THE STORY
On April 26,1995, Colleen Stratton got a call from a friend who told her about a beautiful nine-month-old Siamese-mix in desperate need of a home. “If you don’t take him, he’s going to the pound,” her friend said, intentionally being manipulative. Colleen raced over to save the cat and renamed him Pyewackett. Then she drove him straight to the vet, where he was tested for feline-leukemia, vaccinated, and neutered.
When Colleen brought Pyewackett home and turned him loose with her three other neutered, male house cats, he got along with everyone, except Sho-zen, a shy, eighteen-month old snow Bengal. Sho-zen was afraid of Pyewackett. Once the big bully Pye learned he could intimidate Sho-zen, he would lunge at him when he was hiding under furniture, and whenever he spied Sho-zen on the countertop, he would leap straight up in the air, landing erect on his hind feet. This unnerving display of aggression terrified the Bengal to the extent he was afraid to leave his safety zones in the kitchen. In desperation, Colleen contacted a cat-rescue worker, who told her not to worry. “They’ll work it out. It will take about nine-months.”
Nine months later, the problems had escalated. Sho-zen had begun urine marking the countertop, which created a chain-reaction, as the other cats soon began spraying the countertop as well. And by that time, Pyewackett had completely charmed Colleen, following her around like a puppy dog and sleeping on top of her at night. He was about as easy-going as a cat could possibly be… except when it came to Sho-zen. Colleen’s friends took pity on Sho-zen and told Colleen she should get rid of one of the two (most voting to find a new home for shy Sho-zen), but Colleen loved them both. To her, that felt like Sophie’s choice.
What Colleen did next makes little sense to most people; only true animal lovers would understand. She embarked on a mission to resolve what several behaviorists later defined as the most severe case of feline intermale-aggression they had ever seen. This was challenging because in 1995 the scientific study of feline behavior was in its infancy. Little information was available in books or on the Internet. Additionally, the field of animal behavior had, and still has, no regulation. Anyone can print up business cards and go into business, claiming to be an expert. As a result, in the early stages of her quest, some of the advice she received from these so-called professionals, such as putting the cats in cages side-by-side for a month, made matters even worse. Soon, Colleen’s cats were urine-marking the corners of every room, peeing on the bed, the kitchen countertop, and the clothes in her closet. Colleen was frustrated beyond belief.
In the spring of 2000, Colleen was referred to Dr. Rhea Dodd, a veterinary behaviorist in Colorado. She was a lifesaver. With Dr. Dodd’s help over the phone, Colleen implemented a time-share program. The cats were separated by a closed door at all times and put on anti-anxiety medications. Although these practical solutions were intended to set the cats on the path to peace, lapses in the closed-door security, combined with the unintended results of the medications, resulted in even more injuries to Sho-zen, and the side-effects of the drugs may have compromised Pyewackett’s health.
A few years later, after two of Colleen’s four cats died of old age, the situation improved a bit. But, Colleen was left with two cats that hated one another. She came to the conclusion that what she considered a behavioral problem was nothing more than cats behaving like cats. Pyewackett’s aggression and Sho-zen’s spraying was their way of expressing their feelings. After all, they couldn’t sit down and have a conversation with her, could they? They were like two-year olds with tails, throwing tantrums and acting out, except they were acting out the way feral cats have done for thousands of years.
Colleen was enlightened when she read The Cat’s Mind, by Dr. Bruce Fogle. Dr. Fogle states that in feral cat populations in places such as in Venice, Italy, the quantity of resources (food and females) there is in a small area has a direct relationship on the number of male cats that can live peacefully together. She also noticed that Pyewackett seemed to blame Sho-zen for anything that happened to him that he was unhappy about. It was Sho-zen’s fault that Pyewackett went to the vet, that he didn’t get enough to eat, that he didn’t get enough attention. Colleen began to wonder, what does Pyewackett want?
Colleen tried an experiment. She decided to give Pyewackett as much food as he wanted. This was complicated by the fact that Pyewackett tended to eat so much when fed freely, that he looked like a sumo wrestler. Colleen had fed him meals for years, because his veterinarian was concerned about his weight.
The experiment worked. Pyewackett did gain a little weight, but his aggression diminished dramatically. Why none of the behaviorists, veterinarians, psychics, or opinionated friends had not suggested this remains a mystery.
Colleen Stratton’s grumpy old cats still hate each other, but they no longer destroy her home. She no longer needs to keep a door between them. Sho-zen is no longer in danger of being injured. The Psycho Kitties now cohabit in “manageable” peace.
