Tat, a 2-year old male tabby, came home with us on a Friday, and the guest room was prepared as his own private retreat: litter box, food, water, bedding and ample hiding places. The lining under our old box spring became an instant kitty hammock, cradling our new cat while he peered out at this strange new land. My husband and I both spent quiet time with Tat in his room, and he would come out and visit us briefly. By the end of the weekend, he was growing confident in his own space, and we began leaving the door open when the dogs were outside or secured downstairs.

As for the dogs, well, they’re not the brightest pair. More than 48 hours passed before either clued in that anything was unusual about that closed door. Once they did, curiosity grew to involve a little whining, likely because they suspected food was in there. It wasn’t time for introductions yet. The door remained closed, and the dogs were ushered back downstairs.

I did make an attempt to rush things. Wanting Tat to relax on the bed with me, I invited him up with a pat, but he wasn’t taking the bait. I picked him up gingerly, which he tolerated, but when I got him close to the bed, he growled and hissed at it. Foolishly certain that it would pass, I tried to place him on the bed and deservedly got scratched on the hand. We eventually forgave each other.

The next time I tried to hurry his progress, I took a different track. Tat had become comfortable lounging on the landing at the top of the stairs, so I took out kitty treats to lure him down the steps. He came down one step, and I placed a treat two more steps down. He replied with a look that plainly said, “Lady, you’ve lived with dogs way too long,” before snubbing the treat and returning to his nap spot.

Next time: meeting the dogs

Today’s blog was written by Tabitha Hanes, community relations manager at the Richmond SPCA.

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