Karnak Street Kats

Sylvester, a long-haired, black and white male, is eighteen years old. He is the oldest cat in the house. I have had Sylvester since he was about four months old, but to this day he barely tolerates me. Sylvester is feral. I trapped him in my neighbor's backyard. My neighbor had seen the wild youngster and asked me to catch him.

I took him to the vet, got him neutered and vaccinated, and brought him home. Released into the house, he became a black and white phantom that appeared for food, then disappeared. Eventually, he became more visible, sleeping on the sofa or on a window sill. He remained untouchable.

Over a very long time, I was able to pet when he was eating his morning ration of canned food. Even then, he would shrink away from my first touch. Slowly, so very slowly, he became accustomed to my touch. I could not pick him up, but I could run my hand across his body with no problem. Sylvester no longer bolted out of the room when I came in.

Sylvester got an upper respiratory infection. His nose dripping, his eyes mattery, he was miserable. I planned my moves carefully. I had a carrier beside his food bowl before I put out the morning repast. When Sylvester arrived to eat, I scooted him into the carrier and closed the door. Sylvester was not happy. He told me so with a mournful wail that dissolved into a cough.

Sylvester spent over a week at the vet on injectable antibiotics. He came home in good physical health, but traumatized by his time away from home. Once more, I had a black and white phantom, but now, one that would not let me touch him even when he ate.

It has taken years, but Sylvester once more allows me to pet him when he is eating and tolerates my presence in the same room as he. My vet thinks that unless Sylvester has obvious signs of illness that he should be left alone. Afterall, Sylvester is an indoor only cat, that has never gone near a door to the outside.