Age: 11 Years Sex: Female
|Home:Glasgow, United Kingdom ||[I have a diary!] |
Leave a treat for Princess
Catster stats for Princess
| ||Activeness|| || |
| ||Intelligence|| || |
| ||Curiosity|| || |
| ||Friendliness|| || |
| ||Vocal|| || || |
June 17th 2006
June 19th 2003
Other cats and petting her in the WRONG PLACE!
If it's fluffy, it's dead.
Favorite Nap Spot:
On her favourite person... my boyfriend.
She sounds like a pterodactyl when she protect-miows
"You should NEVER feed a straying cat." The words of wisdom given to me from my mother as I sat on the warm patio paving stones by the back door of our home. Curled and purring in the hollow of my crossed legs was a skinny, flea bitten Maine Coon whose fur I was carefully picking free of matts the size of my fist.
I have always been a magnet for basket cases; every pet I have owned except for a few in my childhood has been an rescue or an unwanted "donation". This was the first time an act of humane kindness seemed to have caused an animal to choose me, though. For the past week "Cat" had been religiously miowing at the kitchen window for a scrap of cold meat. It was a ritual which was began when I was sitting in the garden enjoying crackers, cheese and meat and found the little feline watching me from one of the overgrown bushes.
I'd tossed a piece of meat toward the fluff-ball and she'd carefully stalked forward and gobbled it hungrily. She soon let me touch her and I was disgusted that I was able to feel her ribs, her hips. And so began the cycle.
Once de-matted, wormed and treated for fleas - I owned rabbits who I had to protect - we bought a cheap collar for the cat we now dubbed Princess due to her vocal nature about everything. Onto this collar we taped a note requesting the owner contact us about the cat - she was too friendly to be a stray, too beautiful to have been abandoned. She was missing one digit on her paw so it was obvious she'd once been cared enough to warrant veterinary care. I was about to head off to another city for University, I wasn't looking to own a cat.
Her owner did contact us and we learned Princess, who had been named Rusty by her owner, had been driven from her home by stray cats and had not returned since. The owner had found and caught her several times in an attempt to re-establish Rusty as her cat, but Rusty would flee the house and refuse to return again.
Having found her owner we scooped Princess... Rusty, into a cat carrier and took her back to her owner.
The next morning we were woken up by the hungry cries of Princess - apparently being with her owner was rubbish.
For around one year we tried to stop feeding her, save the odd box of biscuits bought by my dad who was certain she was not finding food from other people and became fed up of her bringing us the carcass of dead birds and mice.
In year two we bought her a collar with a bell on it to save the small animals she was killing and promptly appeared to enter into a strange collar battle: the collar would go missing, a new collar would appear, new collar would go missing, we'd put a bell collar on... then there was nothing.
We began to find Princess tucked in our unused outdoor rabbit run during the night or when we came home during the day. She would burst from the trees as soon as we came back home or opened the back door - it became apparent that she was never leaving.
We began to feed her biscuits morning and night.
We let her sleep on the foot of our bed.
I promised to take her fully into my care once I'd finished university.
In the summer of 2012 I was finally in a position where I could do this. After around six years of living with my parents, of trying to get her to return home and failing, Princess now lives with me and my flatmate's two cats as a house cat.
Her microchip ties her to me.
The tag on her collar identifies her as being mine.
She's finally got her way, and I have a beautiful soul to share my bed and lap with.
9 of 9
The Last Forum I Posted In:
Pancreatitis Side Effect or Getting Old?
I've Been On Catster Since:
|August 14th 2012
||More than 2 years!
Rosette, Star and Special Gift History
October 12th 2012 2:53 am
[ Leave A Comment ]
In person I have never been questioned as to why I often refer to my cat, Princess, as being the Pterodactyl of the flat. It is not just because of her wide range of vocalisations, ( characteristic of being a Maine Coon according to Google) which has earned her this title, but because of how she conducts herself in the flat.
Princess has a favourite perch. This perch is often occupied when Her Person (me) is not playing the role of kitty warmer in a satisfactory manner (so, if I am not letting her lay on top of the laptop keyboard). From this perch on the tallest cat tree rapid-fire-scratch attacks can be launched on toys and those other cats who may wish to invite her to share the highest perch.
When Princess is not defending or sleeping on her perch, she is squawking from it. She will squawk at people inviting them to feed her (or to become food?) as they enter the living room and at the slightest hint that some-Person might be leaving the living room to perhaps venture to the toilet, Princess will happily glide off from her perch (squawking and trilling as she goes) to guide them to a more suitable place to visit. Twisting through that persons feet she will "miaow" and trill and squawk to help that person to the cat's food bowl, which may or may not be empty but just in case please be escorted so you can take immediate action - thankyouverymuch.
The look of betrayal she will give when she realises that person is not following her guidance is heart-withering.
But she's soon on the trail of another person, squawking and trilling and inviting them to feed her again.
See all diary entries for Princess|