Greetings all, 
I had intended to wait until I had some pictures to post with this. Unfortunately, I don't have a working camera at present, and some kitten pictures we took have never found their way here from my sister's phone. Ah well… I'll try to get some up as soon as possible.
First, a warning that this will be long, but an in-depth description of the situation is, I think, important in order to understand what's going on. Also, I'm curious to learn as to whether anybody else has had a similar experience, and I'd be interested in opinions on things I might have tried. Unfortunately, I suspect things have turned out as well as they could, given the circumstances, and that little differently could have been done.
Background:
It had been fifteen years since my last cat succumbed to kidney failure (November '97), and a huge, black-and-white purrer who lived across the road (and who had treated this house always as his second home) was at last growing too old any longer regularly to come visiting. So, it was time to get two new kittens.
I had planned on Bengals, but after a lot of research, i came, reluctantly, to the conclusion that it wouldn't be fair to have them here (two-bedroom unit with a fairly small back yard). So, moggies it would be.
I bought both (brother and sister: ginger male; tortoiseshell female) as neutered, 10-week-old kittens in January of 2013. They were a bonded pair from a litter of four (my two, plus a tabby male and female), and came from a kitten rescue group. I've known the woman from whom I bought them (I'll call her “K”) fairly well from when we were little tackers, and knew any cats in her care would be very well looked after, as she'd been always completely cat-mad from a girl. Unfortunately however, this particular litter was born to a semi-feral mother and feral father in the care of another member of the group, whose toddler son was too young to understand one doesn't pull and tug little kittens about. In retrospect, perhaps I should have waited for a pregnant rescue cat to come into K's care; the kittens would have been raised from the start to be completely comfortable around people.
Anyway, it seems this toddler had taken a particular shine to the little ginger male. By the time K got them at about seven weeks old, ginger boy had been pulled about all over the place, and had become fairly (although not completely) timid and wary. He wasn't remotely savage or unpredictable, but would only come out of his shell completely when his little tortoiseshell sister was with him, and it seemed she was always watching out for him. As I live alone, work from home and am seldom out, I had no hesitation in taking the bonded pair, even though K told me little ginger wasn't doing quite so well whenever his sister wasn't close at hand. Also, as I've always got along very well with cats, I assumed that (as he wasn't entirely timid and showed no signs of unpredictability), all it would take is some time, care and patience.
First days:
The day they arrived (Saturday, 5th January 2013), things got off to a very good start.
Kîa (the little tortoiseshell girl) was extremely friendly; completely manic, mad and playful, but not a nasty bone in her body. She turned out to be a little rasper (fingers, nose, forehead and anything else she could reach if I gave her the chance ), and late that evening she climbed up on to my shoulder, from there down into my lap, curled up and purred herself to sleep.
Nimrod (the ginger boy) also wasn't nearly as bad as I'd feared; a little wary and careful, but definitely not timid or terrified.
The next day, a friend came over, and we spent several hours (on and off) playing with them with balls and other things. I'd confined them to the laundry (Laundry Room for U.s. readers; I didn't bury them in a bag of clothes ), which was quiet, warm and snug, and both were playful, curious and friendly. Nimrod had at first a tendency to bite somewhat harder than Kîa during play, and he was a little uneasy. But like his sister, he was tremendously good-natured, very curious and playful, and always completely predictable.
Within a week, they had the run of the house, and had completely settled in. Nimrod stopped biting hard without the need for anything other than a warning “No!” whenever he got carried away. He wasn't a rasper (unless, of course, there happened to be something on my hand he liked) and I could never quite get him to come up on my lap; he'd put his front paws up, start to climb, but never quite get up the courage to finish the job, no matter how still I stayed. If I lifted him up, sometimes he'd settle and even at times go to sleep. But once down, he'd revert to being just a little too wary to come up on his own.
Their interactions with one another were fine; they slept together, played constantly,and never once fought. The only problem was that Kîa, being so supremely confident and afraid of nothing, tended somewhat to bowl Nimrod around all over the place during play (I really don't think she had any idea just how wild she was, and he tended just to put up with it and never complain unless she got completely out of hand). Curiously also for kittens, they weren't remotely destructive. They seemed to sense very quickly what were toys, and what wasn't to be touched.
Downhill:
And then, as weeks became months, it started to go wrong. Slowly, Nimrod became more timid rather than less; never to the point where he'd bolt or hide, but simply ever less responsive. He stopped his half-climb-into-lap attempts, and would struggle (very gently, but struggle nonetheless) and Velcro to the carpet whenever I'd try to pick him up. He'd tolerate being patted, but became almost completely unresponsive. Getting a purr out of him became almost impossible. He started suckling his bed, and that was about the only time one had a hope of getting a rumble out of him; when he was snuggled down and suckling. His tail started to droop (not completely down, but never the little aerial always hers was), and his head was always a little low. He tended to drift around at the edge of approaching; never outright bolting or hiding, but floating about just out of range. He'd play still every bit as much as before, and his interactions with Kîa didn't change. But he stopped sleeping with her (he'd stay near, but no longer snuggle up to her stomach as he used). Last, visitors became a no-no so far as he was concerned. Again, he wouldn't outright bolt or hide, but he'd cry to go outside, and once out, he'd trot (not bolt) away and vanish until they'd gone.
Nothing in the environment had changed in any way. I don't live on a main road, and the street is very quiet and peaceful. The next-door neighbours have a cat (a great big fluffy thing). But he was there before I got the kittens, is rather timid, and has never minded in the least when they enter his yard.
Whether I handled Nimrod or pulled back and left him alone, nothing changed. He continued to go downhill, until at about the six-month mark, he'd reached a plateau of always appearing slightly upset and miserable.
As for Kîa: although she remained every bit as friendly and affectionate, she became increasingly independent. Gone was the little lap-kitten, and she would tolerate being held only for a few seconds (a minute at most). The motor would still go like mad when I picked her up, but after a little, she'd struggle very gently but insistently to get down. Also, she stopped watching out so constantly for her brother, and was happy to go off on her own rather than stay close to him all the time. As an example, when they were very young and he'd gone and vanished somewhere at bed-time, I could send her out and always she'd bring him home. That no longer happened; she just wasn't interested any longer in keeping an eye on him.
Nine months down the track, and things hadn't improved. I was getting absolutely nowhere with improving Nimrod's confidence. I could handle him, and he was always completely trustworthy. But he might as well have been a stuffed toy for all the response I could get 95% of the time. He'd simply sit or lie there while being patted: quiet, still and entirely closed off. Only after a good play or lying on his bed was he completely different. On his bed he was always a squirming, rolling, playful bundle of blissful purr. After a good romp with toys or his sister, he could be nearly as friendly, but would revert in minutes and simply shut down again.
There were bizarre inconsistencies though. Always he'd come running if he'd not seen me for a few hours (i.e., if he'd been asleep or outside), head and tail up, and I'd get little happy greeting trills. But once the greetings were over, that was it: “Warning! Low-anxiety state detected. Emotional shut-down has been implemented. Entering Automaton Mode!”. It was that quick, and that predictable. He was not afraid to go outside, not particularly scared of anything save the motor-mower.
Thunder, rain and hail didn't bother either of them (in fact, usually they wanted to go out and play in the pouring rain; very weird!).
Despite his anxiety, Nimrod was never far away; so long as there were no visitors, he would always be around, just out of reach, insisting on staying wherever I was, especially if Kîa was off somewhere. It seemed increasingly apparent to me that there was a war going on inside his little noggin; he wanted desperately to be friendly, but didn't dare. Yet at the same time, he was never actually terrified or in any way unpredictable; no hissing or any kind of fight-or-flight response. He just seemed perpetually on the edge of being depressed and miserable. Stranger still, he didn't mind vet visits; not at all. As the clinic was so close, I opted to have them come here rather than risk upsetting Nimrod further by taking him in. And throughout any visit, he was completely placid and gentle. Injections; worming: nothing bothered him.
Low point in September 2013:
After his first deep, rumbling growl at a postal van pulling into the driveway, I decided something had to be done. Clearly, something was very wrong and getting worse, even though the growls were far more warnings than savage (no arched back or fur standing up; no lashing tail or dilated pupils; no indications other than the low, dog-like rumble deep in his chest). I contacted a behaviourist and sent her an in-depth report concerning what had been happening.
Unfortunately, despite all preparations, her visit didn't go well. Nimrod entered “Priority 1 emergency! Visitor approaching! Must cry to go outside! All ancillary brain activity halted!” as soon as she arrived. She could get nothing out of him. He was not savage; he didn't bolt; his tail started to come up once or twice. But he just paced miserably around, crying to go out, and wouldn't respond, no matter what she tried.
Her assessment boiled down to the conclusion that, being born from feral parents of who knew how many generations, Kîa and Nimrod were simply genetically predisposed to mistrust, and that he was just the more extreme case of the two. Unfortunately, this was reinforced in her mind by Kîa not taking to her for some reason. Usually fine with most visitors (after a minute or so of being careful), Kîa pretty-much ignored her completely. She didn't get agitated or uneasy; simply treated her with complete disinterest.
She did suggest Feliway, since I'd told her Nimrod was so different on his bed. But a diffuser run for months did absolutely nothing, or as near to nothing as made no difference.
Bizarre turning point:
Come early April this year, and things were very little better.
Kîa had grown up into a fiercely independent (but very warm and affectionate) cheerful, supremely confident girl. She was a wild thing; Be insane enough to get your hands too close to her in play-mode, and you were asking for it; she played always with the claws fully out, and loved nothing better than to go suddenly for the wrong end of a toy when least expected. Things on rods were about the only way to ensure personal safety during an interactive play session. But she was never savage or unpredictable; she'd just get completely carried away. And she knew: I might get grabbed, but scratches were due entirely to that; she'd never actually claw hands, and she'd calm down and let go when she realised it was skin she had. Lap-curling was out of the question for any longer than a minute or so, but she was perpetually happy; tail always straight up, head high, brimming with confidence. Beds were very good; morning cuddles an absolute necessity, and the world for her was just a safe and happy place.
But Nimrod was just as before. He'd play and trot about, and never be far away. But after just over sixteen months, I could say honestly that I didn't know him at all; there was simply no bond of any kind, despite all attempts.
Then in early April, a new cat appeared down the road.
“S” appears to be one of those cats who, quite simply, is Trouble with a capital sodding “T”! The first thing he did was to start attacking poor Fluffy-Noggin next door. As I said, that cat is rather timid, and wouldn't defend himself. They have a dog, but this little sod would choose his moments when the dog wasn't around. He's only small, but basic nastiness towards other cats seems to be his middle name.
Then it was time for the cow to come in here and try it with my two. The first time, he met Kîa and she knocked the absolute stuffing out of him. But then it was Nimrod's turn.
I heard the racket in here, and got out there just as S was vanishing into the distance. Nimrod seemed fine (absolutely filthy-dirty from brawling all over the garden, but fine). But he ended up with an abscess on his tail.
This time, I decided to take him in to the clinic, rather than pay the whacking great extra for a home visit. Knowing it could be trouble, I searched on-line for some kind of safe non-prescription calmative. I settled on Vetalogica Feline Tranquil Formula 120s, with no idea whether they would help. But Feliway had been useless, so it was worth a try.
On the day, I dosed him up with four of the things (the maximum recommended dose at one time) and hoped for the best. He wasn't overly impressed with the carrier (i had none, and so had to hire one from the clinic), but he was nowhere near as bad as I thought. And he absolutely loved the movement of the car; so long as we were driving, he was calm.
The visit itself went well; he panted a little at first, but soon calmed down, and he remained very good-natured through the whole ordeal of jabs, tail-shaving etc..
The drive home was astonishingly better still: paws patting out gently through the cage grill; curious; looking around at everything; the best I'd seen him since he was a kitten. It seemed he simply loved driving!
And that was the beginning of the change. Since the formula seemed to have done so well, I decided to keep him on it (two tablets in the morning; another two at night). The difference was astounding.
A few days later, S turned up again looking for trouble. And this time, Nimrod beat the absolute tar out of him. He came in after the fight, tail high, head up, a completely different cat! Days later, another brawl with S, and still more confident afterwards. Unfortunately, getting the absolute stuffing beaten out of him wasn't teaching that little cow a thing; the sod just kept coming back for more! I suspect he'll never learn, and just looks for trouble no matter what.
The last six months: vastly better Nimrod; concern for Kîa.
Over the past six months, Nimrod has become an entirely new cat; tremendously more friendly, loads of purrs; eager to interact as much as he can; tail and head high, and very much more confident. It's as if he's trying to make up for all the time he was miserable. I suspect he might have a serotonin problem, which could explain why the Tranquil Formula is making such a difference; it contains tryptophan, which is important for serotonin production. He isn't overly keen on visitors, and he'll growl still sometimes at some random passing car (whilst completely ignoring others). But I think being a little growler is just him, and nothing about which I need be concerned.
Unfortunately, Kîa is another matter. It's difficult to describe exactly what's gone wrong. On the surface, she's every bit as friendly, happy and confident as before. Still she'll play and purr, and actually is becoming a good deal more gentle. But the bond we had is ceasing ever more to exist as Nimrod hseeks more attention. She ignores the bed (simply won't come up, and jumps down if I lift her up). As for cuddles: forget it; she's simply not interested. she will play with Nimrod as before, but no longer grooms him or cuddles protectively around him. Worst, she's becoming wary of that little cow down the road. Before, she'd simply hammer the absolute hell out of him if he came looking for trouble up here. Now she just cries, and it's up to me or Nimrod to chase the thing away.
To be honest, I'm starting to wonder whether both siblings have some underlying genetic predisposition to mental problems, and that the trouble is manifesting in each in a different way. This seems to be indicated in trying to take Nimrod off the Tranquil Formula. I have him down to two tablets at night, but any fewer, and he begins to revert to his old timid self. With two, he's very confident and always happy and friendly. With one, he's on the edge. But two tablets do have a very slight tranquilising effect that seems to last even through the day, which I don't particularly like for a young cat who shouldn't have to be drugged to feel secure..
So, any ideas or similar experiences? If I have to keep Nimrod on tablets, then so be it should it be the only solution. But it would be a tremendous pity should Kîa continue to drift away, when she's always been so content.
I had intended to wait until I had some pictures to post with this. Unfortunately, I don't have a working camera at present, and some kitten pictures we took have never found their way here from my sister's phone. Ah well…
I'll try to get some up as soon as possible.First, a warning that this will be long, but an in-depth description of the situation is, I think, important in order to understand what's going on. Also, I'm curious to learn as to whether anybody else has had a similar experience, and I'd be interested in opinions on things I might have tried. Unfortunately, I suspect things have turned out as well as they could, given the circumstances, and that little differently could have been done.
Background:
It had been fifteen years since my last cat succumbed to kidney failure (November '97), and a huge, black-and-white purrer who lived across the road (and who had treated this house always as his second home) was at last growing too old any longer regularly to come visiting. So, it was time to get two new kittens.
I had planned on Bengals, but after a lot of research, i came, reluctantly, to the conclusion that it wouldn't be fair to have them here (two-bedroom unit with a fairly small back yard). So, moggies it would be.
I bought both (brother and sister: ginger male; tortoiseshell female) as neutered, 10-week-old kittens in January of 2013. They were a bonded pair from a litter of four (my two, plus a tabby male and female), and came from a kitten rescue group. I've known the woman from whom I bought them (I'll call her “K”) fairly well from when we were little tackers, and knew any cats in her care would be very well looked after, as she'd been always completely cat-mad from a girl.
Unfortunately however, this particular litter was born to a semi-feral mother and feral father in the care of another member of the group, whose toddler son was too young to understand one doesn't pull and tug little kittens about. In retrospect, perhaps I should have waited for a pregnant rescue cat to come into K's care; the kittens would have been raised from the start to be completely comfortable around people.Anyway, it seems this toddler had taken a particular shine to the little ginger male. By the time K got them at about seven weeks old, ginger boy had been pulled about all over the place, and had become fairly (although not completely) timid and wary. He wasn't remotely savage or unpredictable, but would only come out of his shell completely when his little tortoiseshell sister was with him, and it seemed she was always watching out for him. As I live alone, work from home and am seldom out, I had no hesitation in taking the bonded pair, even though K told me little ginger wasn't doing quite so well whenever his sister wasn't close at hand. Also, as I've always got along very well with cats, I assumed that (as he wasn't entirely timid and showed no signs of unpredictability), all it would take is some time, care and patience.
First days:
The day they arrived (Saturday, 5th January 2013), things got off to a very good start.
Kîa (the little tortoiseshell girl) was extremely friendly; completely manic, mad and playful,
but not a nasty bone in her body. She turned out to be a little rasper (fingers, nose, forehead and anything else she could reach if I gave her the chance ), and late that evening she climbed up on to my shoulder, from there down into my lap, curled up and purred herself to sleep.Nimrod (the ginger boy) also wasn't nearly as bad as I'd feared; a little wary and careful, but definitely not timid or terrified.
The next day, a friend came over, and we spent several hours (on and off) playing with them with balls and other things. I'd confined them to the laundry (Laundry Room for U.s. readers; I didn't bury them in a bag of clothes
), which was quiet, warm and snug, and both were playful, curious and friendly. Nimrod had at first a tendency to bite somewhat harder than Kîa during play, and he was a little uneasy. But like his sister, he was tremendously good-natured, very curious and playful, and always completely predictable.Within a week, they had the run of the house, and had completely settled in. Nimrod stopped biting hard without the need for anything other than a warning “No!” whenever he got carried away. He wasn't a rasper (unless, of course, there happened to be something on my hand he liked) and I could never quite get him to come up on my lap; he'd put his front paws up, start to climb, but never quite get up the courage to finish the job, no matter how still I stayed. If I lifted him up, sometimes he'd settle and even at times go to sleep. But once down, he'd revert to being just a little too wary to come up on his own.
Their interactions with one another were fine; they slept together, played constantly,and never once fought. The only problem was that Kîa, being so supremely confident and afraid of nothing, tended somewhat to bowl Nimrod around all over the place during play (I really don't think she had any idea just how wild she was, and he tended just to put up with it and never complain unless she got completely out of hand). Curiously also for kittens, they weren't remotely destructive. They seemed to sense very quickly what were toys, and what wasn't to be touched.
Downhill:
And then, as weeks became months, it started to go wrong. Slowly, Nimrod became more timid rather than less; never to the point where he'd bolt or hide, but simply ever less responsive. He stopped his half-climb-into-lap attempts, and would struggle (very gently, but struggle nonetheless) and Velcro to the carpet whenever I'd try to pick him up. He'd tolerate being patted, but became almost completely unresponsive. Getting a purr out of him became almost impossible. He started suckling his bed, and that was about the only time one had a hope of getting a rumble out of him; when he was snuggled down and suckling. His tail started to droop (not completely down, but never the little aerial always hers was), and his head was always a little low. He tended to drift around at the edge of approaching; never outright bolting or hiding, but floating about just out of range. He'd play still every bit as much as before, and his interactions with Kîa didn't change. But he stopped sleeping with her (he'd stay near, but no longer snuggle up to her stomach as he used). Last, visitors became a no-no so far as he was concerned. Again, he wouldn't outright bolt or hide, but he'd cry to go outside, and once out, he'd trot (not bolt) away and vanish until they'd gone.
Nothing in the environment had changed in any way. I don't live on a main road, and the street is very quiet and peaceful. The next-door neighbours have a cat (a great big fluffy thing). But he was there before I got the kittens, is rather timid, and has never minded in the least when they enter his yard.
Whether I handled Nimrod or pulled back and left him alone, nothing changed. He continued to go downhill, until at about the six-month mark, he'd reached a plateau of always appearing slightly upset and miserable.
As for Kîa: although she remained every bit as friendly and affectionate, she became increasingly independent. Gone was the little lap-kitten, and she would tolerate being held only for a few seconds (a minute at most). The motor would still go like mad when I picked her up, but after a little, she'd struggle very gently but insistently to get down. Also, she stopped watching out so constantly for her brother, and was happy to go off on her own rather than stay close to him all the time. As an example, when they were very young and he'd gone and vanished somewhere at bed-time, I could send her out and always she'd bring him home. That no longer happened; she just wasn't interested any longer in keeping an eye on him.
Nine months down the track, and things hadn't improved. I was getting absolutely nowhere with improving Nimrod's confidence. I could handle him, and he was always completely trustworthy. But he might as well have been a stuffed toy for all the response I could get 95% of the time. He'd simply sit or lie there while being patted: quiet, still and entirely closed off. Only after a good play or lying on his bed was he completely different. On his bed he was always a squirming, rolling, playful bundle of blissful purr. After a good romp with toys or his sister, he could be nearly as friendly, but would revert in minutes and simply shut down again.
There were bizarre inconsistencies though. Always he'd come running if he'd not seen me for a few hours (i.e., if he'd been asleep or outside), head and tail up, and I'd get little happy greeting trills. But once the greetings were over, that was it: “Warning! Low-anxiety state detected. Emotional shut-down has been implemented. Entering Automaton Mode!”. It was that quick, and that predictable. He was not afraid to go outside, not particularly scared of anything save the motor-mower.
Thunder, rain and hail didn't bother either of them (in fact, usually they wanted to go out and play in the pouring rain; very weird!).
Despite his anxiety, Nimrod was never far away; so long as there were no visitors, he would always be around, just out of reach, insisting on staying wherever I was, especially if Kîa was off somewhere. It seemed increasingly apparent to me that there was a war going on inside his little noggin; he wanted desperately to be friendly, but didn't dare. Yet at the same time, he was never actually terrified or in any way unpredictable; no hissing or any kind of fight-or-flight response. He just seemed perpetually on the edge of being depressed and miserable. Stranger still, he didn't mind vet visits; not at all. As the clinic was so close, I opted to have them come here rather than risk upsetting Nimrod further by taking him in. And throughout any visit, he was completely placid and gentle. Injections; worming: nothing bothered him.
Low point in September 2013:
After his first deep, rumbling growl at a postal van pulling into the driveway, I decided something had to be done. Clearly, something was very wrong and getting worse, even though the growls were far more warnings than savage (no arched back or fur standing up; no lashing tail or dilated pupils; no indications other than the low, dog-like rumble deep in his chest). I contacted a behaviourist and sent her an in-depth report concerning what had been happening.
Unfortunately, despite all preparations, her visit didn't go well. Nimrod entered “Priority 1 emergency! Visitor approaching! Must cry to go outside! All ancillary brain activity halted!” as soon as she arrived. She could get nothing out of him. He was not savage; he didn't bolt; his tail started to come up once or twice. But he just paced miserably around, crying to go out, and wouldn't respond, no matter what she tried.
Her assessment boiled down to the conclusion that, being born from feral parents of who knew how many generations, Kîa and Nimrod were simply genetically predisposed to mistrust, and that he was just the more extreme case of the two. Unfortunately, this was reinforced in her mind by Kîa not taking to her for some reason. Usually fine with most visitors (after a minute or so of being careful), Kîa pretty-much ignored her completely. She didn't get agitated or uneasy; simply treated her with complete disinterest.
She did suggest Feliway, since I'd told her Nimrod was so different on his bed. But a diffuser run for months did absolutely nothing, or as near to nothing as made no difference.
Bizarre turning point:
Come early April this year, and things were very little better.
Kîa had grown up into a fiercely independent (but very warm and affectionate) cheerful, supremely confident girl. She was a wild thing; Be insane enough to get your hands too close to her in play-mode, and you were asking for it; she played always with the claws fully out, and loved nothing better than to go suddenly for the wrong end of a toy when least expected. Things on rods were about the only way to ensure personal safety during an interactive play session. But she was never savage or unpredictable; she'd just get completely carried away. And she knew: I might get grabbed, but scratches were due entirely to that; she'd never actually claw hands, and she'd calm down and let go when she realised it was skin she had. Lap-curling was out of the question for any longer than a minute or so, but she was perpetually happy; tail always straight up, head high, brimming with confidence. Beds were very good; morning cuddles an absolute necessity, and the world for her was just a safe and happy place.
But Nimrod was just as before. He'd play and trot about, and never be far away. But after just over sixteen months, I could say honestly that I didn't know him at all; there was simply no bond of any kind, despite all attempts.
Then in early April, a new cat appeared down the road.
“S” appears to be one of those cats who, quite simply, is Trouble with a capital sodding “T”! The first thing he did was to start attacking poor Fluffy-Noggin next door. As I said, that cat is rather timid, and wouldn't defend himself. They have a dog, but this little sod would choose his moments when the dog wasn't around. He's only small, but basic nastiness towards other cats seems to be his middle name.
Then it was time for the cow to come in here and try it with my two. The first time, he met Kîa and she knocked the absolute stuffing out of him. But then it was Nimrod's turn.
I heard the racket in here, and got out there just as S was vanishing into the distance. Nimrod seemed fine (absolutely filthy-dirty from brawling all over the garden, but fine). But he ended up with an abscess on his tail.
This time, I decided to take him in to the clinic, rather than pay the whacking great extra for a home visit. Knowing it could be trouble, I searched on-line for some kind of safe non-prescription calmative. I settled on Vetalogica Feline Tranquil Formula 120s, with no idea whether they would help. But Feliway had been useless, so it was worth a try.
On the day, I dosed him up with four of the things (the maximum recommended dose at one time) and hoped for the best. He wasn't overly impressed with the carrier (i had none, and so had to hire one from the clinic), but he was nowhere near as bad as I thought. And he absolutely loved the movement of the car; so long as we were driving, he was calm.
The visit itself went well; he panted a little at first, but soon calmed down, and he remained very good-natured through the whole ordeal of jabs, tail-shaving etc..
The drive home was astonishingly better still: paws patting out gently through the cage grill; curious; looking around at everything; the best I'd seen him since he was a kitten. It seemed he simply loved driving!
And that was the beginning of the change. Since the formula seemed to have done so well, I decided to keep him on it (two tablets in the morning; another two at night). The difference was astounding.
A few days later, S turned up again looking for trouble. And this time, Nimrod beat the absolute tar out of him. He came in after the fight, tail high, head up, a completely different cat! Days later, another brawl with S, and still more confident afterwards. Unfortunately, getting the absolute stuffing beaten out of him wasn't teaching that little cow a thing; the sod just kept coming back for more!
I suspect he'll never learn, and just looks for trouble no matter what. The last six months: vastly better Nimrod; concern for Kîa.
Over the past six months, Nimrod has become an entirely new cat; tremendously more friendly, loads of purrs; eager to interact as much as he can; tail and head high, and very much more confident. It's as if he's trying to make up for all the time he was miserable. I suspect he might have a serotonin problem, which could explain why the Tranquil Formula is making such a difference; it contains tryptophan, which is important for serotonin production. He isn't overly keen on visitors, and he'll growl still sometimes at some random passing car (whilst completely ignoring others). But I think being a little growler is just him, and nothing about which I need be concerned.
Unfortunately, Kîa is another matter. It's difficult to describe exactly what's gone wrong. On the surface, she's every bit as friendly, happy and confident as before. Still she'll play and purr, and actually is becoming a good deal more gentle. But the bond we had is ceasing ever more to exist as Nimrod hseeks more attention. She ignores the bed (simply won't come up, and jumps down if I lift her up). As for cuddles: forget it; she's simply not interested. she will play with Nimrod as before, but no longer grooms him or cuddles protectively around him. Worst, she's becoming wary of that little cow down the road. Before, she'd simply hammer the absolute hell out of him if he came looking for trouble up here. Now she just cries, and it's up to me or Nimrod to chase the thing away.
To be honest, I'm starting to wonder whether both siblings have some underlying genetic predisposition to mental problems, and that the trouble is manifesting in each in a different way. This seems to be indicated in trying to take Nimrod off the Tranquil Formula. I have him down to two tablets at night, but any fewer, and he begins to revert to his old timid self. With two, he's very confident and always happy and friendly. With one, he's on the edge. But two tablets do have a very slight tranquilising effect that seems to last even through the day, which I don't particularly like for a young cat who shouldn't have to be drugged to feel secure..
So, any ideas or similar experiences? If I have to keep Nimrod on tablets, then so be it should it be the only solution. But it would be a tremendous pity should Kîa continue to drift away, when she's always been so content.
