When cats attack, or not

By Cortney Philip

HappyNews Citizen Journalist

Introducing a third cat into my previously harmonious household has made me look at my spoiled domestic friends in a whole new light. Despite the fact that Ben and Sasha are "Momma's cats," they still possess residual territorial and predatory instincts, which have been manifesting themselves in new ways.

I've been asking myself a lot lately: Will my cats ever be nice to each other again? Can they overcome their inherent natures to accept a new cat on their turf?

Thinking about ways to help my kitties cope as well as to become more generous has led me down memory lane in search of answers. Of all the cats I've known and loved over the years, I keep thinking back to Tabby and random act of kindness that defied everything I know about cat nature.

Tabby and I literally grew up together. One of my earliest memories is of being at a woman's house with a herd of kittens running around my feet. My mom said, "Pick one," and I pointed at the only kitten sitting still because it scared me less than all the others. The kitten came home with us and became Tabby.

She quickly grew up to be a fat, grumpy, antisocial thing who loved my mom (sometimes) and no one else. When friends and relatives came over and wanted to pet the "beautiful cat," Tabby often bit so hard she drew blood. Whenever Tabby yakked up a hairball, she said "Mama." Other than that, Tabby was silent and stoic like the giant slabs of rock at Stonehenge.

More than anything, though, I wanted Tabby to love me. I picked her, and she was supposed to be my kitten. For years, I chased Tabby around our house trying to pet her and cuddle with her. That just made things worse. As I got older, it turned into a game. Tabby hated nothing more than unasked-for affection, and I lavished it upon her.

I learned to chill out and accept Tabby for the cat she was during my teenage years. It probably helped that I'd had my share of hamsters and guinea pigs by then and didn't need Tabby to return my love.

We settled into a routine: I talked to her from a distance, and only petted her if one of us happened to be walking by the other. I think Tabby actually started to like me, but she never sat in my lap or did any of that cute stuff other people's cats did on a regular basis.

Of my sister and I, it was me who brought home the random strays and injured birds. As a teenager who worked and drove, I extended my circle of animal rescue to our local Meijer, where one could purchase a "feeder" fish for only 15 cents. Not wanting the poor goldfish to die in the jaws of turtles or piranhas, I started bringing them home. Soon, goldfish bowls covered my poor mother's kitchen counter and refrigerator.

I was watching TV in the living room one day when it happened. Tabby ran from the kitchen to the living room at top speed, a speed which none of us had seen from her before. She sat at my feet and howled frantically, like Lassie might have told me little Timmy got stuck in the mineshaft again. I jumped to my feet, sure the house was on fire. Tabby led me to the kitchen, howling the whole way. She stopped and stuck her nose at one of my goldfish, flopping around helplessly on the floor. I scooped up the fish, plopped it back in its bowl, and stared in amazement at this grumpy, bloodthirsty cat who passed up the opportunity to chew up my goldfish. Despite her killer instincts and less than perfect relationship with me, Tabby must have known the goldfish was important to me.

The older Tabby and I got, the closer we became. I never forgot how she put herself aside to save my goldfish, and I treated her with a newfound respect. She died several years ago, but I think about her often because Sasha reminds me of her in a lot of ways. If a mean old cat can save a goldfish, I know my cats are capable of relaxing the boundaries of their territory and letting their new sister into their lives and litter boxes.

In the meantime, I'm glad I have a bedroom with a door that closes tightly.

This story was produced by HappyNews Citizen Journalist, Cortney Philip. Philip lives in Ypsilanti, Michigan and works as a freelance writer.

For more information on contributing to Happynews, click here.