
But there was an unbearable emptiness that I felt I needed to fill right away.
I missed the titter-tatter of little feet when they would play. I missed the way that Opie would look at me, his eyes filled with love and happiness to see me. Alright, so sometimes, Opie's eyes were filled with a little bratty defiance too. He knew how to tell us off in no uncertain terms. But even when he thought we were jerks, he made his love for us known.
The gnawing grief is what drove me to the local humane society in search of new pets. My husband and I wanted two kittens, but instead, this year old cat named Finnigan reached for me, and was super affectionate. They said that all he liked to do is cuddle up, and his demeanor was shockingly calm in light of the noise and chaos of the shelter.
I really wanted kittens to bond with, but the shelter told us that it would be just as easy to bond with an adult cat--maybe easier. They also told us that an adult cat's personality was "set" and so there'd be less surprises than when you get kittens.
Finnigan shed incredibly, he was older than I wanted, would prevent us from getting two kittens, and had a kink in his tail. But none of this mattered in light of his clear affectionate nature, and how well-behaved he was. His former owners described him as relaxed, a cat who loved other cats, and a cat who was well-behaved and great about using the scratching post.
I knew I could never replace Opie--and I didn't want to. But in my grief, I was desperate for a little furbaby to hug, to love, to help with the horrible emptiness that Opie's loss left in our lives and my heart. So after much indecision, and vacillating on my part, we decided we had made a connection, so we rescued Finnigan from the shelter thirteen days ago.
We had him checked out by our vet, given a stamp of health, and we slowly transitioned him from his isolation room into the household at large.
At first, he was the sweetest cat in the world. If you'd asked me a few days ago, I would have told you that the adoption was working out wonderfully and that I couldn't imagine why anyone would give this cat to a shelter.
I was learning to love him and he was learning to love me. But now that he has gotten comfortable in our home, and decided that he's here to stay, he's turned into a hellspawn.
He started tearing chunks out of the carpet instead of using the scratching post. He started openly defying house rules that he was cheerfully obeying when he first arrived, such as not going into the kitchen. When we try to correct him, he takes it out on the other cat.
He used to purr and rub against me when I pet him. Now he angrily stalks away, and licks wherever I touched him, as if to get my human stench off of him. He seems perfectly healthy, and he is not hiding from us. He just seems to think that we should be hiding from his gloriousness.
The first few days he was here, he was affectionate with our resident cat Mercury, but now he is increasingly aggressive. (Last night, he caused three skirmishes on the bed that caused me to get slashed and bleed.)
When we fed him, he used to purr happily and eat with relish. Now he tries to knock the can out of my hands, and growls at me and my husband. Of all his bad behavior, the growling is the thing that is setting me over the edge. It's completely unacceptable behavior in our home.
When he growls at us, he gets a time-out in the bathroom. Last night, there were three time-outs before it was finally just time to go to bed. But then he howled and scratched at the door all night. I waited for a lull in the tantrum, then let him out. When he saw that I'd put the food away for the night, he took it out on the other cat. (I joked that he decided to eat Mercury instead.)
By 3am I had kicked them out of the bedroom, and tried to ignore the gnawing sounds he was making. When I woke up, I realized he chewed his own collar off--the expensive one that my mom went out of her way to buy for him with a shamrock on it.
Perhaps if I had raised this cat from a kitten, I'd find all of this cute or charming. I know Opie had days when I wanted to throttle him--but he was my cat and there was mutual love.
Finnigan and I don't have that yet. We're still getting to know one another. And right now, I'm feeling totally resentful of him. His rejection has me missing Opie even more. And if he keeps growling at me and my husband I just don't know what to do.
On his worst day, when we were having to stick needles in his back to give him subcutaneous fluids, Opie--a big tough cat--never growled at us once. I can't tolerate that from a new pet.
My insides are all jumbled up, and I'm just not dealing with this well. The less Finnigan likes me, the less I like him, and I'm afraid it's going to be a vicious circle.
