 The
Cat's Meow
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| Issue 5, Vol. 4 | Love Me, Love My Cat | January 30, 2005 |
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Paws for Thought: Becoming |
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In reality, I swear, I am a dog person. Dogs are personable, loving, loyal, and wonderful companions. They can go places and do stuff with you. They can learn tricks, chase balls… you get the idea. Yet, due to the vagaries of being single, living in an apartment, and being away from home for the majority of every day, I’ve ended up with cats. It wasn’t really intentional—my first cat was a stray, and after he died, it seemed logical to fill the void with two new cats. I have nothing against cats, of course. They’re great. But as a kid, I never sat around thinking about what kind of cat I’d have when I grew up. Cats just sort of… appear. There doesn’t seem to be much planning involved with their acquisition. Many people almost seem to consider a cat an accessory—something that would look nice on their couch. Or an effective rodent extermination tool. That’s not to imply that such cats aren’t loved or cared for by any means. It’s just a rare person who actually seems to crave the company of a cat. At least, that’s the perception. And now that I’m officially a "cat household," I think I know why. Everyone thinks cat owners are weird. I get strange looks when I relate humorous (I think) tales of cat craziness, or decline an offer to crash on a friend’s couch because I need to get home to the cats. I can tell what people are thinking: that I’m one of those people. The kind who worship the ground their cats walk on, and are wrapped around their little kitty paws. One of those crazy cat ladies. The problem stems from the fact that a lot of people just don’t understand cats, and therefore, don’t understand their owners’ ways of dealing with them. Everyone thinks cats are standoffish and unaffectionate—some are, certainly. But most are quite friendly and affectionate… when they want to be, on their terms. Cat owners understand this, and don’t take it personally when Tiger draws blood as he scratches to get away from a well-intentioned embrace. They know that in five minutes, Tiger will be clamoring to climb up in their laps. People think cats are so independent that they don’t require the same kind of attention as a dog—again, it’s true for some, but certainly not for mine. They recognize my car when it pulls up outside the window, and my cat Camber will invariably be waiting to greet me at the door every evening, with her buddy Harley waiting not far behind. It’s fully expected that my first duty is to plop down on the floor and dispense ear scratches and belly rubs. Changing clothes, checking answering machine messages, and opening the mail can all wait until later. Of course, there are also days when they’re both asleep, and don’t bother to do more than crack open an eyelid when I come in. But most of the time, it seems as though they generally miss having company during the day and are somewhat starved for attention when I get home. So I try not to leave them alone for too long; if it’s unavoidable, I make it up to them with plenty of attention when I return. In order to survive cat ownership, you need reasonable expectations. You can’t expect the little darlings to worship your every move, like a dog would. You’ll need to stand ready to be challenged—these pets won’t be placated by a few simple tosses of a tennis ball. Cats’ standards are higher, and their owners often have to go the extra mile. For instance—I live in a ground floor apartment with huge, almost floor-to-ceiling windows. It’s like having wall-to-wall kitty televisions. There’s endless entertainment to be found on the other side of the glass. The problem—the bottom panes of the windows don’t open. The kitties have to stand on their hind paws to get their noses up to the open window and sniff the fresh air and hear the chirping birds. They could, of course, just sit and look out the bottom windows. But they don’t want to, and they’ll hoist themselves up—by grabbing hold of the screens with their claws—to perch precariously in the open window. After noticing several large, claw-induced holes in the screen, and fearing for my security deposit, I decided something needed to be done. My solution—nail some two-by-fours together to make a "cat shelf" that sits in the bedroom windowsill and boosts the kitties up to the proper level for nature watching. They still try to climb the screens in the other windows, of course. (I’ve had to extract ensnared cats from well above my head on several occasions.) But not as often. Cat owners know that they can never expect their furry friends to be perfectly behaved—cats will be cats, and they don’t particularly care what anyone else thinks. (They’re also smart enough to know that when you’re not home, they can do whatever they want.) The best an owner can do is out-think them by moving precious objects out of their reach, or placing insurmountable obstacles in their way. So, I keep my plants on top of the refrigerator—the cats still try to eat them, but it’s enough work that they don’t do it often and the plants have a fighting chance of survival. I never leave dresser drawers open (they make great kitty beds). I know better than to leave food open and unattended on a kitchen counter for more than 10 seconds. I keep small objects (fun for furry paws to bat around) safely out of reach. I’m certainly not alone in these endeavors. My friend Gaye’s young cat likes to climb in the refrigerator, and will resist mightily if you try to remove her. So Gaye decided that whenever this happens, it’s easier to just close the door on the kitty and leave her in there. After two or three minutes, she opens the door and the kitty happily hops out. (Gaye has admitted that she lives in fear of forgetting, and overly chilling, the adventurous kitty, however.) My friend Jennifer turned her Houston backyard into what she has jokingly termed a "kitty concentration camp"—8-foot-high solid wood fencing, with netting angled inward along the top to prevent the cat from jumping or climbing out. She also had a special gate custom-made—9 feet tall, with 1-inch slats that go almost all the way to the ground. All so her cats could safely go outside to lie in the sun, roll in the dirt, and chase lizards. Going to such trouble seems strange for those who don’t have cats, but really, it’s just the way things are. Just as dogs have to be walked, cats have to be thwarted. Still, I try not to give too much detail on the lengths that I’ll go through to keep kitty peace in my home, lest I be forever pegged a Crazy Cat Lady. Of course, since the neighbors have already seen me climb a tree—in work clothes, no less—to rescue an escaped Harley, and spotted me, in my pajamas, putting cat food in the storm drain for the resident ferals every morning, I fear it’s a lost cause. Erin Harty is the Associate Editor of VetCentric. In addition to Harley and Camber, she also has three horses: Bingo, Shamrock, and Ithaca. You can email her at eharty@vetcentric.com. Reprinted from Vetcentric.com |
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If you -- or your neighbors -- think you are a Crazy Cat Lady (or Gentleman), you might enjoy membership in The Crazy Cat Ladies Society. (They also have a Gentlemen's Auxilary.) |
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