Cat Musings - The Button Biter

Every time I have rescued a stray, I’ve second guessed myself. Samson, a scraggly, rain-soaked kitten with black fur and bright green eyes, cried on the heels of my son as he picked up trash in an empty field one cold and rainy October day. We spotted Andre as a small, gangly white creature perched in a tree at the house across the street. My true feral, Eli, hungry for a meal, warily walked into a trap, and his life was forever changed. You may have read the story of how Josephine came to be a part of my clowder of cats on a cold day last January.

All of them have tasted the freedom of the great outdoors. I don’t know how Samson came to be in that field, but he wasn’t feral, and he definitely wanted Kohlson’s attention. Andre took some convincing but seems quite content to have the run of my little townhouse. Even Eli, though still elusive, has managed to adjust. None of them make attempts to escape, and there are ample opportunities when I go in and out of the front door or slide the patio door open. Samson has been known to stand at the door meowing persistently when he thinks there’s a possibility of a walk on the leash to be had. Even Andre, my 20-pounder, blocks the front door with his bulk when he wants to go outside, and on the occasions when I close the little gate at the end of the narrow path to my front door, he doesn’t make a mad dash for freedom as though he’s escaping from a miserable prison. Instead, he eagerly beelines to the liriope in my flower bed to munch on the grassy green blades.

Still, I wonder. Have I robbed them of freedom that a part of their nature yearns for? If Josephine’s behavior is any indication, I can set my mind at ease.

The little ginger vixen has been a part of the clowder for nine months now, and her assimilation has been flawless and fascinating to watch. Her quirkiness is even more entertaining. As the title of this post suggests, she likes to bite buttons. Not all buttons. Just those on the front of a blouse I might be wearing. She hops into my lap and settles in quickly, then turns her head up to gaze at me, and as soon as she spies a button, usually one in a vertical row on my shirt, she nibbles on it for a second or two. Why does she do this?

From the time when I first brought her into the house until just a month or so ago, she never made a sound. Except for newborn kittens crying for their mothers, cats generally don’t meow at each other. They’ll hiss and growl sometimes as warnings to other cats, but it is thought they tend to reserve their vast repertoire of sounds to communicate with their human companions. The first time I heard Josephine’s meow, I laughed out loud. She sounded like a mouse! She actually squeaked. It was very high-pitched and absolutely adorable. It fits her because, except for her tubby belly, she is a petite little miss. I have tried unsuccessfully a number of times to record her meow and finally managed to get a tiny snippet to share.

They say orange tabbies are especially affectionate, and the theory certainly rings true for Josey. She eagerly runs to my chair when I sit down and rubs on my feet. Then she’ll sit on her haunches and wait for an invitation to hop into my lap. She loves to be there, and she’ll turn this way and that until she’s comfortable, then settles in while I scratch her head and stroke her thick, soft fur. And she’s a kisser. I’ll be stroking her with my right hand and cradling her with my left, and she’ll turn her head and lick my left hand or arm a time or two as if to say, “Thank you for the pets. They feel, oh, so wonderful!”

She’s also a tad unpredictable. She’ll purr like an engine as you pet her, and then, as if to indicate she’s had enough, she suddenly nips your hand or arm – not hard, but it startles me every time she does it, and I’ll jump or yell in surprise. That, in turn, startles her, and she promptly hops down.

It’s clear that she doesn’t care for being picked up. If it weren’t for that trait, one might never suspect she was somewhat feral when I rescued her. I’m working on getting her used to it, although I rarely pick up any of the cats. There’s no reason to. Eli definitely won’t let me pick him up except at the vet, and then he acts like a doomed creature, resigned to whatever horrible fate the humans around him have in store. He’s six years old now, and I’m hoping that one of these days, maybe by the time he’s 10, he’ll finally realize he has nothing to fear from me and he’ll surprise me by climbing onto my recliner and curling up beside me. Josephine’s whimsical nature emboldens him, I think, because he will let his guard down and play with her or a cat toy in the living room floor, something he never did before she joined the family.

When it comes to being picked up, for Josephine, it’s a whole new ball game. A few days ago, I was in the kitchen when she ambled in. John was here, and we had been talking about Josey and her aversion to being held, and he challenged me to try to pick her up right then. I said her name as I gently went to grasp her behind her front legs so I could lift her up. She immediately resisted and tried to run, but I had a good hold. As I straightened to lift her and support her back legs and rear end, she suddenly squirmed like a toddler trying to free himself from his mother’s grip, and before I could lower her closer to the ground, she leapt from my hands and landed with her back feet in the cats’ stainless steel water fountain. Water splashed everywhere and the shock of it drove Josey into full panic mode as she scrambled to get away. I had to laugh as she gingerly picked up one back foot after the other and gave them each a shake. She turned to look at me, and I could swear there were daggers coming out of her eyes. She was none the worse for wear, in spite of the traumatic experience, but I won’t be repeating it anytime soon.

As for regret, I have none, because of all of my rescues, in my opinion, Josephine would be the most likely to long for the outdoors, and she seems completely content to be my sweet companion as well as a member of the clowder. She certainly has managed, like all of my cats, to carve a special place in my heart.