by Brenda Halverson

Created on: March 05, 2009

He was so very cute and cuddly, this little black and white cat with his pale green eyes and tuxedo markings. As I lifted him from his bed of hay and carried him to the house I fantasized about the wonderful life which stretched before him as the pampered pet of our local dentist, a woman who knows and adores cats. Who could have predicted what was really in store for "Ole the Terrible, The Cat Who Hates Humans"?

It was unexpected, really. I had brought him indoors to make sure he was trained to use a litter box, and to generally get him used to living with people. "Ole" (named by his future owners with a nod to their recent trip to Norway) drank from a dish and ate canned food and dry kitty kibble. He was healthy and playful, attacking my feet as I hurriedly got ready for work in the mornings. When the day came, unsuspecting, I left him with his new owners and joyfully drove away, secure in the knowledge that he had a lifelong home.

Fast forward to three weeks later when I received the discouraging news that things were not fabulous in Ole's new home. Ole was jumping on the bed and attacking the heads of it's occupants in the middle of the night. As they walked, he scratched and bit their legs and feet, to the extent that he drew blood. They did not know what to do with Ole-they were afraid of Ole. They did not want him anymore, and they were bringing him back to me ASAP. Ole (though they did not say this) was too much cat for them.

With Ole back in the house it soon became apparent that he was completely guilty of every accusation-and more. Clearly I needed to defend myself. I slept with my head tightly covered by all the blankets, including the comforter. If I accidentally stuck my head out for air, Ole was on the bed, tearing into my scalp with his teeth. I took to wearing leather shoes indoors and carrying a rolled up newpaper while I did my housework one-handed. Discipline did not work-spraying with wather and time-outs were ineffective. "Snapping" his nose when he bit had no effect other than to further enrage him-and he was angry. Still, I could not stand the thought of putting Ole outside in our harsh winter weather. I continued to try to win him over with kindness, though often resorting to a swat with the ever-present newspaper when he became too violent.

A year and a half later, Ole and I have come to an understanding. He will sleep where he wants, when he wants. I will feed him at regular intervals and clean his litter box and give him water. Other

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