Kitten taming

Learning to sharpen claws. Probably Tarquin's littermates

Tarquin's littermates and the tagalong kitty

When we trapped the five kittens (Tarquin's littermates plus one older kitten who made the bad decision of tagging along with the little kids), I was socializing cats at the Naperville Humane Society. I had been laid off from my writing job at Arthur Andersen and decided cat socializing would lower my blood pressure and help out cats who needed homes. In addition to our supply of cats and kittens in the back yard, we also had a family of ground hogs. There was mom and four babies nipping in and out from under the deck. Lloyd named the big one Dozer--short for Bulldozer. We've gave them some lettuce to keep them away from our garden, but they did manage to knock over my potted begonias and dash it to pieces. For some reason the cats and ground hogs cohabited without any angst or bloodshed. 

After Lloyd trapped the five kitties, we kept them in a shed in our back yard--it had been a kid's playhouse, so was much nicer than a crummy old shed. I would go in there with them with toys and food and just sit with them and try to get them used to being handled. Eventually they got a bit more trusting. When playing with a cat toy, one touched his nose to my finger! 

Tarquin at the back

Tarquin (then known as Delino) had a little smudge of white on his chest, which said made him look like he was wearing a vicar's robe. He also had one white toe on his rear paw and some white under his arms. When he made eye contact with me, there was no fear in his eyes. He somehow knew I wouldn't hurt him. I could pick him up, sit on my lap, and purred his acceptance of the whole event. The others, not so much. One I called Rondelle (he later became Caesar when my friends adopted him and Sammy) was the next-most friendly. Friendly is probably not the best term to use, as my first foray in picking him up resulted in him panicking and then launching himself back into the cage. The littlest one, Sammy, (later to become Marco) just hissed, glowered, and looked pissed off. The remaining two, Gracie, the gray kitten, and E.Y., the tagalong kitten, eventually went to live with my friend's friend on a farm in Iowa. 

Probably Tarquin looking at cat toy

After I decided to adopt Delino/Tarquin, I took him to Vetsmart to test him for any diseases. At the time Lucy and Brilly (a mom and kitten I had adopted back in 1989) were the resident house cats. Had to make sure our little orphan wasn't bringing any nasty diseases into the house.

At Vetsmart, the vet commented on what a nice cat Delino/Tarquin was. The receptionist wanted to weigh the kitten, so I had to take him out of the carrying case. I figured we'd either

be sliced to bits, have a wild cat running amok through Petsmart, or it'd be ok. It was ok. He sat in my lap the whole time, and in the exam room behaved just like all my cats have done: Sat on the towel, as close to the edge as possible, pressed up against me. When I told the vet how wild the others were, he was amazed.

My friends who took Sammy/Marco and Rondelle/Caesar did not have such an easy time. They were little ninja kitties: Armed and dangerous. They'd hiss at them all the time, and didn't want to be picked up. Why Tarquin came around is a mystery to me. That's why we always called him the Mensa kitty. Smart, and figured out being a house cat was an altogether good thing.