I've written about Precious before. He (for a long time we thought he was a she) came into our lives a little over two years ago and we begain feeding him. But he was not very trusting and he would not let us get close to him.
He was not in good shape, too thin with a moth-eaten look, probably from flea infestation, and living rough. Some people here urged me to use any means to capture him, but he was too savvy for that.
Last November, my husband decided that we should try to lure Precious into our front hall so he could stay there on cold or wet nights (This part of Florida can get very cold sometimes in the winter). So I started putting the food dish on the porch, then in the doorway, then in the hall, and further into the hall until he was coming half way into the length of the hall.
But, he would only come in as long as the door was open behind him.
One afternoon, DH lured Precious into the hall as I was bringing his food to him. Somehow, DH managed to shut the door to the outside just as I opened the door to the inside. Precious shot inside like a streak of black lightning.
He made his way upstairs to a loft we rarely use and stayed there. All efforts to lure him down were met with very indifferent success... He would come down sometimes when we were all in bed or he thought we were in bed. The slightest movement sent him flying back upstairs.
DH would go upstairs and pet Precious, who always responded more positively to him than anyone else.
Precious spent three months upstairs (totally ruining the carpet -- no good deed goes unpunished. Oh well, I always hated that carpet. I'll spend a couple of weeks this summer tearing it out and replacing it with parque or hardwood floors)
Then one Saturday evening about two or so months ago, Precious made his way downstairs and started loving on DH. He allowed me to brush him and cut off some of the fur matts from his long hair. I was amazed at his sudden docility.
The next morning, I discovered a nasty clean up job in the hall. Since I have six other cats living here, I wasn't sure who was sick. I found Precious in the bathroom, lying in the bathtub. I got him a thick towel to lie on.
A half hour or so later, my son told me that there was another clean up job in the bathtub. Precious was lying in it on the towel... Sigh. So I cleaned that up and tried to clean up Precious, but my damp paper towels kept coming away really dirty. So, I thought, "well, he is in the bathtub..."
I started bathing him. To my disbelief, he made only two very feeble attempts to get away and then just accepted it...
As I rinsed him, I noticed a stream of rusty red just pouring off of him. I thought, "OH MY GOD! This cat is dying!" I wrapped him in a towel and rushed him to the emergency vets office, which fortunately is only six or seven blocks away.
Precious was so flea infested that he had flea anemia and was close to death. I guess he realized he was in trouble and that's why he came downstairs. He was treated with one of those pills that causes fleas to drop dead immediately and I took him to my regular vet on Monday.
(Turns out that Precious is somewhere around 15 years old; which means he was an irresponsible person's pet who never neutered him and then apparently dumped him. It's doubtful that a feral cat would live to be that old.)
Of course, my whole house then exploded with fleas. It's taken me a couple hundred dollars and more than a month, but I think that problem is under control now, to my poor little doggie's relief.
Precious still spends most of his time upstairs, but always comes down in the evening to sit with my husband and allows me to occasionally pet him. He's still as skittish as they come. However, he has decided, despite the bath and athe vet visits, that he doesn't want to go outside anymore. He's found a safe haven with food; he's determined to stay...
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