My mom rescued a cat named Oma who was the last of her feral group to be captured. The poor kitty spent a week hiding behind the water heater, scaring off any who dared approach with a hiss that belonged to some ancient hellbeast. Eventually Ozma learned to trust my mom, but she still had to figure out how to coexist with the family dog. The first time we tried to introduce them, Ozma nearly took my eye out trying to escape from Phoebe, middle name Licious, the 9lb mini schnauzer who wanted nothing in life but to be Ozma’s bfff (best fizzy friend forever).
We worked out a system where I would hold Phoebe at one end of the couch and mom would hold Ozma at the other end, and we would feed them tiny spoonfuls of baby food chicken puree. Over the course of many weeks, we inched them closer together, until eventually they were eating off the same spoon. They became BFFFs and would snuggle together on the couch. Ozma liked being the little spoon.