Cat Musings — The Elusive One

I knew [Josey‘s introduction] was quite an adjustment for all of [the cats] and especially for Eli. The dynamics had changed, and I honestly wasn’t sure he would ever adjust.

On the Sunday night when I returned home from Oklahoma, it was after midnight on Monday morning when I finally climbed into bed and promptly fell asleep. Sometime during the wee hours, something caused me to stir, and I became aware that I was sharing my bed with four cats, and among the four was Eli. I was so excited to see him nestled next to my knees. It was proof to me that he had missed me, because he had stopped sleeping with me when Josey came into the house a few weeks before my trip. I was sad but not really concerned because I knew it was quite an adjustment for all of them and especially for Eli. The dynamics had changed, and I honestly wasn’t sure he would ever adjust. All I could do was be persistent in my treatment of him, encouraging him to allow me to pet him and calling him at bedtime in hopes that he might decide he missed the attention I always gave him. As you could see from the video I took of him a couple of years ago, he would tip himself over towards me repeatedly, flopping down in a positively goofy way. I would stroke his slender body and scratch his head as he rubbed his face on the sheets, obviously happy to be there with me. It was like a little ritual we would perform together before he would settle on the covers next to my legs, and it would reassure me that he was happy.

All of that changed when I rescued Josephine. Eli was intimidated by her, at least at first. I thought with a little time, he might realize she was closer to his age than the other cats and just as playful as he was, and they might become good buddies. As the weeks passed, I began to have doubts. And I sorely missed the little guy.

In addition to his unusual health issues when I rescued him as a kitten, I soon learned that he was quite sensitive to, well, just about everything. His eyes would get gunky, the bridge of his nose would turn red, and he just didn’t seem to feel good...classic signs of allergies. Regular trips to the vet ensued for allergy shots, and they were always majorly stressful undertakings. More than once I was forced to ransack my own bedroom in order to capture him. I would come home to a scene that looked like something out of an FBI raid, with the mattress overturned and dresser drawers hanging open with the contents strewn about. As crazy as it was for me, it was far worse for Eli because, as a semi-feral animal, he must have thought he was being captured for the slaughter, to be skinned and skewered over the spit. You think I’m exaggerating, but I assure you I am describing it just as it happened. It was amazing how he could slip into the tiniest spaces to hide, including behind the drawers of my dresser where he would slip over the back and into the drawer.

Fortunately, the allergy shots helped and would last three or four months, so I didn’t feel like I was tormenting him with the stressful captures quite so much. Something else worth noting is that through it all, he never bit me or so much as hissed. When I finally managed to scruff him and put him in the carrier, he was completely resigned to his fate. He made not a sound on the drive to the vet, and once there, he would curl up like a tiny kitten when the vet tech scruffed him and pulled him out of the carrier for his examination and shot — more evidence of his undeniably gentle nature.

Now, my gentle little Eli would have nothing to do with me, and it filled me with sadness. He has not slept next to me since that first night home more than a week ago now. But there is hope. On two occasions completely out of the blue, he has appeared on my bed while I was reading or playing Whirly Word on my iPad and plopped down beside me at the head of the bed, pandering for pats and strokes from my hand. Most recently it was Sunday night after a particularly poignant moment downstairs.

I was preparing to turn in for the night, and Eli had come downstairs and was sitting across the room next to the smaller cat tree by the patio doors. As I slipped into my house shoes, I said to him in a slightly pleading voice, “Eli, would you come upstairs and let momma pet you tonight?” He stared at me intently for a moment but didn’t budge. I kneeled down on the rug, and as I stretched out my hand, I started to ask again if he might let me pet him, but he suddenly turned like he was going to bolt. I dropped my arm and reassured him I wouldn’t try to touch him, and he stopped, resuming his wary stare in my direction. I slowly stood up and turned away, but if my disappointment was a palpable thing, maybe Eli would sense it, like animals can sense fear.

A few minutes later when I was settled against my pillow with my iPad, he appeared next to me and promptly plopped himself down for attention.

“Eli!” I exclaimed happily. “I’m so glad you’re here!” I stroked him and scratched his head while he purred contentedly.

After a few minutes, he hopped down and disappeared, but I was elated by the visit and hopeful that soon this gentle creature will once again nestle next to me...and Samson...and Andre...and Josey. 😽