If you're an avid reader of the website, and I fail how you couldn't be given that's what I pay you for, you might recall that a little over a month ago I posted my experiences with the adventures of sitting around and watching cats for someone while they were out of town. It's not a terribly big secret that I'm not exactly a pet person, though I have been known to have one for dinner every now and
then. Despite my shortcomings in handling the furry among our society, I felt that I did rather well during my first outing given my obscene lack of experience. I mean, they were both still there when the owners came back home and the worst that happened was a few broken legs and a lamp. Like I said, nothing major. Still, you could register my shock on a richter scale when I was once again drafted for cat watching duty. I replied with a false smile and mumbled something about people needing to not travel so damn much.
Still, the fact that I am better than you notwithstanding, I'm generally willing to sacrifice a bit of my time for the greater good. I'm not saying that cats are anywhere near the greater good but if it'll make you happy, I'll do it. Plus the local YMCA kicked me out for wearing out my welcome and I didn't have any place to stay. So, armed with my knowledge and experience from the first time around, I felt more than confident in handling the situation without resorting to looking up "how to make sure the cat you're watching doesn't die" in Google. With my confidence bolstered, I made my way over to my new temporary home in an attempt to get settled in.
Things got started off very nicely because as I entered the place, I noticed a note on the counter that said that the cat had bought me a present. Upon opening up the refrigerator, I found a nice bottle of chilled champagne waiting for me which is essentially my version of catnip. While I will admit that it was a nice jesture, I don't really buy the fact that the cat bought it for me and I don't appreciate being lied to. I mean, the cat has no money to buy anything (let alone expensive champagne), nevermind the fact that he can't leave the house and the bottle is way too big for him to carry home even if he could. Honestly, I don't even think he's of age and if someone at the grocery store sold a small kitten alcohol, I think we have a bigger problem on our hands.
With the foundation of the relationship back on shaky ground, I decided to not take anymore chances. After downing the ill-gotten champagne in one swift gulp -- making a point to leer at cat while I did so in hopes that he would learn his lesson about lying and using a fake id to maybe purchase alcohol -- I sat cat down and decided that it was time to lay out some ground rules. If this thing was going to succeed, we needed some strict and rigid structure to our relationship. It was very important that we were both on the same page and that he knew who was really boss around here. The first rule is simple: I'm the man of the house. You do what I say when I say and you won't get bruised up. (Through some earlier internet research, I found that people don't like to come home from vacation to find their pet battered.) The second rule is also simple because I learned everything that I know about making rules from that John Ritter sitcom. I basically told cat to keep itself bathed and groomed on the off chance that I come over with company. The cat started sassing me back, rebuffing my rule with snide comments like "it's not your house" and "you don't live here." I remained calm and replied in a tone of voice that in no way whatsoever came across as threatening, reminding cat of rule number one and that if cat wanted to, we could go over it again but this time around I'd have hair clippers and a straight razor in my hands. I think he eventually saw my side on that one. The third and final rule, also simple, was that the cat wasn't allowed to speak chinese in my presence. I simply don't understand it and I didn't want him talking about me behind my back, even if he wasn't directly behind my back. Like, you know, if he was sitting in front of me and whatnot.
With the rules in place, I thought, naively perhaps, that things would go a lot smoother this time. As I mentioned last time, I learned a number of useful facts about cat sitting so I made sure not to entrust the cat with any cooking duties this time around. I still wasn't entirely convinced that the cat didn't buy the bottle of champagne for me so I was tempted on more than one occasion to send him on a beer run. In the end, I decided it was a bad idea, partly because I wasn't sure how I would explain it to his owner should something bad happen but mostly because cat looked like the type who would roll over and snitch on me at the first sign of trouble.
If anyone should of, however, I should have been able to notice that despite everything seeming to go well, cat was secretly plotting my downfall. Sure, it's all purring and leg rubbing until the time is right to strike. For example, despite the endless care that I gave tending to his litter box, caring for it like I would a tomato garden or perhaps a small midget with downs, cat decided that not using it and pooping all over the place was a viable substitute. It seemed that no matter what I did to try and stem the tide, cat was like a veritable fountain of poop, which wouldn't have been a bad thing if, say, cat poop was actually worth anything. To punish cat for his misdeeds, I decided that not feeding him for three days should be a suitable way to stop the flow of poop onto the carpet. Ladies and gentlemen, my plan failed miserably. I'm not sure if cat is skilled in the ways of the dark arts but it would seem that despite his lack of nutritional intake, he was still able to manufacture record amounts of poop while consistently making sure that none of it was in his litter box. And then he locked me out of the house.
After pulling a Jerry Bruckheimer meets Santa Claus maneuver, I was eventually able to force my way down the chimney against incredible odds (and the occasional slow motion action sequence, of course). Once safely back in the house, I figured that if cat and I were going to survive this thing with the house still standing, we needed to get out of the house and get some fresh air. Given my background as a certified any-animal-but-cat person, I thought that the best course of action would be to take cat for a walk. All animals like walking. I mean, it's not like they have a choice. They can't take the bus like the rest of us. Despite his poor diet for the past few days, he looked restless and I gathered that a bit of exercise would do the guy some good and perhaps calm his temper down a little. A little bonding time never hurt anyone, right? Wrong.
It turns out that cats aren't really the walking type, which would figure because cats are lazy and they smell like my grandmother. It was more like taking the cat for a drag as I exerted considerable effort pulling him against his will. I am learning that cats are a very reluctant species when it comes to doing something other than purring and shitting on the carpet. Not to mention that as a little joke between us, I had dressed him up in rival gang colors and made sure to walk/drag cat through their turf. Sure, we both got roughed up a little but I think it was worth it. Deep down, beyond the cuts, bruises, and soft tissue damage, I think we really connected with each other, similar to how that tire iron connected with my skull a mere half-dozen times.
Arriving home bloody and beaten, we both collapsed on the couch and ordered pizza. I got cheese and cat got anchovies, of course. We wound up watching Macguyver re-runs all night and fell asleep in each others arms. Nary a bitter word was uttered from that point on. Sure, this may just be one wacky, isolated incident but I am going to go out on a limb here and self-certify myself as "Cat Man: Bringer of Justice." I don't wear a cape or anything but if you have an angry cat with a troubled past, I think I can help. I have weeks of experience if you've got thousands in cash. Call me.
Still, the fact that I am better than you notwithstanding, I'm generally willing to sacrifice a bit of my time for the greater good. I'm not saying that cats are anywhere near the greater good but if it'll make you happy, I'll do it. Plus the local YMCA kicked me out for wearing out my welcome and I didn't have any place to stay. So, armed with my knowledge and experience from the first time around, I felt more than confident in handling the situation without resorting to looking up "how to make sure the cat you're watching doesn't die" in Google. With my confidence bolstered, I made my way over to my new temporary home in an attempt to get settled in.
Things got started off very nicely because as I entered the place, I noticed a note on the counter that said that the cat had bought me a present. Upon opening up the refrigerator, I found a nice bottle of chilled champagne waiting for me which is essentially my version of catnip. While I will admit that it was a nice jesture, I don't really buy the fact that the cat bought it for me and I don't appreciate being lied to. I mean, the cat has no money to buy anything (let alone expensive champagne), nevermind the fact that he can't leave the house and the bottle is way too big for him to carry home even if he could. Honestly, I don't even think he's of age and if someone at the grocery store sold a small kitten alcohol, I think we have a bigger problem on our hands.
With the foundation of the relationship back on shaky ground, I decided to not take anymore chances. After downing the ill-gotten champagne in one swift gulp -- making a point to leer at cat while I did so in hopes that he would learn his lesson about lying and using a fake id to maybe purchase alcohol -- I sat cat down and decided that it was time to lay out some ground rules. If this thing was going to succeed, we needed some strict and rigid structure to our relationship. It was very important that we were both on the same page and that he knew who was really boss around here. The first rule is simple: I'm the man of the house. You do what I say when I say and you won't get bruised up. (Through some earlier internet research, I found that people don't like to come home from vacation to find their pet battered.) The second rule is also simple because I learned everything that I know about making rules from that John Ritter sitcom. I basically told cat to keep itself bathed and groomed on the off chance that I come over with company. The cat started sassing me back, rebuffing my rule with snide comments like "it's not your house" and "you don't live here." I remained calm and replied in a tone of voice that in no way whatsoever came across as threatening, reminding cat of rule number one and that if cat wanted to, we could go over it again but this time around I'd have hair clippers and a straight razor in my hands. I think he eventually saw my side on that one. The third and final rule, also simple, was that the cat wasn't allowed to speak chinese in my presence. I simply don't understand it and I didn't want him talking about me behind my back, even if he wasn't directly behind my back. Like, you know, if he was sitting in front of me and whatnot.
With the rules in place, I thought, naively perhaps, that things would go a lot smoother this time. As I mentioned last time, I learned a number of useful facts about cat sitting so I made sure not to entrust the cat with any cooking duties this time around. I still wasn't entirely convinced that the cat didn't buy the bottle of champagne for me so I was tempted on more than one occasion to send him on a beer run. In the end, I decided it was a bad idea, partly because I wasn't sure how I would explain it to his owner should something bad happen but mostly because cat looked like the type who would roll over and snitch on me at the first sign of trouble.
If anyone should of, however, I should have been able to notice that despite everything seeming to go well, cat was secretly plotting my downfall. Sure, it's all purring and leg rubbing until the time is right to strike. For example, despite the endless care that I gave tending to his litter box, caring for it like I would a tomato garden or perhaps a small midget with downs, cat decided that not using it and pooping all over the place was a viable substitute. It seemed that no matter what I did to try and stem the tide, cat was like a veritable fountain of poop, which wouldn't have been a bad thing if, say, cat poop was actually worth anything. To punish cat for his misdeeds, I decided that not feeding him for three days should be a suitable way to stop the flow of poop onto the carpet. Ladies and gentlemen, my plan failed miserably. I'm not sure if cat is skilled in the ways of the dark arts but it would seem that despite his lack of nutritional intake, he was still able to manufacture record amounts of poop while consistently making sure that none of it was in his litter box. And then he locked me out of the house.
After pulling a Jerry Bruckheimer meets Santa Claus maneuver, I was eventually able to force my way down the chimney against incredible odds (and the occasional slow motion action sequence, of course). Once safely back in the house, I figured that if cat and I were going to survive this thing with the house still standing, we needed to get out of the house and get some fresh air. Given my background as a certified any-animal-but-cat person, I thought that the best course of action would be to take cat for a walk. All animals like walking. I mean, it's not like they have a choice. They can't take the bus like the rest of us. Despite his poor diet for the past few days, he looked restless and I gathered that a bit of exercise would do the guy some good and perhaps calm his temper down a little. A little bonding time never hurt anyone, right? Wrong.
It turns out that cats aren't really the walking type, which would figure because cats are lazy and they smell like my grandmother. It was more like taking the cat for a drag as I exerted considerable effort pulling him against his will. I am learning that cats are a very reluctant species when it comes to doing something other than purring and shitting on the carpet. Not to mention that as a little joke between us, I had dressed him up in rival gang colors and made sure to walk/drag cat through their turf. Sure, we both got roughed up a little but I think it was worth it. Deep down, beyond the cuts, bruises, and soft tissue damage, I think we really connected with each other, similar to how that tire iron connected with my skull a mere half-dozen times.
Arriving home bloody and beaten, we both collapsed on the couch and ordered pizza. I got cheese and cat got anchovies, of course. We wound up watching Macguyver re-runs all night and fell asleep in each others arms. Nary a bitter word was uttered from that point on. Sure, this may just be one wacky, isolated incident but I am going to go out on a limb here and self-certify myself as "Cat Man: Bringer of Justice." I don't wear a cape or anything but if you have an angry cat with a troubled past, I think I can help. I have weeks of experience if you've got thousands in cash. Call me.
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