So, I had a rough day yesterday. For the first time in my over 15 years of fostering, I had to have a (relatively) healthy foster animal euthanized. Tessa ("Quintessa") had been with me for 2.5 years. I had pulled her and three other kittens in the summer of 2017. They were a challenging bunch as one had some pretty severe neurological problems. She and the other kittens are long adopted. Tessa was always shy and never really progressed from shy. She enjoyed the company of other cats and the occasional company of humans and it was always my hope that we'd find a good placement for her where not much was expected of her in the way of social behavior. I also hoped that her eventual transfer to a lower-traffic home would improve her shyness.
Unfortunately, around the end of last year, she began to decline. She started camping out in the basement, unwilling to come upstairs even to eat. So I brought food and water down to her in the basement and tried to work on her. She'd have moments where she seemed almost fine and moments where she was frightened out of her mind, pupils hugely dilated and unwilling to be touched or even approached without running. I didn't push it. Then mid-January she disappeared.
Two days of searching later, I discovered a face peeking out of the basement rafters at me. She'd gotten up into the unfinished basement ceiling and found her way into an inaccessible (for humans) crawl space under the main floor's bathroom. The problem was, she couldn't, or wouldn't, come out. She'd call out at night and vocalize, which made me think she was unhappy there, or perhaps hungry...I knew she couldn't stay up there. There were two places above the laundry room I could see her occasionally. After five days of hiding in the ceiling, I lured her partially out with a can of tuna--as hungry as she must have been, she wouldn't touch the tuna until I left the room. I snuck back in to find her eating it and made a lunge. Caught her by her back legs as she was slinking back into her hidey hole, and because she was in the ceiling, I couldn't access a scruff for a safe catch. After more than sufficient warning (growling, hissing, and peeing on me) she bit me twice as I got her down. I managed to confine her.
Her bite quarantine, as required by the county and state, ended on Saturday. Yesterday I took her in to be euthanized. It was not the bite. It was a combination of the bite, her increasingly anti-social and reclusive behavior, and her prospects of placement. She had shown that she was more than willing to hide for days without food. How could I adopt out this cat to someone? In addition to the liability risk due to her bite history, she was now even more frightened. Something had clicked in her brain and she'd resorted to nearly feral behavior.
I contemplated barn or outdoor placement. But I could imagine this cat, who'd lived in the warmth and comfort of a home for 2.5 years, being confused and afraid of a new situation. Would she know well enough to get food? Would she be willing to come out of whatever corner of a barn she'd found refuge in, to get food and water? Would she be HAPPY?
I knew in my heart that she wouldn't be happy, and that there was a decent chance that she would try to starve herself to death. Cats don't understand that they can give themselves hepatic lipidosis from periods of anorexia, even if the period of anorexia isn't itself fatal.
I made the hard decision. With my county's shelter trying to tell me that I should attempt a barn placement for this cat, I ignored their well-meaning advice and I said goodbye to Tessa. I opted for a quick, painless, easy end for her. But not for me.
I feel deeply that I've failed. I promised this cat to find her a home, and I didn't. It's not like I didn't give her time, or space, but there must be something else I could have tried! I've seen and heard of people taming feral cats, but this cat was not one to tame. She didn't want anything that I had, tasty food or treats or play. She didn't want pets. I don't know what she wanted, but it wasn't this life, and I don't know what life it was. I couldn't find out.
Tessa, I'm sorry. Your passing was painless for you but it was incredibly painful for me. I don't know. I'm at a loss. I feel like I did, kind of, the right thing, by this cat, but maybe not. Maybe I could have tried longer, or harder, or differently, and we would have met with a different, happier outcome.
#FosterPrograms#feralcat