Today, I was sitting in my glider, rubbing my belly and contemplating taking a nap when I realize, I haven’t seen the cat in a while. Hmmm….I think. Could be trouble. So I go looking for her. When I enter our room for the second time after no success with the rest of the house, I hear some movement and a meow, turn to my right and there she is. All relaxed at the bottom of my hamper. That darn cat. I grab my camera and take a picture. She poses for me by lying on her back and teasing me with her fluffy belly. She is pretty darn cute. And given she has already been in trouble with me a lot the last couple of days and the hamper is empty, I let her stay there and walk away, rolling my eyes and laughing. We have a love/hate relationship–more like she loves me and I love her sometimes, but often times just can’t stand her. Yet I’d totally cry if she got lost or killed. I think…..
Let me explain.
Firstly–she is a whiner. She whines all the time. And since I don’t understand Cat, I don’t know what she is whining about. Sometimes, it’s simply to do with her food, water, or litter box, but sometimes I just cant’ figure it out. I’ll check her food bowl and it will be full. I’ll check her water and it will be full. I’ll check her litter box and it will be clean. It would be one thing if her little meow were sweet and quiet. But it sounds like crying. She is a whiner. All. Day. Long.
Second—she comes on to strong when she wants to cuddle. We love to pet our cat, but please kitty, in a civilized way. We want her to lay on our lap or lay beside our laps so we can pet her as we watch a movie or sit at the computer or read a book. But no, that is not what she wants. She will fight us on that. She wants to climb up on our chests and either bury her face in our neck or and stick her face in our face and purr loudly. She will press her face up to us vigorously; she will love bite our necks or our ear lobes or try to nurse on my necklace. It’s too much! So I push her down to my lap only to fight with her as she relentlessly climbs right back up. And if that doesn’t work, she’ll hop onto the couch and climb up the back of it and try to sneak in from behind and sticking her purring mug in my ear.
Third—she is crazy! We actually changed her name after a few months of getting to know her from Guadalupe la Tigre Gris—to instead, La Tigre LOCA! But honestly, we just call her Cat most of the time. When she attacks my feet as I walk across the living room—“get off me Cat!” When she bites my toes as I watch a movie—-“stop it Cat!” When she bites and scratches me for petting her when she is not in the mood (of which she offers no clues beforehand so that we just stay away)—-“no Cat!” Then we pull our hands away to nurse our scratches. This little girl has drawn blood on me a couple of times. Crazy cat. Pfff….Loca!
Next—she has determined that at 6 A.M the entire family should wake up. And she has nominated herself as our alarm clock whether we like it or not. She comes into the room and starts jumping on us. She’ll jump on my stomach, my head, my chest. I’ll throw her off. Then she’ll whine really loud and then jump on Owen. If Kanan has crawled into bed with us that morning (typically he comes in around 530 or so) she will jump on him as well. And if she wakes him up, then she succeeds because he won’t go back to sleep. He’ll be ready for his cereal and play, which means then that I have to get up too. She will try everything, including jumping up on my bedside table and either knocking my water all over my cellphone (she has done this three times already!) or drinking my water! She also knows how much I hate it when she jumps on the baby’s things—so she will jump in the baby’s cradle and get me to fly out of bed and throw her off. She will jump onto the baby’s changing table and start giving herself a bath until I leap up from the bed or Owen does and yell at her to scat. She will jump up on the hamper and if it isn’t full, it can’t balance her weight and so down it will go. She will jump up on Owen’s dresser and knock off all his books. At some point in this process, we get up and throw her out of the room. But in the meantime, I’m trying to hold back the curses.
Next—she loves to nap anywhere but where she is supposed to nap—on the blanket laid out on the couch. Oh no—never that. I find her everywhere in the house she shouldn’t be and in some places I’m just downright appalled she has discovered. She will nap in the kitchen appliance drawer or below the kitchen sink! How she gets in there I do not know. She is sneaky. Yesterday, I found her in the linen closet down the hall in the top shelf–completely zonked asleep on top of my good bath towels! She’ll sleep in the baby’s crib, the baby’s changing table in Kanan’s room, the baby’s bathtub in the bathroom. I’ve found her quite comfortable on the kitchen table and in Kanan’s dirty laundry basket in his closet. Do we allow this behavior? No way! But she doesn’t care. We have tried just throwing her off and yelling no. We have tried squirting her with a squirt gun. We have tried spankings. We have tried even shooting her with the Nerf Gun foam bullets.
Now our last kitty, Princess Fluffy Pants was not like this at all. She was awesome. She came into the house be pet when she wanted by laying next to us and exposing her belly. She was friendly to everyone and loved her belly being rubbed. She never bit or scratched us. But this cat—the inspiration for this blog, will bite and scratch anyone who touches her belly—and she doesn’t discriminate with age. I’m surprised Kanan still loves her because he has been hurt worse than any of us. But Princess Fluffy Pants was also allowed outside. Now of course, with that freedom also came her death. She didn’t make it past 9 months of age before she was killed. (Either by a coyote or a cult, we are not sure as we only found one severed half of her by a tree behind our apartment last summer).
So yes, this cat has now lived almost a year—but hasn’t seen much more than the patio—where we allow her to play. We want her to be able to go out and hunt and climb trees and get out her inner loca so she can be tamer in our home, but our apartment complex managment does not allow this. So, we feel bad for her. We wonder if her crazy behavior is due to her being cooped up all day. Of course, her weird cuddling habits are hers alone—she was doing that since the day she fit into our palms and we brought her home. Given this, we haven’t decided we hate her enough to get rid of her. Where would she go anyway? And somehow we love her—she is really pretty. And Kanan just loves her. They are the best of friends and it’s quite entertaining to watch them play together. Hopefully one day we will move to a place where she can be her wild self outside. And yes, while that may lead her face to face with a deadly coyote, so be it. She is an animal. And that risk is worth not having to bleach my kitchen table every time I find her napping on it or shaking out my towels so I can dry my son’s clean body when he steps out of the bathtub without him being covered in cat fuzz. But then again, I’d still turn around probably to find her, bottom and tail poking out from the toilet bowl as she drinks its water instead of from her water bowl. That darn cat. I love her. But she drives me nuts.