Happy Thanksgiving! We went for walk to Beacon Hill, enjoying the unseasonably warm weather. Later we'll be meeting Some Assembly Required and his missus (as he calls her) for a holiday dinner on Newbury Street.
I had plenty of things to be thankful for already, but Wendy decided to grace me with her presence this morning and we had a long petting session. I'm recovering from the shock and excitement. She has not been seen since.
I was drinking tea in my husband's chair, which is one of Wendy's two sacred spots where she can be petted without fleeing in terror. But only by my husband. Since the arms of that chair are slippery, he pulls a dining chair up alongside it, and she curls up on that. I took over his setup last night and she came over and sat down expectantly. But as I reached out to touch her, she remembered that I am Evil Mommy and took off.
I had also tried to make this happen a few times when my husband was in Brussels earlier this month, figuring she'd be missing his attention, but she wouldn't come near me.
This morning, it worked. And I had my
camera iPhone ready:
Wendy waits for me to pet her! Alert the media!
She let me pet her on the chair for a while, and then she jumped onto the armchair for more attention. I was finally able to get a half-decent picture of what we call her "Party Pants":
With their fluffy pants, I always say my cats are as cute from the back as from the front.
We've had Wendy for six years and she's been terrified of me almost the entire time. She was a skittish feral kitten when she arrived but she warmed up to us a bit in those early days. But then she got various health problems and needed lots of medication and other unpleasantness, for which she's blamed me ever since, I guess. And we were also told not to handle her very much since she was contagious. So we missed that small window of time where we could have socialized her into friendliness and trust... so she is very different from our other four. She watches them welcome attention and affection from us but can't relax and enjoy it herself. Her days are full of fear and worry. I'm not sure she even knows that she's also a cat and, like her brothers, entitled to love, security, and all that good stuff. Instead she constantly behaves as if she is Going To Be Killed. There is no other way to explain her bizarre behavior.
Today I documented my actual hand touching an actual Wendy. I also took movies, which record her loud purring.
Eventually she had enough and left to spend the rest of the day hiding under the bed. As I took this last photo, I wondered if her walnut-sized cat brain was discovering just who had been petting her.
From her dilated pupils, I believe she's thinking, "Oh, Noes! I have survived another Very Close Brush with Death":
It was fun while it lasted. I've reached the conclusion that Wendy is simply not bright, and her letting me spread my Evil Mommy scent and germs all over her fur today pretty much confirms that. I know I made zero progress in getting her to warm up to me anywhere else in the house. But that's life with Mrs. Party Pants — rarely a party.