Genes & T-Shirts

Genes and T-Shirts

Barbara J Nosek

Her looks are alluring, disarming, the textbook definition of adorable – and totally deceiving. This kitty is able to hide her true nature behind her ragdoll mother’s contribution, china blue eyes in a perfect cool gray triangle with matching soft plump paws and showpiece tail, surrounding a fluffy cloud of snow white fur.

But of course that's only half the gene story, and as experience proved, not the dominant half. Nope. That’s the province of her daddy, feral and full Bengal, a breed born in the 70s when a domestic tabby spent a romantic evening with an Asian leopard cat, a wild creature banned as pets in many countries, requiring special licenses in others.

And Lucinda {Lucy as an affectionate reduction} favored the paternal heritage when she joined our household, taking feline aloofness into a new dimension, instructing one and all that touching her may well trigger a whap-ready paw. Her previous mom warned that a few scratches on the head may be okay but not her back, and don’t try to pick her up, those back claws are no joke.

I’d had a ragdoll years before. His mother was a black stray, as a neighbor informed us, father unknown but we could make a pretty good guess. Mom and son showed up in our yard, and bowls of food and water later – surprise! – started coming back on a daily basis. They also communed through the sliding doors with our two indoor cats, and nobody seemed too upset about the “company.” So, yep, we ended up bringing them in too.

Mom, quite the porker, was a bit feisty but dear Lord did she love food and that tamed her to an acceptable level. And actually, truth be told, the fact that she was on the losing end of a first-day encounter with our slim and elegant tortie probably had a whole lot to do with the shape of the future.

There was no actual fight. None needed. An unexpected hisssssssss from our small black and gold girl - her mouth appearing to open the length and width of her entire face, her volume and duration Olympic-worthy - was sufficient. Removed all question as to who would be ruling this roost.

But it’s her boy, a classically designed ragdoll, that provides the context for this years-later tale. In place of Lucinda’s gray, Punky had blackest black accents, an incredible setting for those ragdoll eyes. In the pecking order of four cats, he came in around five or six. But, oh my, he was pure sweetness in feline form.

If Punky was sitting on the arm of the couch we had to touch foreheads. If in my lap, the briefest glance down would result in him pushing the top of his head ever so gently into my lips. And given the breed’s physique, I could quite literally drape him over my arm and carry him all over the place. He would greet us with an adorable squeaky little chirp, a ragdoll’s version I guess of meow. I thought so often, had no one ever taken him in all that love would have gone to waste.

I want to be clear that I never took in Lucy expecting her to be a clone of Punky, having had enough cats to know each has its own personality. But I was sort of hoping for some ragdoll leanings. With what I’d seen so far, had to wonder if they would ever appear.

Meanwhile, though this is mostly Lucy’s story, I’d like to take a moment to also draw a contrast with Lucy’s exotic sister Luna, who couldn’t look more Bengal – muscular, broken stripes, spotted belly, ringed legs and tail, slightly elevated hind quarters, and those Bengal eyes, that unreadable expression. But, go figure, she’s as friendly as can be, purrs a lot, loves to be petted including belly rubs, joins me in the chair, sleeps on the bed, greets me on the stairs when I’ve been out, loves to rub her head against my arms or legs, comes when I call her.

And one other identifying Bengal trait – Luna is Talkative, with a very much intended capital T. You ask a question, she’ll answer. Other times she’ll just volunteer conversation. And while I could be accused of giving her some leeway, for all the world at times her responses seem appropriate to the situation. For example, though she usually moves out of the way at the top of the steps when I’m coming up, she chose the occasion of me carrying a heavy box to go back to her beauty sleep. Move! Luna, Move!! Get the {censored}!!! Finally up, walks away, head down, and in the most plaintive voice, “Ohhhh Kayyyyy.”

When the catnip is unleashed, and while Lucy just lays around glaze-eyed, Luna stages a ticket-worthy show, jumping around as if stung by a hive of bees, in the process teaching her toys a lesson they won’t soon forget, and on occasion rolling down a step or two.

Her exuberance, or maybe as close as she’ll ever come to revealing her wild streak, used to play out in another way that was kinda funny, slightly painful. When I’d be taking food to her dish she’d run behind, using her paws to “help me along.” I started telling her, “You first!” and she apparently understands the language as well as speaks it because when I say that now she goes ahead. But not convinced I’m still heading dish-ward, she’ll keep hesitating and looking back, testing my braking powers. So then I say, “Step it up” and she takes off at a stiff-legged trot. Twice a day amusement, guaranteed.

So, Lucinda, my little queen of the jungle? None of those things.

I remember her previous mom’s words of warning about limiting scratches and no picking up.  But what I now hear is – not unless you already have the car started and your shoes on, ready for a fast trip to the ER. But I kept cautiously pushing the zone until eventually I could usually add three back scratches, even though that usually earned me a look back with a “how dare you” expression, but nothing more.

And it was encouraging that even though she didn’t engage very much, at least sometimes she would hang out with me wherever I was. She did, of course, show up like clockwork in front of her dishes for morning treats and evening supper.

Approaching her on her throne, aka the cat tree, was another place where the caution light came on. Stand at the other side of the window, all good. Move a bit toward her and a paw raised up ready for combat.

She would jump up on the couch with me, but only at the far end, and I had to be curled into a fetal position at the other end in order to maintain a proper buffer zone. If I had any questions where that started and stopped the band aid on my toe served as a handy reminder.

And, eventually she started jumping on the bed with me but only to brace herself against my head so she could look out the window. If something outside captured her attention she might even stretch out on the pillow and stay awhile, now her back instead of her butt plastered against me. Even though I was just being used as a backstop, loved that she was comfortable being that close to me. Still no picking up though.

So there were incremental signs of progress, but ever so slow. I was grateful that neither of my little Bengals were bitey, neither inclined to go into attack mode. But I began to wonder if I would ever be able to bond with Lucy, or just have to accept her as a semi-wild stranger.

And then, covid stepped in. Not the disease, the prevention.

I had breezed through all the vaccinations with little more than a bit of chills the night of, all better by morning. But then came the time, assured it would be fine, that I had the covid shot and flu shot at the same time. Oops.

Beginning early that evening I was hit with burning fever, freezing chills, debilitating fatigue. No appetite, no energy, just wanted to crawl under the covers. And did.

I awoke the next morning, still sick, sick, sick. Before I even opened my eyes I realized Luna had laid her head on my outstretched arm. This was sweet, but not likely related to my bad reaction to the vaccines as she did this often.

Then I did open my eyes. And found myself face to face with Lucy. Lucy!

A friend of mine had told me long ago about a cat she had that was just awful to her. But then she contracted an illness that kept her off her feet for three weeks. Much of that time she would just be resting in her rocker, and most of that time the self-same cat was peacefully curled up in her lap, apparently sensing that she needed some tlc. But then when the friend recovered, guess what. Right back to nasty cat.

Lucy had acted the same way for the first part. But not the second. Mind you she didn’t become Madame Cuddles overnight, but she was definitely a changed cat, gradually spending more time with Luna and me. Maybe my extreme vulnerability that night and morning had made me a little more approachable.

Could this have helped too? On a hunch, I folded the T-shirt I’d been wearing and laid it on her blanket at the end of the couch. And she would jump up there and sleep on that shirt. I left it for a few days and then it really, really, had to go into the laundry. Thereafter I would often lay another laundry-bound shirt in one of her nap spots and she would sometimes sleep on it, sometimes next to it, becoming I’d like to think ever more familiar with my scent, and thus with me.

And in other couch news, I could now actually stretch out my legs along the back of the couch behind her and she was fine with that. No band aids!

Also she’ll now come for pets whenever my hand “just happens” to be hanging over the arm of the chair. Neck and back. And maybe this is sneaky, but I’ve also found she likes backy rubs while she’s at her food dish. Or, praise be, even brushing {previously I always sort of felt sorry for the brush}.

A newer development defies explanation. We spend most of our time on the middle floor of our townhouse, but if I go to the lower level for anything Lucy follows me down, and then  follows me around, chirping all the while. She also rubs back and forth, back and forth, on my legs. If I sit on the couch down there she jumps up next to me. Thinking eventually maybe that welcome behavior can make its way upstairs.

Despite those Lucy challenges, it’s always been a fun ride, with their antics serving up a daily source of joy. Luna’s commentary of course, but also her sprints up and down the hallway like she’s being chased by a bazillion demons, and then her “work-related” run, that being when she’s hears the printer and gets there as fast as she can to guard any papers that may have fallen to the floor, or maybe helping along those that didn’t – it’s her job.

Lucy, somewhat less athletic, gets most of her exercise cramming herself into a padded box designed for a kitten. But giving credit where credit is due she does has a black belt in poses – the glamorpuss over the shoulder one, the Z-form with head and front legs one way and tail and back legs the other, and of course the requisite ragdoll meaning on her side for her lower half, on her back for her upper half, front paws curled over her chest, and I’m pretty sure the eyes saying, You do see how cute I am, right?

So, really, life has been good all along with these two wildcats that I cherish and adore, both so pretty, so funny, so clearly capable of love and affection. Each in her own way a unique character, full of surprises.

We’ve marked a year now, and I’m so confident Lucy’s progress will keep moving on little cat feet right into a fully bonded connection. I kind of picture her ragdoll genes telling her Bengal genes to just chill and they’ll take it from here.

Maybe that’s what’s helping her catch up with darling Luna. Whatever motive forces have come together, it's just so gratifying to see Lucy moving into her ragdoll nature, becoming, friendlier, sweeter, more companionable, more trusting day by day.

Still no picking up.

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