Baxter is generally a very mild mannered “gentlecat”. But once, he had a bad moment that showed another side of him.
I was in a hurry one evening to get back to the office for a meeting. I went home to grab a quick bite of left-over chicken for dinner, and in cleaning up afterwards, I put the chicken bones, skin and uneaten parts into a small garbage bag to throw into the outside garbage container. Getting ready to leave the house, I put this bag on a table near the door until I put on my coat and hat. Then the phone rang, and after I hung up, I was so distracted that I left the house with used chicken parts sitting in a plastic bag on the table near the door. It was too much temptation for Baxter.
When I returned a couple of hours later, I couldn’t find Baxter. I found a few chicken bones but no cat. I called his name, looked in all his usual hiding spots, and shook his treat container, but still no cat appeared.
Then I heard him. He was in the spare back room crying and hissing. When I got to the door, he was beside himself. He had found what was left of the chicken and tore open the bag to get at it. Somehow, he got the bag wrapped around his belly and it wouldn’t release. He hissed and howled and cried and glared at me. Whenever I would try to approach him, he became even more belligerent. He had worked himself into a frenzy over this bag that held him prisoner, and there was no soothing him. He was in a ridiculous predicament of his own making, and he wasn’t about to let anyone help or calm him.
I didn’t know what to do, so I just closed the door to the room where Baxter was. I decided to call the emergency vet for some help. That went nowhere as they offered me no advice except to bring him into the clinic. But that was my problem. He wouldn’t let me approach him, so how was I going to take him anywhere without becoming a scratched and bloody victim of his rage. Baxter ate the chicken, and I became chicken.
I decided that maybe “time out” was in order. I would just stay in the living room and watch television for a while. Give him time to settle down in the spare room. I quit calling him. I opened the door a crack, and I pretended he wasn’t around. I allowed him to settle down. It worked.
After about a half hour, Baxter came slowly out of the room with the plastic bag still wrapped around his belly. He sheepishly walked up to me and rolled on his back. I petted him gently for a few minutes. Then I got a pair of scissors and cut the bag away from his body. Shortly afterwards, he stood up, went to his water dish and drank a healthy portion. Aside from the chicken bones strewn around the house and a few towels and other clothes scattered about in his desperation to get free of the bag, nothing was the worst for wear. But we both learned a few things.
Baxter learned to stay away from what he couldn’t handle, even if the temptation seemed so good and enticing. He learned to stop fretting and fuming if he wanted to get over the incident. He learned to gear down and be quiet if he wanted to return to his old, affable self. He learned that “time out” isn’t just for kittens, but adult cats need to stop, take a deep breath, and let go of their anger, if life is to get back to normal again.
I learned that I can’t fix things as quickly and easily as I thought I could. I learned to allow Baxter his space to work out his feelings before he faced me again. I learned to speak softly when he is hissing and crying loudly. I learned to go slowly when he did return—pet him gently and calmly—then when he was ready, to cut loose the bag holding him bound. I learned to let him take care of himself once he was free, and to let him decide when he could come close again and sit on my lap. I learned to respect Baxter’s desires and disposition, and not force him to meet my desires and disposition all the time. I learned how not to own Baxter but to care for him.
A cat, chicken bones and an absent-minded cat lover--God uses the strangest things at times to teach us His ways and wisdom.
