What it is like

When we had adopted our cat Beanie, a shorthair orange tabby, he had some bare spots on his back and sides, close to the base of the tail. The fur on some of those spots was much shorter, as if recently shaved. Others were totally bare. I had noticed that at the pet shelter, and the shelter vet told me that it was Beanie’s reaction to stress: he had been chewing the hair off because he was being harassed by some other cats. The vet also said that Beanie’s brother who was adopted earlier used to have the same problem, but as soon as he settled in his new home he had stopped doing it.

We took Beanie home. He went through all the stages that an adult cat normally goes through while getting used to new owners: hiding, venturing out more and more, investigating the house, and finally feeling safe. He grew to trust us and had become a perfect pet, always happy to play or to cuddle or to be held. But his licking problem did not go away. In fact, it had gotten worse. The bare spots grew bigger, and now they were not just bare, they were raw, bloody. Beanie would lick, and lick, and lick, as if he did not know when to stop. “Don’t you feel it when it starts hurting?” I would ask. I could not understand it.

I had tried many things. When I saw Beanie lick himself I would try to distract him, to get his attention with toys. He always responded to that since he loved playing, he would immediately stop licking and go after the toy – only to get back to it later. My saying, “Beanie, stop!” had the same temporary effect. I worked from home, so I had the opportunity to watch him most of the time; but even with that advantage, I found it hard to keep up with him. Beanie always seemed to be able to find a moment when I was not looking, and of course he had all of the night to make sure his back and sides looked their ugliest.