Photo by Round Arch
Our cats desperately want to be outdoor cats. At least these are the signs they give off when the screen door is left open just for a second. One of the them will inevitably venture out onto the front stoop, muscles tensed, low to the ground, wild eyed, looking for a way out.
Last year the fuzzy one almost made it over the wall but she turned left instead of right and trapped herself on the deck. I caught up with her and was able to grab her and haul her back inside the house. Looked a little like something out of a sequel to Taken.
That got me to thinking. We feed them, house them, practically clothe them (Bru won’t let me dress them up in doll clothes but I’m close to doing it anyway), we buy them toys, we play with them, there are cuddles 24/7, mani-pedis, brushing of the fur at THEIR request, treats, and yet, at the first sign of an open door, they try to escape.
This doesn’t sound like a happy family. It sounds more like an ongoing hostage situation.
So I thought some more about this and started feeling sorry for myself, realizing that we give so much and get so little when it comes to cats. Then I put together a list of complaints that I have had since the two of them arrived here separately with little to no belongings of their own.
1. They arrived here with little to no belongings of their own. No inheritance. Where are those people you read about who leave everything to the cats? Clearly they were absent in this case.
2. Bella (THE HEIFER) seems to have some kind of allergy to catnip, thereby depriving us of hours of fun watching her listen to Pink Floyd and bat her paws at imagined light sources.
3. THE HEIFER would not play with her Crackle Fish either, which was (oddly enough) a big fish shaped bag that was all crackly and when the cat went inside it looked like it was being swallowed by a fish. I also anticipated hours of fun for myself and Bru but alas, Bella pulled the plug on this one the first minute it came out of the bag. Another rip-off for the Coles. Of note – she did play with the crackly bag that it came in.
4. THE HEIFER and Abby run around half the night knocking things over, with no regard for our feelings. As long as they are going to be up and making noise, why can’t they vacuum or dust something, maybe do some laundry. But no, it’s all just fun and games for them. I’m just waiting to find my credit cards scattered next to the phone after the infomercials are over.
5. Kibble is not cheap and they mow through this stuff like it’s a cure. If they can see bottom in the centre of the large bowl, even though the bowl is still technically full of kibble, death from starvation is imminent. But they’ve both sunk to the lowest rung on the Kibble Ladder because they only prefer the stuff FROM THE VET. Someone explain this to me. Cats and dogs have been genetically perfected to dismiss Vet food. This is universal. Now I have two cats that want the kibble that is $60 a bag and the Vet’s office, while still in the Strathmore area, is not as convenient, as say, WAL-MART. I put this precious kibble in the bowl and watch, in tears, as the level drops before my eyes. They love it more now than ever.
6. Not once, ever, have either one of these cretins ever been around when I’m cleaning the litterbox. It’s like it offends them. However, when I have finished, they come from dark places, riding low to the floor, push past me, and climb right in. I am clearly THE HELP and further to that, there is no point standing around waiting for a tip. They seem to regard my presence as rude.
7. If I place a clean or new article of clothing on the kitchen counter for any reason whatsoever, Abby will rise from a comatose state in a room at the back of the house, where she had been under some stuff which had been placed over some stuff and where she was absolutely invisible to the naked eye. She will stumble to the kitchen, then flop down on the clothing with the remaining strength that she has left and return to her coma, thus rendering the article of clothing ‘gently-used’.
8. If a fly somehow wanders into the house, it becomes the property of THE HEIFER. This was negotiated by her lawyer when she first arrived. This is fine with me because I don’t want her fly. She will chase it for hours, and anything in her path is considered collateral damage (to her, not to me). Sometimes she catches her fly, but because it is not Cherry or Beef or frickin’ Mango flavored, or whatever she was expecting, she won’t eat it. She just watches it struggling on the floor or she will stare at the corpse. Eventually I have to come in with a Kleenex and save the day. Then I become the villain because I ‘stole’ her fly. She glares at me because she somehow believes that I have done two things here – taken the credit for the kill and ate the fly myself. I have even explained that I didn’t eat her fly and it will be her name that will go in the Calgary Sun under the FLY KILLING column but I still get the cold shoulder and the stink-eye.
9. Abby is a long hair fuzzy calico and unless we give over to an Arizona decorating theme of whites and rustic reds in here, we’re screwed. She sheds when she is sleeping, she sheds when she is walking; I can go on for hours. Right now, this very second, she is curled up here in the office, snoring, and I know that little bits of fur are falling off and landing in my work bag that is on the floor. This shedding drives me crazy. There is fur in my coffee right now. I can see one stuck to the rim of the cup. Fur. And you wonder why I tried to shave her.
10. I have never once, since we got these two transplants from hell, ever, been in the bathroom by myself in over 5 years. Even if I close the door tightly, there will always be a paw or two thrust underneath the door. Why would any animal stick their entire arm underneath a door when they really don’t know what’s on the other side? I struggle with privacy at the best of times but this behaviour was a shock to me and I still haven’t gotten used to it after all these years. If the door isn’t quite shut tight, there’s a thump from a head hitting the door, they walk in with a joie de vivre customary to a game show host and they come right for me, purring and rubbing my legs. Seriously? I-am-in-the-bathroom. Show me the same respect you seem to give me when I’m cleaning the litterbox.
11. If I am preparing food on the kitchen counter, Abby will come from far away to get on the counter and try to get into the middle of everything. She is not interested in the food. The best guess I have is that she is interested in my technique. I block her off about half way down the counter and she will sit there and watch me cook, observing my every move. Maybe someday she will surprise me with breakfast in bed.
12. Abby is still investigating the mystery of how water remains in a mug by itself and then, when a paw is inserted in that same mug and the mug is tipped, all of the water will immediately leave the mug at once. She may try to hide her identity whilst fleeing, but the little tiny cat tracks are a bit of a giveaway and Bru usually has a pretty good alibi for most of the offences, so the culprit has been easily identified. Besides, she will do it right in front of me, which has earned her the title of ‘Village Idiot’ on more than one occasion. So, really? Why would you even think of doing that when I’m sitting right here. As a matter of fact, your back legs were in my lap when you did it!
That should wrap up my list of complaints for now. I foresee a sequel to this article. If the two of them want to make a dash for a better life outside in the rain where there is no kibble, no cuddles, no spa, no fleeces, then I think I might just let them go and see what happens.
The only trouble is I would last about 2 minutes without them so I doubt that I would ever let it get that far. Besides, what would I write about?