Maire has already detailed a bit about Grendel: he broke into the house last week, and got into a hell of a fight with our cats. Once it became apparent he was injured and appeared to be a stray-a reasonable assumption about an adult tom cat with dreadlocks growing down his back-we dropped him off with the SPCA, thinking they’d help him.
That turned out to be a bit of a mistake. I got a ring the next day at work from someone at the SPCA’s office explaining that he was dangerous and they couldn’t handle him, and it was most likely they would put him down; they were having to sedate him just to treat his injuries.
I couldn’t have that.
Having-albeit unintentionally-trapped the bugger and handed him over to the SPCA, I feel responsible for him, at least to the extent that he doesn’t end up getting killed. He’s a massive, healthy tom, and dreads, the fight, and a few fleas aside, is in pretty good nick. I did a little reading and decided I’d have a go at socialising him to people, with a view to getting him a good home next year. Maire agreed to this plan, and we solicited the help of Kris from the Cats Protection League to offer us some advice on whether I was off in la-la land with my web browser; she suggested it was actually doable, if fairly difficult.
So I asked the SPCA to neuter him and shave his back. After all, the latter option is quite popular amongst the modern male, so it moves the big bruiser into the metrosexual set. We collected him on Christmas Eve; unfortunately there’s no way of explaining to the lad that his Christmas present is not having his nuts chopped off, it’s getting to live. He also gained a name: Grendel, after the Old English monster that invades halls and eats the occupants.
Kris had bought around a holding cage of the sort the SPCA and the CPL use for their resident cats as a first place to begin acclimatising him, and we installed it, Grendel, and some creature comforts in the spare room. So far he’s been easy to handle-I haven’t had a bite or scratch yet, or even an attempt at same. He’s eating, drinking, and yet to develop a clue about his litter box. But he has gone from squatting in the corner of the laundry in terror to glaring out from his new bed:
He’s absolutely enormous: his muscles have muscles. What look like big, fluffy cheeks are actually massive jaw muscles with a bit of fur over the top, and his neck is roughly the same size as my arm. He’s beginning to develop a little more confidence, going as far as to hiss a couple of times when being take out of his cage for a cage cleaning.