Hah… noooooo, not that variety of special.
She was one of a litter of five with a semiferal mother. Mom was touchable from the start, but didn’t seem to really like it. She (mom) would freeze and corner herself rather than effectively run away and she doesn’t bite or scratch. Just freezes. Still does, really. Eventually, though, she was determined to be unadoptable and moved to the permanent-resident-feral section.
She and the babies came in when they were right around a week old. Eyes not open yet. Little jelly beans. Normally, at that age, mom has SOME influence, but… if you handle them and play with them and socialize them carefully, as we did, and if the other kittens they play with trust humans, as they did, they grow up… you know. Average.
Her brothers and sisters did, more or less. One died around six weeks (fading kitten syndrome, which is exactly as sad as it sounds) and one was fancy-looking and adopted the second she could go home without any concern toward personality, so I didn’t get to know her very well as a kitten (I did as an adult after she was declawed and tossed outside and came back with loads of health issues and we did like four surgeries on her in the space of about six months, but ended up having to put her to sleep) That leaves the two other brothers. One took a while to get there, but ended up looking and behaving very much like a typical kitten- friendly, loved to play and wrestle. He was adopted around four months. The other waited til the break in kitten season. There’s usually a time in the winter/early spring when we have no available baby kittens, so people will just take whatever’s youngest and that’s when the sorta-shy black ones have a chance even if they’re seven months old.
Meadowlark, though. She was not “sort of shy.” As soon as she and her siblings were allowed out of their cage and into the kitten room (after shots and an appropriate quarantine, not just because we’re mean and love cages), she and her mother always immediately made a beeline for the same little hidey-hole together. We removed the mother, hoping it would bring Meadow out, and… no.
Like, every cat has their own personality and you can’t make a cat be what you want them to. That’s the point of a cat. But for a cat raised in an environment with people who know what they’re doing and are deliberately socializing her very nearly from birth to turn out this feral is really unusual. If you came over to my house, I would be willing to bet you $50 that she wouldn’t let you touch her.
So when I was asked to take her (a whole other story) and my other cat (a known feral who grew well into adulthood on the mean streets and had every right to be wild and also now looks and behaves like a very typical house cat, if a little shy of strangers), I figured it would be like having an aquarium or taking care of plants. They might be nice to look at. I would love them no matter what. I would take care of them. But I didn’t expect any reciprocal affection… or even really to be able to touch them.
Anyway, but Meadowlark- the two brothers that, last we were aware, were still alive both went to people who have not responded to follow-up inquiries. And her? She still behaves weirdly. She won’t let anyone touch her other than me (and the kid, once). Also, her pupils are always dilated and she sometimes acts like she’s not seeing very well. She does chase a laser pointer, so she’s not blind, but I would bet money she’s got some vision impairment. And just the way she’s shaped- she has no scruff. Thick/short neck, tight skin. There’s nothing to grab on to if you need to. She also walks like an old lady and her meows are unusual. It’s all this subtle stuff that like… I’ve worked with thousands of cats with thousands of backgrounds, personalities, and health issues. She’s unusual.
As far as treating it, though… I don’t have a direction. For the most part, she seems happy and healthy and being transported and handled, especially for blood work, especially given that she has no scruff, seems like a really traumatic thing to do on such a vague hunch. They’re both due for rabies shots, though. And I almost wonder if it would be worth it to pole sedate her for that so we could get blood and examine her. All I care is that she’s as healthy and happy as she can be and that what I’m doing for her is in service of that. I love her the way she is, but cats don’t really communicate pain or discomfort with you, so I don’t want to be assuming she’s healthy-and-happy-just-different if she’s actually suffering in some way that I could have fixed if I had just been more in tune and put more effort in or if there’s something specific I can recognize and adapt for, such as arthritis or impaired vision.
There she is, my love 
And as always, somebody dumped a bunch of missorted packages on us right before departure time.
