If you can find some way to stop the "chase" on the part of the dog - then the cats will learn to venture closer without feeling threatened on first sight.
Once the creatures make actual contact, they will become familiar, have an altercation, and establish their ground with each other.
It's the chase that sets them hiding, with our two that don't like the dog...when the dog couldn't chase, they learned to pass by keeping a wary eye and their distance.
I am glad you are seeing progress. It's only been a week or so? That's relatively quick, for a cat. Watch out for depression - cats do not fare well when they get the feeling their quality of life is lessened. It's great that you spend extra time with them.
Chet has himself, and himself alone, to blame for THIS one with Camas.
Since he has started working at Starbucks corporate center as a computer whiz, he has gotten free samples of new things they are about to send to market. One of them he has gotten me hooked on. It is the banana creme frappachino. I call it a banana slurpee - unlike the slurpee, however, Starbucks uses REAL banana puree, instead of that artificially flavored garbage that tastes nothing like real bananas.
But I digress.
I have had a hankering for these things since he got me hooked on them, so with much complaining about how tired he is, and how broke, we went to Starbucks tonight and each got one. He wanted the smallest, and of course, with something like this, I got the biggest.
When we got home, Chet went into Zombie Boy mode, and fed the cats. Camas, better known to us by a number of aliases was sucking up for attention as usual. He jumped up on Chet for attention, and Camas never takes "no" for an answer.
Of course, Camas may not understand "no" anyway. We're not sure.
Chet became aware of a strange noise about a half hour later. This is usually a source of concern, because Stormy and Camas are both notorious for the trouble they get into. Sunday remains "Daddy's little angel," namely because she is too fat to jump up on the counters to cause the troubles her brothers do.
I was called out to see something cute, namely Camas licking the straw he had pulled out of Chet's cup. This was odd, because one of the few things I know neither Camas nor Stormy will touch is bananas.
Chet took the lid off the cup, and I was treated to a revelation. Camas is obviously part aardvark, because he has a VERY LONG tongue. In fact, I was making jokes about him being the bastard son of Gene Simmons - that's the bassist/vocalist from KISS, for you young whippersnappers.
Again, I digress.
I went back to my room, with the intent to simply chuckle at his antics, and settled down to watching something or other on TV.
About an hour later, it sounded like Chet was about to bust his gut laughing. I went out to see what was so funny, and was treated to this:
Camas decided that the new treat was SO yummy that he wanted more. Where was he going to get it? You got it, Chet's cup.
Now Camas is our special ed kitty, i.e. he's a few fries short of a happy meal, a can or so short of a six pack, the cheese fell off his cracker a long time ago. Take your pick.
Camas had his head completely inside this cup, but he could not get it off. When this happens to a cat, for some reason, their automatic transmissions get stuck in reverse.
Camas was backing around in circles, spiraling in tighter and tighter until he ended up on his ass, looking perplexed. Chet by this time was having trouble breathing, but he retained enough presence of mind to get it off Camas's head.
By the time I got out there, Chet was sitting back in his chair in hysterics, crushing the offending cup, while Camas was sitting to the side, looking nonchalant, casually licking his paws and trying to get the last little bit of cream off his face and into his mouth where it belonged. He looked up as though he were mildly surprised to see me, and gave me a look that could only be interpreted as, "What are you putting in daddy's food? I think you need to cut his dosage down a bit."
I don't have pictures, because that dummy keeps the digital camera out in the car.
For the last few weeks, Stormy and I have been on our annual mutual brush off. The reasons for that are: the weather is hot, I am a heat generator and Stormy has a double coat - it's hell being a Russian Blue when the weather is 80 +.
It starts out rather amusing, because the goofy kitty always thinks it is a great time to cuddle, even when he is slow roasting. He will bitch at me until I give in and pick him up. I try cuddling him, but I am about to roast alive, fur is flying everywhere and sticking to my skin, and he turns into Squirmcloud, trying to find a comfortable position where he can receive maximum cuddles without being roasted.
Then, of course, starts the whining and moaning. Both of us.
I finally have to shut my bedroom door to get any peace and quiet from the hairy little menace. Sometimes, during this annual brush off, he will come up to my chair, whine and moan, and the moment I try to reach down to at least scritch him, he'll run like the wind to get away. About two run throughs of this gets mighty old, LIGHTNING fast. Another tactic is to sit in the doorway, which is about 10 feet away from my chair and howl at me. I turn around, and he seems to say, "Attention Wal Mart Shoppers: I have the rips!"
That this kitty has made it to nearly six and a half years of life is the result of greater tolerance than most folks give me credit for.
In any case, the weather is much better, in the opinion of both Stormy and me, so it's cuddle time again!
The night before last, he spent no less than two hours on my desk, curled up against me, purring away, and whipping my computer mouse with his tail. Of course, since it has been a while since we cuddled, he spent a good percentage of that time chattering. Every single time I stroked him from head to tail, he would say something new and (to him) profound. I guess he was bringing me up to date about his life.
What's really cute is when he falls asleep. He will purr from time to time as I am petting him. Ever have a cat start dreaming? Another funny, because he will twitch, then act like he's running, and occasionally meow or chatter at whatever it is he's chasing in dreamland.
Blue: I have a British Blue cross Burmese - I wish he'd run away! He seems to be the same demanding, whining, scratch-my-tummy-NOW keyboard squishing type. (He's called Bailey) He also has an incredibly girly miaow at total odds with his bulk. Eventually we compromised with a cushion placed next to my elbow, so I could work at my computer, and he could keep in contact with me get the occasional cuddle and gradually sleep.
His brother, of the same mix, completely takes after the slim Burmese, and has a deep low Miaow and if you just stand next to him, he starts to purr. He loves to sit ON the other two - so the cushion antics can get distracting after a bit!
Cats are just so darn cute.
I suspect that cats have a widely different opinion about what is profound than we lesser and poorer humans.
We rescued a fat tabby cat from death row about 18 months ago and christened him "Fatso". He is now known as "The fat cat" or alternatively "Fatsy Catsy" which both suit him remarkably.
He has two distinct oddities - his absolute obsession with me, and his love of stinky shoes.
His Leonie obsession is ridiculous - it's like having a puppy to a certain extent, but a puppy that trots not just after you but under your feet (somewhat hazardous). And a puppy that watches you shower, toilet, cook and walk while constantly saying "meh". Evenings he prefers to sit on me, but at least near or on whatever I am doing (most recently the tax....) There can be several other vacant laps in the room, which would love him to sit on them, but, no, he has to sit on me or on the child that is sitting on me (but with a paw touching me).
All this love and attention is very flattering but sometimes hazardous. I recently damaged my knee skiing, and the combination of splint, limp and Fatso has been a bit exciting at times.
As I type, he is wandering up and down and has just jumped up on the computer desk.
As far as stinky shoes go - if there's a pile of them, he finds our 10 year old son's (really stinky) and eases his nose into them while purring and inhaling deeply, then kneads in ecstasy. Bizarre.
good on ya for rescuing him!
I have a feeling that I may be going home with a new kitty today... A sleek white and gray sweet heart of a cat just waltzed into our office this morning. I think she's on her third trip into the office now and patrolling around the cubicles. She let me hold her once as I put her outside.... *sigh* mistake! She's a shorthair like my family loves. The only problem is whether Emma Louise would allow another cat in HER home. She tollerates having humans in her home, but another cat????
Opps! The grey-and-white kitten just found my cubicle...
Stormy is not really the whiny, demanding type unless he hears me at the keyboard. Suddenly, he's Mr. Lovey-Dovey, and powerless before my charms. Don't ask me, I haven't a clue!
I usually have to capture him when he hops up on my bed, if I am watching something or trying to read. He will squirm like mad, whine and moan at me, before settling down and purring what's left of his brains out. I can't help rubbing it in when that happens, with things like, "Yeah, mean old mommy captured you and made you purr!"
I wouldn't trade his weird little hairy ass for anything, though.
Motley, Bailey sounds like a hoot, and if he did indeed run away, taking his incredibly girly miaow with him, you would probably be devastated, and you know it!
Trys - lesser and poorer humans; You've got that right! I still remember the local deli owner saying that working for a particular supply company was like coming back as a cat. I think cats have it made. Human slaves who fuss endlessly over them, feed them on command, they have no bills to pay, they get to sleep for up to 18 hours a day and all for a little bizarre behavior that keep the slaves bemused and amused.
Leonie - I know what you mean about fat cats. I had a Maine Coon that left me for my neighbor lady. These cats are huge anyway, but when he left me, he was a lean, mean kitty machine of 16 pounds. With my ever indulgent neighbor lady, he ballooned up to 35 pounds. She was ever in denial of this, telling me it was just fur. It was a visit from her adult son, weighing himself and the cat, and then just himself that convinced her to put the cat on a diet. "I wondered why my back hurt every time I picked him up!" My brother's psycho calico follows him from room to room in our place. I've nicknamed her the Puppy Cat, because she'll hop up on something that is at least waist high, so that he can scritch her conveniently, then hop down and follow him as soon as he leaves the room.
Walt - just like the Borg of Star Trek: Resistance is Futile, especially with a kitten that has chosen you as his/her new pet.
Another quick funny:
Sunday the Hutt, our FAT kitty, was sitting on top of one of her favorite perches. The catch is, however, it is just big enough for her to sit her butt on. But somehow, she keeps forgetting that, and I watched her, no less than FIVE times, almost fall off because she kept trying to position herself for a good wash. She would catch herself, with a look on her face like, "What the hell was that?" and do it again.
Finally, she fell off, gave her perch a filthy look, and slunk off to find a better place to wash.