Saving California (Cobra)

Foster name: California. Earned name: Cobra

 "I don't understand, why is she going to be euthanized?" I asked my supervisor. I couldn't believe it when I had spotted an orange card (the orange card of death) on the cage of one of the cats at the animal shelter where I worked full-time.
"She bites. Hard," I was told. "She's bitten a couple employees, very aggressively."
The over-weight brown tabby had never bitten me. In fact, she would roll on her side and engage in belly rubs. She would chat and chirp the moment I entered the room and she was always very friendly with me.
I was told which employees she had bit and I went and asked them what had happened. I was told that without warning, she would lash out and bite. She didn't like to be handled or touched and would bite when examined. She was not suitable for shelter life.
The biting behavior might partially be explained by the fact that she had been declawed by someone in her past. Someone who probably got tired of being viciously bitten by her and didn't search for her when she ran away. (For the record, she bites you on the wrist and it doesn't just hurt like crazy, it stings and causes your hand to go numb. It is fast and shocking and super painful. It's happened to me twice).
For a week or so, I thought about the cat all the time. I felt like I couldn't let her be euthanized, but what could I do about it?
I approached my supervisor with the proposition that I take her on as a Project Cat. I wanted to spend time with her, find out what makes her tick and what makes her bite. I was told I could work with her, but I would have to take her home and foster her.
Problem 1: My landlord had forbid me from bringing more pets into the home. I already had the Hellhound (George) and Tito, the Norwegian Forest Cat.
I approached my landlord with the proposition of fostering the brown tabby, with the promise that I would never, ever, EVER, adopt the cat. I explained that I wanted some time to try and figure this cat out and to try and save her life. My landlord agreed to let me foster the cat, with the condition that she be returned as soon as possible, so I wouldn't get attached.
I set up a foster room for the cat, gave her the name California and brought her home from the shelter.
Mistake 1: I invited my landlord downstairs to meet California before she had settled in. My landlord gave her a couple pats and WHAM! the cat nailed her on the wrist. My landlord is on blood thinners and blood spilled from her wrist and all over the blanket the cat was sitting on.
After California had settled in, she became more calm. I had placed a chair in the foster room and every night I would sit in the chair, while California would lay in my lap and rest her head on my chest. She was so cute and friendly.
The first time she bit me, the pain was incredibly awful. I had reached in front of her when I leaned down to pet her and she lashed out like a snake and bit me. Hard. She dragged her teeth down my wrist then ran away and hid. She had left four puncture wounds on my wrist and hand, blood dripped from my arm. I was pissed.

Not a happy day for Tito

Realization 1: Why had she bit me? When California bit my landlord, she had been leaning over the cat and had reached in front of her. When the cat bit me, I had been leaning over her and had reached in front of her. Answer: If you reach in front of California, it causes her to lash out and bite you on the wrist.
The second time California bit me, it was my fault. After a couple months of not being bit, I let my guard down and when I reached in front of her, she nailed me again. I screamed, swore a lot and she hid from me for the better part of a week. I warned her: "Next time you bite me, you go back to the shelter!"
Months passed and I kept working with the cat. She was a wonderful companion, she liked to cuddle and played with strings and lasers.
Test 1: California had been in the room for the better part of four months before I decided it was time to see what happened if I let her meet George. I opened the door to the foster room and George charged in, backed her into a corner and the cat lashed out, bit him hard on the nose and he ran from the room. They continued this pattern for the next five weeks. Every day I'd let George in, he'd get in her face, she'd attack him and he'd run away. I wanted George to get used to the fact that the cat was in our apartment and to make her less interesting and boring, so he'd leave her alone.
We started to make a breakthrough at week six. I'd leave her door open and she started to come out of the room. For every step, George would jump off the couch and chase her back into her room. Next time, she'd make it a couple more steps and he'd chase her back in.
Soon enough, she started to steal George's beds and made them her own. She began to sleep on the couch with George. Tito just ignored her.
Breakthrough 1: I started to leave the door open all the time and California began to make herself comfortable, in my bed. She liked to sleep in the crook behind my legs, or against my chest. George continued to take up half the bed, Tito slept on the spare pillow and California clung to me like a dingleberry on a hound.
At this time, the shelter began to ask questions, too many questions. When will you bring her back? When will she be ready? Should she go up for adoption right away? Will she bite employees? Will she bite volunteers? Would she bite potential adopters? The answer: Yes. She would bite them all.
When I took the cat from the shelter, I had taken on the duty of her protector. If she was bad all the time, or even most of the time, it might have been easier to bring her back, knowing that she was as good as dead if I did.
Problem 2: I couldn't let this cat die. She wasn't suitable for adoption and would get herself killed if I brought her back. But, how would I bring it up to my landlord? It was a tough spot to be in, could I afford another pet?
Solution: I was taking George out for a walk and my landlord asked: "Are you adopting Cali?"
I shyly responded: "I don't know. Can I?"
"Yes," she told me. "She has settled in nicely and has made herself at home."
A week later, California was home for good, but with the new and totally justified name of: Cobra - on account of the way her head goes back before she lashes out and attacks you.
Resolution: Don't foster unless you accept the fact that the animal is never going back.

In a couple months, Cobra will have lived here with us for a year. Every day is the luckiest day of her life and like all cats, she's completely oblivious to this fact.
Was the shelter right in the decision that she was too dangerous to be handled by employees, let alone volunteers? Yes, they were 100% correct.
She's crazy, she's dangerous and she's unpredictable.
Just like the rest of us in this house.
2017
Studio Mike, Tito, George and Cobra California

Cobra and Tito. This was the first time I brought her outside to enjoy the fresh air.