The fuzzies

Last night was an event that reminded me of why I thought fostering only one cat (until Annie came back) is a good idea.

I had a busy day yesterday, being stuck on campus for nearly eleven hours. Simba wasn't very happy with me because of that and also because once I got home I didn't have time to play with him (the horror of horrors!) and then, to add insult to injury, I abandoned him (when I've already neglected him) to sit with the Scary Black Thing in the other room. Yesterday was, consequently, the only time in my history of fostering him that he scratched on the door for five minutes after I went to bed. Usually I get about two seconds of noises in the morning to let me know that he knows that I'm up and so would I please come out and pet him? But no, yesterday was scratching and whining after I closed my bedroom door for the night (and he knows it -- the benefits of being a scheduled person during socialization turns out not to be not so great a benefit during fostering).

Then of course, Lucy isn't happy with me at all. She stomped a lot last night and when I went in to check on her she just stared at me balefully. I got the distinct impression that she was blaming me (through no fault of my own) for Kate's disappearance. I was woken up this morning by the sound of rabbit teeth attacking wire cage, which was loud enough to be heard straight through the walls. Feeling somewhat peeved and -- alright -- vaguely guilty, I got up, went over, opened the window, fed her, and petted her, thinking that this might calm her down a little. She bit me, which promptly put an end to the petting session and any desire to let her out of her cage this morning. Socialization has taught me that I shouldn't let an animal out of its cage until it's comfortable with being petted inside of its cage (and Hippo had looked scary back when he hissed at me -- he'd hunker down in the corner of the cage, where it was dark, and the only things I could see would be the two yellow eyes and lots of white teeth). It would be funny if it turns out, in my entire experience of dealing with socializing feral cats, that my only scar is the result of a house-broken (sort of) rabbit. I wonder if this can be used as an advertisement for how tame our socialized kitties are.

Lucy is still making a lot of noise this morning and so, since she's shifted from staring to glaring, I bribed her shamelessly with her treats. Though, considering her reaction to my fingers, I probably will not be sticking my whole hand into her cage any time soon. I will make another attempt later with cranberries, though if she still hates me by Saturday Kate'll have to clean out the cage on her own.

Of course, all of this is taking place with Simba crying piteously outside of the door (just imagine what it'd be like having two cats simultaneously wailing!). I heard a loud thump from the living room area last night, but further investigation, coupled with watching his antics this morning, has forced me to conclude that it was probably Simba falling off of something while he was pouncing.

Ah, there's the stomping again. My cue with cranberries on top. Heh.

[edit: 10/6 13:46]
Lucy hates me.