Crossroads

So ever since stupid cat's recent stint in the animal hospital, my attitude toward him has softened. I haven't been able to get as upset at his ridiculous behavior because he's just a ridiculous animal. My roommate also spent a lot of money bringing him back from the brink, and I want to think that she's a savvy investor. Why would anyone spend more than half a months rent on something that isn't worth keeping around?

Since he's been home he's come down from his crazy eyes high, and has gone back to darting into my room any chance he gets and tripping me down the stairs. But instead of shoo-ing him away, I find myself picking him up and gently removing him from my window sill. After all, whenever I shoo, he ends up tripping over himself and falling, and I certainly don't want to be responsible for breaking him.

Ofcoures, if his horrible behavior is a cry for attention, I've obviously given into it by picking him up and holding him. I'm sure cat discipline books would claim that I'm doing it all wrong. I feel like I'm at a crossroads with him. My fury towards him isn't as strong, but he still drives me bonkers. I suppose time will only tell where this leaves us.

Let us eat, drink, and be... messy.

This past week, my roommate went out of the town for an extended weekend. So it was just me and H-Cat. Since he's still recovering, I've decided to be more gentle towards him. This means I've stopped yelling at him for not catching the mice, and I've even decided not to be as grossed out by his habits. But it's tough. When he eats, he'll put a bunch of food in his mouth, then walk around his bowl and spit some of it out. (As you can see below.) He also slurps his water -- really loud. Which debunks this article that says cats are classier than dogs when it comes to drinking water: http://www.nytimes.com/2010/11/12/science/12cats.html

Filtered Water

We recently learned that horrible cat has a fragile digestive system. The vet suggested he only drink filtered water. It might be a tough switch for him since he prefers toilet water.

Seriously, filtered water for an alley cat?

Retreat

Full disclosure time. Horrible cat has been sick the past week. I couldn't possibly post about how awful he is, while he could be at death's door. To clarify -- he's not. He's fine. He had a couple digestive issues from eating a piece of bone (possibly glass) in the alley where he roams. It took the vet a while to figure it out though, so I spent 3 days without him around the house while he was at the vet hospital, which I think was actually bit of a retreat for him. Let me tell ya, it was nice.

Granted, I was racked with guilt for feeling so good about his disappearance,and obviously wouldn't want him to permanently disappear from the earth... but it was nice to wake up to an alarm clock, instead of a cat. I also enjoyed walking down the stairs without the fear of tripping over him as a walked down every step. I did my yoga with no interruption. Showers home alone where even less scary. (H-Cat has a trick of pounding on the door when I'm in the shower that makes it sound like some one is breaking in and i get scared -- Every. Single. Time.)

So when he came back, I vowed more patience. I vowed more kindness. Most importantly, I have vowed not to let my roommate know how much I enjoyed his absence.

Theoretically he's on meds. I say theoretically because we're crushing the pills up and putting them on top of his food and assuming that he's eating them, not around them. I'm inclined to believe he's ingesting them though because he's got a serious case of crazy eyes.

My room

My bedroom is on the second level of an old brick townhouse. In the morning the sun rises, filling my room with warm light. There is a tree outside my window. In the summer the leaves offer shade to keep my room cool. In the fall, the colors dance brightly in the gentle breeze. The naked branches in the winter offer colorful cardinals and other small birds a place to rest. Over the past couple months, I've watched this symphony of seasons with delight.

The beauty outside only adds to the serentiy inside. I've always seen my room as a haven. It's painted a pastel pink and my colors are warm, refreshing and natural. I've also barred the cat from ever entering -- which means he tries to sneak in any chance he gets.

I make a point of shutting the door tight and he's learned that he'll be dragged out by his scruff if he ever enters. Of course none of this stopped him this morning.

From the moment I woke to his scratching on the door, I've been on defense against his entry. When I went out to take a shower, he tried to slither his way in, but my quick reflexes kept him out. Unfortunately, at some point between the shower and choosing my outfit he managed to get in. I have no clue how, but I could smell him right away. The fresh aroma of cat food, outside, and his normal alley cat smell. I searched under the bed, but he wasnt there. I looked in the closet, but couldn't find him. Thinking I was just imagining things, I went back to getting ready. then i noticed the curtains in front of my window moving. I hadnt opened my window, and there was no breeze.

H-cat  was sitting precariously on the radiator under the window, hidden by my white curtains. I came behind him, and gently moved the curtain away. His gazed was fixed on the tree and I stopped to follow it. My eyes fell to the first bud of spring, emerging from the branches.

The moment of enjoyment and connection was fleeting as he spotted me behind him. He turned towards me with a soft meow, and extended his paw to swipe at my hand holding back the curtain he sought refuge behind. As I picked him up to put him in the hallway, I noticed he didn't fight my grasp as much as usual. Maybe this new season will turn over a new leaf in our relationship.

The best part of waking up...

There's a commercial I've seen a couple times -- I can't remember if it's for cat food or coffee -- but it shows a woman going about her morning routine with her cat unobtrusively by her side. The cat jumps on the bed to nuzzle her awake, then follows her down the hallway, and sits next to her yoga mat while she stretches. It looks like an idyllic morning for both the woman and cat. When I'm watching I think about how lovely it would be to have such a sweet, calm, companion accompanying me while I begin my day.

My mornings with horrible cat could not be anymore opposite. They usually begin with him scratching at my door, or knocking things over in the spare room. As many times as I've tried to cat proof the house -- putting breakable things out of reach, or heavy things on the floor, he still finds something heavy enough to make a loud thud when he bats it off a table, nightstand, or bed. My roommate claims he just wants to play, which is why he makes such a loud effort to get my attention. Since my day has just begun, I try to approach him with optimism.

"Maybe he does want to play today," I tell myself with a smile. (I once read that if you smiled when you didn't feel like it, you'd still feel more cheerful because your muscles send "happy" thoughts to your brain. That's an overly simplistic, but I'd say it works 50/50.)

As I walk out into the hallway, he stays a couple steps ahead, mainly so that he can stop in front of me every couple steps. My walking becomes a dance, rather than an easy stroll. In an effort not to trip over the cat, I end up looking like I'm walking on hot coals as I have to continually change where I place my foot down to avoid stepping on him. Jumping is also more effective for avoiding tripping. If I'm moving in only an up and down motion, my feet don't run the risk of getting caught under the cat. There's also the factor of his claws. If I sway slowly, he sees that as an opportunity to take a swipe at my toes. Stepping lively keeps my feet from his slow, but pointy, talons.

As I roll out my yoga mat, he sits across the room. His eyes narrow as I begin my sun salutations. By the time I'm in downward dog, he's ready to play again. He sees the position my body is in, as a bridge to crawl under. He tickles my nose with his tail. Then he attacks. A strand of hair, or my shirt hanging down -- anything that dangles is fair game to him. Of course his lack of coordination means that he hardly hits what he's aiming for, and instead ends up swiping my stomach, or face. The rest of my routine, he paces along the mat, swiping whenever possible. By the time I'm done, so is he. Only once my mat is rolled up will he sit contently on the couch, watching me like a good companion.

Got Water?

Obviously not using the toilet for it's intended purpose. 
H-Cat just wanted a drink.

Trade in?

I went to the store yesterday to buy mouse traps to catch the little rodents that Stupid Cat can't manage to get his paws on. It shouldn't be a surprise that he can't catch a mouse. Whenever a bug gets in, he sits starring at it for what seems like hours before he makes a move. While someone willing to give this animal the benefit of the doubt may assume that he's just letting the bug wear itself down, by the time Stupid Cat pounces on it, he's so worn out from watching it, he'll merely bat it then let it go. After he releases it he usually forgets about it or repeats the same cycle.

The stunning thing about his entire lack of prowess is that he's an outdoor cat. When my roommate adopted him, she was told that he was used to being outdoors, so one might assume he is a decent hunter. But not once has he brought home any presents, or really caught anything. (Not that I want dead animals laying around, but it would indicate an inclination towards productiveness and a willingness to do his part.)

As I was browsing the mouse trap options, I noticed that many of the products make some sort of reference to cats in the product description or the name. I struck up a conversation with a woman who was also taking care of a mouse situation at her apartment. She told me which product she was trying and how she planned on using it. I mentioned that I was nervous to have something out in the open that may harm the cat. (The last thing horrible cat needs is a mouse trap clamped to his tail or to be covered in sticky traps. That long fur of his would be impossible to untangle, and my roommate might doubt my innocence should something bad happen to horrible cat.)

The woman looked at me and said, "You have a cat and you still have mice?"

I laughed, and answered, "Yes, the cat belongs to my roommate, but unfortunately he can't seem to catch mice."

She looked at me and said, "I think that means you need a new cat."

Consorting with the enemy?

A couple days ago, I was cleaning up the dining room when I picked up a clean casserole dish. I was about to put it away, when I noticed some dirt inside. Upon further inspection, I realized it was mouse poop -- the tell-tale sign of a mouse in the house. This set off a frenzy of inspections. As I scoured the rest of the dining room for any other mouse evidence, I surprisingly found none.

Life interupted my frenzy and later that evening, my roommate and I settled into the couch with a glass of wine to catch up and watch TV. I mentioned the mice and ways we could make our house less mouse-friendly. We have a pile of bags (plastic, paper, reusable) on the floor of our pantry, so I recommended cleaning that up at some point so that the mice didn't find it and decide to nest there. Roommate said, "Oh, we don't need to worry about the mice going in there, Stupid Cat naps in their all the time!" (Note to self to only reuse those bags for trash.)

I recommended being more careful about cleaning up horrible cat's food that he spreads around his food bowl. She said "Maybe that could be good bait! The mice will come up to the bowl and then Stupid Cat can attack!" (Not a horrible thought, except I doubt the mice are dumb enough to walk up to a cat while he's eating. And horrible cat will probably be too full to care about a mouse if he's already eating.)

So yesterday morning, I reached into the pantry for a bag to use for recycling. As I lifted the bags to find a suitable one, I found quite the collection of mouse poo. Apparantly horrible cat is sleeping with the enemy -- he's probably bringing them food too.

Today it was raining...

...so my roommate didn't have the option of letting the horrible cat out when she left this morning. His meowing, as usual served as a pre-mature alarm clock, though overall, he seemed a little more calmer than usual. He was probably tuckered from his adventures last night.

Before the rain started he must have been let out by my roommate. But by the time I got home the rain was coming down hard. As I was walking towards our back steps, I heard a rustling, and the horrible cat emerged from a pile of leaves, creepily, but without stealth -- much like a rabid racoon. He ran upstairs, but paused ever couple steps so that I had to teeter on one foot in my 4 inch heels until he moved out of my way. He darted into our kitchen, dragging leaves and whatever else he picked up in the alley, tangled in his long fur. When he got to his food bowl in the dining room, he gave himself a nice shake, getting twigs and other debris on the floor I'd swept only 2 days ago. Thankfully he disappeared upstairs to dry before he caused anymore terror.

Every day before today...

... I awake with the fear of a cat attack. It starts off small -- a scratching at the door, a meow here or there -- then becomes a full on assault. As I'm walking downstairs, he'll walk one step ahead and wait until my foot is nearly on top of him, then bat at me to trip me up. While I'm pouring a glass of water, he alternates using the cabinets and my legs as a scratching post. During my morning yoga, he'll pace next to my mat, and just when I think he just wants some exercise too, he'll swipe at my fingers, or a piece of hair dangling down and end up scratching me. When I put him outside to escape his behavior, he scratches endlessly at the door, or worse, meows/howls. We have a screen door that he is fond of clawing at and banging it against the door frame to let us know he wants to come back inside and continue his streak of terror.

This isn't my cat, the horrible beast belongs to my roommate, and last night, I told her I've had enough. So in lieu of finding an appropriate sedative, she agreed to bring him outside with her when she left for work this morning so he wouldn't be around to bother me as I went about my routine.

He didn't start rattling the door until I was almost done with sun salutations and since he thought no one was home, he stopped after only 5 minutes -- so that was a relief. I wanted to let him in before I showered, but he wasn't on the porch by the time I had finished my meditations. As I was walking out the back door to work, I heard ferocious meowing. I walked down to the basement door, and nothing. I looked around the yard -- nope, not there. I walked back up to the porch to lock the door, completely befuddled as to where he was and how he could possibly be making that much noise. I took one last glance around. My eyes were drawn to the neighbors porch -- it's only a few feet away as we live in a row-house. The cat was sitting there, meowing at their door. Obviously, he couldn't hear me (he's deaf) and didn't notice me banging the door to get his attention less than 15 feet from where he sat. I began to walk through the yard, down our stairs and back up theirs, and just as I was heading into their gated yard, he spotted me, and ran back through their fence, up the stairs, and then patiently waited for me to come back and open the door for him.