Cuddles, Patience

She hides in the corner, encased in her soft igloo, her safe haven. She'll probably stay huddled inside until the visitors have left, the lights have been dimmed, and the staff has gone home. She'll only dare to move after that, racing out of her igloo and directly to her food and water bowls.

She has done her best to avoid human contact since arriving at the cat sanctuary. It's understandable, to be honest.

She used to live in a house with a family who adored her. She was tended over, nourished, and, most importantly, loved.

So she reasoned.

She was soon hungry, cold, and terrified. People—people she'd never seen before—were attempting to apprehend her for some reason. However, she rapidly became weary of running. Her only desires were for her family, a nice, comfortable bed, and meat scraps in gravy.

She eventually gave in to the pursuit.

She is safe, warm, and well-cared for at the cat sanctuary. But she's still perplexed, terrified, and prone to strike out—a shell of her old self.

People come up to her and compliment her on her beauty, but her hissy growls and quick front left paw hook ensure that they don't stay long. They go on to another enclosure and focus their attention on the curious kittens.

Today, though, will be different. I'm here today.

I'm here to help socialize the cats as a volunteer. I'll enter her enclosure discreetly, take a seat on the floor next to the occupied igloo, and tell this terrified creature how precious she is. My soothing voice will greet her with the care and warmth she requires, even if she doesn't understand what I'm saying.

Most likely, I'll just see two sparkling eyes staring back at me from behind her dark igloo. I'll slide my hand carefully next to the igloo's entrance. She'll hiss at me, indicating that she doesn't want to be stroked. I'll comply with her request and withdraw.

She's most likely yearning for some human compassion. She simply does not know whether or not she can trust me at this time. A hiss is frequently misinterpreted as viciousness and hostility, whereas it is simply a means of stating "I'm terrified."

If she decides to leave her hiding place, I have a few toys on hand that would perhaps peak her attention. Perhaps if she's distracted like this, she'll forget where she is and happily pounce on the fuzzy pipe cleaner or swat her paw at the plastic mouse for a few minutes. She'll roll onto her back, kick the toy with her back legs, and squeal with joy.

But then reality will hit in, and she'll scurry back to her hiding place. It's something I've seen before, and I'm sure I'll see it again.

I'd spend every day with her and the other kitties who are in the same predicament if I could. I'd give them lots of strokes, a warm lap to sit on, a chance to play, and, for those who have found the change to sanctuary life challenging and frightening, I'd give them my patience and love.

Then there's the litter of young stray cats born in a manufacturing warehouse. They've never experienced human kindness, the comfort of a sofa, or the warmth of a crackling fire. Cat socialization teaches cats that people aren't all terrible, and it gives them the courage to trust.

According to Cats Protection, the UK has between one and two million stray cats. An estimated 150,000 people are brought into shelter care each year.

Catchat.org is a non-profit organization that helps 8,000 cats find new homes each year. It was started in 2003. They have about 1,300 UK rescue centers listed on their website, which is updated on a monthly basis with fresh cats in need of homes.

Some of the shelters are smaller branches of national cat organizations, while others are small, independent shelters and sanctuaries that work diligently to meet the ever-increasing need for services. Volunteers are essential to the successful operation of a shelter, while the staff—often a small group—takes care of the day-to-day operations and administration.

So here I am, in my tiny corner of the world, at my local cat sanctuary, waiting for this scared girl to take a risk on me. As I offer her my hand again, I can see her whiskers twitch as she bends her head forward. Her eyes are large and round. Mine are brimming with optimism. I smile at her, and she, unexpectedly, squints her eyes back at me.

A cat's grin. That's a good place to start.

Other cat socialisers will be present throughout the week, donating their time and attention to these needy felines. Some of the cats will strike it rich and become reserved in a matter of days. Others, particularly the fearful and reclusive, may take weeks or months to find a new house. Not only can socializing help those who are shy and nervous, but it also keeps those who are cheerful active and in good spirits.

When I leave this girl today, I'll bid her farewell, hoping that she will have found a home by the time I return. Unfortunately, she is unlikely to succeed because of her current personality and age.

So each time I pay her a visit, I'll try to coax her out of her shell a little more. I'll talk to her, sit near to her, remind her how nice it is to be touched, and try to dispel the bewilderment and anxiety that her new surroundings have put in her.

It's inspiring to watch how much of a difference a few weeks can make—slow but steady progress.

She won't be hiding in her igloo when I arrive one day. Rather, I'll find her proudly seated on her windowsill. She'll meet me with a meow and a purr, and I'll greet her with a cuddle and a few strokes in return.

Then, just as I'm about to spend more time with her, I'll turn around and see that her new boyfriend has arrived.

Yes, my heart will break since it is difficult to avoid becoming attached. I'll squint and fight back the tears with my eyelids. But, as much as I'll miss this girl who has woven her way into my life, I'm glad she has found a new home and that I was a part of her transformation.

I'll silently slip into the next enclosure as she's brought down the corridor by her new family, smile at the fresh frightened face that greets me, hold out my hand... and start all over again.