Friday, June 29, 2007

So shoot me, these days my mind turns to thoughts of euthanasia

It was inevitable.

I believe that I can now officially be called “The Crazy Cat Lady.”

The transformation was not gradual and gentle, as I expected it to be… Incremental ticks and twitches, slow build-up of the smell of stale urine that go unnoticed until one day an old friend who hasn’t seen me in months drops by and comments, “Donna? Medication?"

Rather, it seems that on Wednesday, at about 11:10 AM, a switch in my brain was flicked. At that moment I was no longer “Donna, mom of Liam, girlfriend of Dave, owner of T-2, Eddie and Gryphon.” No. It is clear to me that I am now, “Donna-run-screaming-and spraying.”

As I patrolled the perimeter of my property, water machine gun in hand, I realized that I had become insane! Just like that.

In fairness the transformation started on Tuesday morning, when I returned home from a long weekend at Dave’s place. My neighbour Kathryn fed my three cats while I was gone. And a fourth. A relatively new cat in the ‘hood who's decided that my house is the cool place to hang out. The house to catch a free meal. The house to find a quiet spot to sleep.

This new cat has some strange power over my three. They let him eat from their food bowl. They let him sleep on the blankets they use. But those bastard cats of mine are passive aggressive to the extreme. Somehow, it appears, they’ve decided that I am personally responsible for the intrusion and that although they won’t complain about the presence of Xena, the intruder cat to his face, they’ll tell me after he leaves. By spraying.

When I got home on Tuesday I found my couch had been sprayed. The door of my bedroom. The spare bed in the attic. Liam’s bookcase. A pile of wool blankets.

I called my vet to ask what I could do. Would he put them down? Could I? He suggested I use a water gun to prevent the intruder cat from hanging out in my yard and entering my house. He said that that should curb the inappropriate indoor peeing.

Back to Wednesday morning at 11:10. After I went back inside from my perimeter patrol, I laid my gun down beside my lap top. I got back to work. My mind started to settle. Then I saw Xena in the house. I picked up the gun and started running from the front to the back of the house. Xena ran under the dining room table. I sprayed. He ran onto the deck. I sprayed. He jumped the fence to the neighbour’s deck. I sprayed. And heard a scream of “STOP!!! What are you doing?!!”

I looked up from my rage. What I was doing was soaking Kathryn and her lunch.

I need a vacation away from all these cats. A permanent vacation.

And perhaps some sedatives. Just call me The C-r-a-z-y Cat Lady….


Blogger MVL said...

090Ah, the stink. The despair.

I keep a window open during the day for my cats - for their comfort and as an escape in case of fire So, I've had numerous items of mine marked over the years. And then I've had to chuck them. My list includes a briefcase, a cell phone, a tape deck, and shoes.

Once I came home and found a big glob of viscous on my clean plate still in the dishrack.

For a time the culprit was a big grey tom cat who was quite beautiful, very handsome. But I wanted to see the fucker dead.

I scolded my cats for letting him in without even a meow. When I was home and he would come by I'd hurl shoes, clocks and remote controls at him on his quick exit out. Once he was out doors and out of reach he'd look at me and then casually turn his ass to whatever was nearest and spray. Then look at me nonchalantly and trot.

So, thought about a water soaker. I thought about filling it with water and cayenne pepper. I thought about a slingshot. But I didn't want to actually permanently maim or kill the cat.

Eventually I just kept the bars on my sliding door unlocked and a handful of pebbles on the patio table.

I would follow him outside and when he turned to give that insouciant fucking look I nailed him. Once I even hit him in the nuts. And as an owner of set of nuts myself I felt a little guilty for the violating the 'code' but it wasn't intentional and he did turn them to me.

I wanted to convince him that he wasn't untouchable and that I could reach him no matter how far he stood to taunt me.

Eventually he stopped marking territory around my place and I stopped being a fucking lunatic.

I feel your pain.

How the hell are ya otherwise?

July 11, 2007  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

We have a visitor cat who all our other cats seem to accept in exactly the same way. They let him clean out their food dish, they move over to let him lie in their sunbeam (seldomly encountered here these days), they do not chase him away.

I think they have given up and let him be their DomCat.

We have purchased slinghsots, and a bag of marbles. We have TWO slingshots, and plan to hammer the little thief/brigand/usurper with marbles until his little ribs are sore. No mercy.

If we are unable to hit him (he ducks away sooo fast as soon as our door opens up) we plan to live trap him, and then once he is captured, scare the living bejesus out of him. Slam his cage around, shriek and holler at him, spray him with obnoxious (but harmless) foul liquids, and generally make his life for several hours sever hell for a cat with dignity.

For us, this really is a cat from hell (you've seen mouse hunt, right?). All our cats are scarred and battered from encounters with this beast. We've fed an extra mouth all winter, because one of our cats is an outside cat, and she blithely lets him just take her food. And then we still have to feed her when she is hungry and he is sleeping it off in our shed.

Despite all this ire directed towards just *one* cat we love cats in general.

A villanelle for y'all.

Villanelle for Cat and Storm

A thunderous crack sends the cat to hide;
By lightning's flash his teeth are bared;
His prickly fur is electrified!

Ambivalent cat, he just can't decide;
He's stayed outside as long as he dared;
A thunderous crack sends the cat to hide.

If you called him Fraidy, he'd say you lied;
He's poufed his tail and his eyes are glared.
His prickly fur is electrified.

Pretending calm, he lingers beside
His master's feet; no he's not scared!
A thunderous crack sends the cat to hide.

He'll face the storm with feline pride,
Ignoring her arms, no he's never cared,
If his prickly fur is electrified.

He yowls disdain, her comfort derides
As the storm, at least, he's plain out-stared
- Then a thunderous crack sends the cat to hide
Yes his prickly fur is electrified.

July 19, 2007  
Blogger Geoffrey Milder said...

Time for a dog.


August 18, 2007  

Post a Comment

<< Home