The cat woman
Brenda Nash helps troubled kitties become more adoptable
Peter the stray cat rubs his fluffy head against the wire cage. He pauses briefly, and his big yellow eyes cast what human’s might interpret as a please-pet-me look toward Brenda Nash, standing a few inches from his cage door and wearing Kevlar sleeves up to her knuckles.
She had considered leather gloves, but felt her relationship with Peter has progressed to the point of reduced protection.
Peter continues to display affection, pressing his side up against the door then circling around to repeat the cheek rub and outward gaze.
Nash picks up a spray bottle and spritzes its contents of happy pheromones onto Peter’s bedding and pink stuffed toy elephant. It’s meant to be calming. Reassuring.
Peter freezes, then backs up into a far corner of his square home. He licks his lips. Compulsive licking is a sign, explains Nash, of uncertainty.
She is not deterred. She talks to him in low, hushed tones and blinks slowly, a way of telling Peter that she’s not a threat. In a body language understood by Peter, a dead-on stare reads as aggression.
The black-and-white four-year-old tomcat with a scratch across the bridge of his nose, was brought to the Lincoln County Humane Society 12 days earlier as a stray. He is unpredictable. Warm and lovable until he sinks his teeth into your hand.
A rainbow of labels are attached to the front of his cage. The pink note indicates he’s been quarantined for biting a staff member. Blue means he is given a special diet of “calm food” to reduce his stress. A big orange label reads, in bold caps: AGGRESSIVE OR FERAL. And a green note designates Peter as a participant in the shelter’s UFR program -- Under-socialized Feline Rehabilitation, a program Nash, a volunteer, initiated three years ago.
Nash has a soft spot in her heart for troubled and difficult felines. A retired kindergarten teacher, she has what they need – time and patience. “You cannot hurry a cat. It has to be on their time,” she says.
She heads a team of volunteer cat socializers who give the felines copious quantities of human time. A small group of them specialize in the more difficult cats.
In Nash’s mind, the reward is deeply personal; to give a persnickety cat (her word) the best chance at a happy life.
“It’s not a stray anymore. It’s not unwanted anymore,” she says. “It’s warm and sheltered and happy.”
Cats like Peter aren’t exactly adoption material.
Reality is, his erratic temperament is a safety issue, putting people at risk for bacteria-infected bites and scratches. If not for Nash (and a relatively new barn program for feral cats) he might otherwise be euthanized, said Kevin Strooband, executive director.
The UFR program, along with several other initiatives at the shelter, has contributed to a significant drop in the cat euthanasia rate. Cats are euthanized if they are feral to the extreme or sick beyond treatment, but never for space, he added.
Stray cats like Peter have unknown life stories. They were likely either neglected or abused.
Abandoned cats turn feral to survive on the streets, and mistreated cats quickly learn to distrust humans. “Cats have a long history of being disposable pets,” said Strooband, who has taken home his share of wayward kitties.
And yet, the bad can be undone. Time, patience and the right human contact by cat socializers like Nash, can in his words: “Teach them a behaviour of trust.
“It’s a huge undertaking for Brenda to bridge that gap.”
Trust is built gradually. A cage visit where the cat hides behind its litter box, barely sniffing a volunteer’s hand, might be the start of the relationship. Eventually, the cat consents to being touched, petted, then picked up. A quiet room with a supervising human gives cats a chance to explore on their own terms.
Nash pauses in front of a jet black female cat named Pancakes. She cowers in a small cubby attached to her cage. It’s her safe space, explains Nash.
Progress is measured in small steps. Pancakes used to pee or defecate when Nash picked her up. She’d tremble and shrink away from human touch. Eventually, she would sit on Nash’s lap, her head pressed deep into her human’s arm pit in an attempt to hide from the world.
These days, Pancakes will sit on her lap while Nash strokes her head.
She has been working with Pancakes for more than two months.
Next comes Pippi, a two-year-old female. Wearing Kevlar sleeves, Nash gently coaxes her from her cage, puts her in a carrier and walks her to a small room. When she opens the carrier, Pippi bites the protective sleeve. Nash remains calm, even after one of Pippi’s claws becomes caught in the Kevlar.
“Now you’re stuck, honey,” she tells the kitty, who hisses and bites again. “OK. It’s up to you. You have to take your claws out.”
She relaxes her arm, until eventually they peacefully separate.
Pippi spends the next several minutes wandering the room as Nash sits on the floor. Eventually, the feline rests herself on Nash’s thigh, closes her eyes and gives permission for a lengthy head scratch.
Meanwhile, Peter is being kept in a separate room, quarantined for his indiscretions.
His fate is yet to be determined; it depends on his socialization success. At best, he could be placed in the shelter’s regular adoption program. Or, he might be transferred to a special foster home for UFR cats who need some home time before adoption. Or, if he’s too feral for house living, he might end up in the barn cat program, adopted into a farm-like setting where he would have warm shelter but live out life as a mouser.
Either way, it’s better than life on the streets, says Nash.
She opens his cage door and reaches partway in. Her strategy is to let Peter make the moves. And he does. “Hi Peter,” she says, calmly. “That’s a good boy so far.”
“They can feel your energy,” she explains, as Peter rubs his cheek against her covered arm, then progresses to her shoulder.
She does not show fear. “I can’t let him feel that,” she says. “They can feel that tension.”
And then, a breakthrough moment. They are face-to-face, Nash slow blinking and then Peter, touching her forehead with his.
“This is the type of behaviour that gives you hope,” she says.
With that, she backs away and closes his cage.
Ending, always, on a good note.