Lessons In Stalking: Adjusting to Life With Cats (4 page)

-9-

Passion Denied

My husband and I sit on the couch. We reach for one another. Kiss, kiss. Nudge, rub. Moans, giggles, and the beginning flickers of passion ignite. Until...

We have a sense of being watched. We open our eyes and she is sitting at our feet, staring at us. We ignore her and continue kissing. There is complete silence. We peek out from under our lids. She is still there. Staring.

“I can’t do this with her watching,” I say.

“Ignore her,” says my husband, nuzzling my neck.

I accept his caresses, but keep looking back at the cat.

She has plopped down on the carpet and is staring rapt at us, as if engrossed in a good movie. All she needs is a bowl of popcorn.

My husband senses my tension and stops. The cat looks from one of us to the other, eyes wide and innocent. Don’t mind me, her look implies, I’m not even here.

We leave the cat and move into the bedroom. Kiss, kiss, kiss. An article or two of clothing hits the floor. Then we feel a plop at the foot of the bed. We look down and the cat is sitting on the corner of the mattress, staring at us.

“Nope,” I say, getting up. “It’s like performing in front of a camera. Can’t do it.”

My husband glares daggers at the cat, who, now that the show is over, starts to give herself a bath.

It’s only recently the cat has decided to stalk us during foreplay. Her prior reaction was more like that of a child who catches their parents having sex. They do everything short of setting themselves on fire to erase the image from their mind.

Before, if the cat would see us kissing she would give a little start, as if we’d scared her. Then she would make a face and run off down the hall.

Eww, yuck. Stop it! That is sooo gross. Why would you want to do that?

Now I feel like we’re the parents of a three-year-old, trying to find a moment when the child is distracted to sneak off and have sex.

“Psst. The cat’s asleep on the window seat. Let’s go.”

So it lacks a little in the romance department. It gets the job done.

I think the cat wouldn’t be so fascinated (or disgusted) by our open displays of affection if she weren’t so standoffish herself. Getting her to agree to be petted is akin to entering into a trade agreement with a foreign country—57 lots of conditions and clauses, and you’re never sure if they’re going to back out at the last minute.

To pet our cat, one must not have come into contact with any other animal in the past 48 hours. One must have warm hands, fresh breath, move slowly with no sudden movements, scratch diligently under her chin and behind her ears, and never under any circumstances touch her tail or paws. If any of these conditions are breeched, it can be taken as an all out declaration of war.

But perhaps I’m wrong. Maybe she is there to help, watching us with only the best intentions of offering advice.

Perhaps her look of furrowed concentration comes from trying to send mental messages of encouragement to my husband.

Hey, scratch her behind the ear. We chicks love that.

Now rub her tummy. And sort of pouf her hair up, and then pat it back down. That’s sure to get her motor going.

The obvious solution would be to continue romantic activities behind closed doors. But many of the doors in our old home don’t latch completely and, when fifteen pounds of kitty weight are thrown against them, they swing wide open.

Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide.

So we’ll continue with the clandestine sex. Actually, it makes for a rousing change of pace. We feel a little naughty sneaking off behind the cat’s back to do the wild thing.

And I must admit it’s a whole lot more enticing than it was seeing the look of disgust on the cat’s face when we so much as kissed.

Besides, it’s not like nothing good has come from the cat watching us. Her presence has been inspiring, even.

I’m quite enjoying those tummy rubs.

-10-

Kitty Jihad

I am scared for my life. Our three-year-old black and white female cat has declared Kitty Jihad on my husband and me. I’m unsure as to what provoked this kitty holy war, but my guess is it all started when the veterinarian had us reduce the amount of food we were feeding the cat. During the cat’s last check-up, the vet had discreetly slipped me a brochure on caring for obese cats. I knew the cat’s tummy had grown a bit, but obese? Ridiculous!

I showed my husband the brochure, hoping he would feel the same injured sense of outrage for our poor cat that I did. Instead, he started referring to her as “Tubby.” If the cat was eating when he walked by he called out “Hey, Tubby, drop the nibbles and give me a lap!” He would then laugh roundly at this so-called humor. Neither the cat nor I was amused. I spoke with my husband about his insensitivity.

“She’s not fat,” I said. “The vet said she only needs to lose three pounds.”

“Well, she weighs fifteen pounds. Three pounds is therefore approximately twenty percent of her body weight,” he said smugly. “That’s a lot.” He turned to face the cat. “Isn’t that right, Tubby?”

The cat made it clear she was not pleased with the new food rationing. I’m not making accusations, but let’s just say I started finding kitty litter in a whole new variety of places around the house. But we stuck to our guns.

I laugh now at our naivety. I’d heard jokes about the sadistic and unforgiving nature of cats, but it wasn’t until I became a cat owner with a ticked off cat that I was able to grasp the full sadistic implications of a feline’s malice.

Simply put, our cat has declared a holy war against us.

The Kitty Jihad focuses on sleep deprivation. Our cat, who must have studied at some institute of higher learning before we rescued her off the streets, has taken to intentionally interrupting our REM cycles during sleep. The REM (rapid eye movement) cycle is what is needed for deep sleep to occur. Without it, people become irritable, unfocused, and experience loss of memory and concentration.

It begins late at night, after we fall asleep. The cat leaps onto our bed, and stares at us, waiting for the jittery movement of the eyeball behind the closed lid, indicating deep sleep is now occurring. Then, and only then, does she hop to the floor, and position herself in the doorway between our bedroom and the hall. This is just beyond the distance, coincidentally, that either my husband or myself can throw a shoe or pillow with any accuracy.

Once positioned, the cat does some gargling and deep breathing exercises to prepare for what is to come. She inhales deeply into the depths of her lungs, and expels upward and outward a powerful burst of air that reverberates in the silence of the darkened house into one long, loud “MEEE-OOOW!!”

Once she sees my husband and I bolt upright in the bed, clutching frantically at the sheets, each other, and our pillows, she really lets rip. “Meow, rowr, rowr, MOWW, meeoooow.”

Then she’s silent. We hold our breath and wait.

More silence. The worst appears to be over. We allow ourselves to fall back into our pillows.

“MROWRRRRR!!!!” screeches the cat at the top of her lungs.

“What the…?!?” my husband says, wrenching upright again.

“It’s the cat,” I say, punching the pillow and rolling over.

“Oh,” he says. “I thought maybe you were being murdered by an intruder.”

“No, but thanks for your concern,” I mutter. “You almost made it fully out of the bed.”

During this exchange, the cat has paced into the hallway.

A twenty-minute silence allows us to return to sleep.

The cat again takes up position. Now she adopts a more lyrical, questioning tone of voice. “Mrow? Rorw? Meow, meow.” Long pause. “Mrow?”

It’s impossible to sleep through it.

I nudge my husband. “Honey, do you love me?” I ask.

“Mmm-um” he replies.

“Rowrrr? Mrreow?” says the cat.

I nudge him again. “If you really loved me you’d get up and do something about the cat.”

He snorts air and pulls the covers tighter. “Uh-um.

Didn’ work lass night. Couldn’t catch ‘er.” He begins to snore.

That’s the signal the cat has been waiting for. “MROW!” she shrieks joyfully.

I carefully pry my husband off the ceiling.

What can we do? Kitty Jihad is declared and there is no escape. I’ve gotten out of bed to pet the cat but she just runs. I’ve plied her with toys to no avail. Finally I closed the bedroom door, but I’m not sure hearing muffled cat howls through painted wood is any sort of real victory.

We’re barely holding our own. And although we’re both on the verge of getting fired from our jobs—apparently it’s frowned upon to use your keyboard as a pillow— we have not backed down. The time is coming though, when someone will have to give. As I left for work this morning, I noticed the cat. She was sitting oh-so-casually near our new sofa, flexing her claws.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I said.

She stretched and gave the couch a significant glance before strolling away.

So I’m ready to surrender. I just hope she doesn’t do anything drastic before I get home from work. I’m worried though, because I might be a little late arriving.

You see, I’m going to have to stop and buy some kitty snacks.

Kitty Jihad wins again.

Part II

Cat & Kitten

-11-

A Second Cat

I was worried about the cat.

She was lethargic, dragging around the house. Oh sure, she perked up when we fed her, scampering to her food dish, but otherwise she seemed bored.

I had the perfect solution.

“We need another cat,” I told my husband.

He stared at me. “Are you insane?” he asked. “We can’t deal with the one we’ve got.”

“I know,” I said. “But I think another cat would help.

That way she would have a little friend to play with and she’d get some exercise. Plus, they can keep each other company while we’re at work.”

“Cats don’t need company,” said my husband. “They’re independent.”

He spoke in the same smug tone he uses when we discuss whether or not to leave a nightlight on for the cat.

He insists there’s no need, as cats can see in the dark. My point is that light is always a source of comfort, even if you can see fine without it. We never reached agreement on the matter and now take a passive-aggressive stance as we punch the nightlight over the stove on and off in a neverending battle of will.

“Cats do need company, ”I argued. “Why do you think she follows me around when I get home from work?

Because she’s been alone all day and she wants to be around someone, that’s why.”

“That and you constantly feed her,” my husband said.

We glare at one another.

“So are we getting another cat?” I ask.

“No,” he said.

***

Two weeks later I sneak into the house. I’ve just returned from the vet where we take the cat once a month to have her claws trimmed. We did a price comparison and the six dollars we pay the vet tech to do this is much cheaper than the blood transfusions required each time we attempt it ourselves.

I release the cat from her carrier and she scurries off.

I then carefully unwrap the bundle in my arms. It mews softly.

My husband enters the room.

“What’s that?” he asks, suspiciously.

“What?” I ask, looking over my shoulder.

“In your arms,” he says speaking through clenched teeth. “What is that in your arms?”

I gently place the kitten on the floor and fling myself at my husband. I decided on the drive home the pity route was my best shot at victory.

“I was at the vet and I saw this kitten in a cage. A cage!

And she is so cute and I love her and I think she would be a really good pet and the cat needs a friend and I love her and I can’t take her back to that awful cage,” I say, ending on a wail.

“No,” he said.

I grab the kitten and wield her in front of his face, raising my voice to Minnie-Mouse decibels. “Look how cute I am!” I coo, bouncing the kitten. “Look at my widdle face.

Please don’t send me back to the mean, old, ugly cage.”

The kitten sends my husband a look. Sorry man. Listen, is she always like this? Really, that cage wasn’t so bad…

My husband opens his mouth.

“Pleaseeeee” I say, shaking the kitten at him. She’s looking a little dazed.

He rolls his eyes. “Fine, we’ll see how it goes.”

I knew exactly how it would go. Carrying the purring kitten home, I had visions of our two cats as compadres for life. They would bat a ball of yarn back and forth. Snuggle together side by side in front of a warm fire grate. Give each other baths. They would be the best of friends. And they would love me all the more for bringing them together.

The cat was peeking at the kitten from behind the kitchen door.

“Come here sweetie,” I said. “Look what Mommy got for you.” I picked the kitten up and placed her in front of the cat, waiting for the love fest to begin. I was, to say the least, unprepared for what happened next.

The cat’s back rose in a boiling arch of fury as she towered over the kitten, spitting and hissing. Not to be outdone, the kitten arched her back and growled deep in her throat.

“Uh-oh,” said my husband, taking a step back.

There was a flash of claws, flying fur, yelps, growls, and then it was over. The cat ran out of the room and the kitten crawled under the couch where she stayed for the next two weeks. The cat refused to speak to me for a month.

I was miserable.

“They hate me!” I wailed to my husband.

“Yes,” he said.

I glared at him.

“You could be useful and help me fix this,” I demanded.

“What?” he said. “You read the book. Just give them some time and space and they’ll work it out on their own.”

“What does a stupid book know?” I asked.

“The author is a doctor,” said my husband.

“Big deal.”

“She won an award.”

“Shut up,” I said.

I tried my own methods of reconciliation. Wedging myself under the couch, I managed to stroke a few stray hairs on the kittens tail. I overfed the cat more than usual.

But late at night I heard rumblings in the hall from the two cats that raised goose bumps on my spine.

The cats finally came around and deemed to be in the same room with one another. The cat stared, stricken, the first time the kitten played with her jingle ball, but she made no move to take it from her. Once the kitten realized the cat was more bluff than gruff, she ignored her.

My lot wasn’t so pleasant. Since neither cat was pleased at the presence of the other, I continued to receive only lukewarm greetings from either of them. My husband’s demeanor wasn’t much better.

So it’s up to me to mend this family rift. It will take time, patience, and perseverance, but I am up to the task.

Besides, if I fail I have a back-up plan.

I saw an ad in the paper today for free puppies.

I can’t lose.