Personal Experience | Cats
He Came to Us Feral and Toothless
How to Teach a Wild Cat to Trust
His name is Fritz.
The first time I saw him in the shelter was like glimpsing a tiger through the jungle floor: a flash, gone as quick as he appeared. Beady, untrusting eyes. A raccoon tail, ears flat against his head, posture desperate to avoid detection.
He had been at the shelter for nearly eight months at that time, and was about t two and a half years old. He and his brothers were picked up in a village in the Czech countryside, but he was the only one left. Some medical complications soon after he was picked up caused him months of suffering, which he attributed to and equated with his captors. He only had two of his teeth. He didn’t trust anybody, and he couldn’t be handled without gloves. He was hiss and swish and aggression.
Still, there was something about him.
In unguarded moments, when we sat absolutely still and spoke in low voices, he would emerge from his hiding spot to take his place in a clowder of kittens. He blossomed with other cats, all sweetness and warmth and happy purrs.
He wasn’t really a fighter, he just didn’t know how to trust.
We Took a Chance
We decided to bring him home as a foster, along with a 7-month-old kitten we had fallen in love with immediately. Since Fritz distrusted humans but responded so well to other cats, we thought it might help him to have a friend.
It took the better part of an hour, four humans, industrial gardening gloves, and nearly an entire bag of treats to wrangle him into a carrier. He was sulky, and brooding, and deeply suspicious.
The ride back to Prague, with three cats in the backseat harmonizing incessantly while the smell of panic and poop wafted through the air, is not one I’ll readily forget.
We were fairly certain we wouldn’t be able to get close to petting him, but were happy to give him space to breathe away from the constant comings and goings in the shelter.
It Took a Lot of Time, and a Lot of Patience
For two weeks, we avoided eye contact and floated around the flat with slow, smooth, controlled movements. We spoke our intentions out loud before getting up and walking across the room, or turning on the shower. We trained ourselves to remove the word “no” from our vocabulary, and adopted gentle, soothing voices.
Every few days, we tried to pet him. He pulled away and hid every time.
Meanwhile, the kitten was cuddly and soft and full of confidence. He came to us as Blackie, but his name is now Cosmo, after Seinfeld’s Kramer; chaotic and unpredictable and uncoordinated and lovable.
He’s younger, and newer, but his trust in us broke down the greatest of Fritz’s walls. If the kitten could trust us, so could Fritz.
They love each other deeply, so much so that it sometimes takes my breath away when I enter a room and catch them in a moment of tender companionship.
The change was gradual, but marked. One day, after some gentle coaxing, Fritz let us touch his head. Over the course of the next few weeks, his tail slowly raised up off what felt like its permanent place between his legs. A week later, we were allowed to pet his back, albeit briefly. I can’t describe the joy I felt when he let me pet his belly for the first time. We discovered a spot on his back, right at the base of his tail, like a magic key.
He’s the Most Playful Cat I’ve Ever Met
We learned that he responded best to play; when the feather dancer came out, he would blossom into a playful kitten. He would jump and pounce and run with wild abandon, never tiring of the game.
I nicknamed him ThunderPaws because he sounds like a whole herd of elephants when he really gets going.
After a thorough play session, I would reach down and — slowly, carefully — pet him, and he would blink passively at me, like it had always been this way.
He started stealing our things: bracelets, pens, little rocks, a particular pair of socks that he carries like a security blanket, his favorite toys. He has designated the spot beneath my desk as his lair, and every morning I sit down to discover an odd assortment of objects he finds intriguing at my feet.
He’s absolutely obsessed with the pinecones my partner brings back for him from her walks in the forest.
We officially adopted them both after their second month with us. A double foster fail, and not a single regret.
Three months later, Fritz is a Different Cat
He loves cuddling, often demanding pets if we’ve been distracted for too long. He grows bolder every day, messes with our things for attention, and defiantly stares us down when we try to chase him off the furniture.
He watches TV with us at night, and has started to fall asleep in our laps. He comes to bed with us every night, and we wake up every morning with some part of him pressed against us. Sometimes he gets so into cuddles he falls off the bed, but he always jumps right back in.
He’s learned our habits, and waits patiently for us to be finished with meetings for his hourly play session. When he just can’t wait, he comes and sits on my desk so I can brush him while I wrap things up.
He sleeps deeply, and doesn’t startle when he wakes up to find us sitting next to him. The other day, he allowed my partner to pick him up for the first time. (He was half-asleep, but progress is progress.)
He has started accepting kisses.
Today is Fritz’s Birthday
He’s three, and we couldn’t be happier that he skulked into our lives.
I’ve learned a lot about trust and what safety means throughout this process, and I’m sure I’ve got a long way to go. We’ve all become a bit more resilient in this house, and I’m so grateful we took the chance on him and gave him the space to trust again.
Perhaps that’s the greatest lesson in all of this: progress happens at its own pace, and sometimes all you can do is create a positive environment for growth to take hold.
Anything is possible with enough patience, love, and time.