Last night I came home from four days away in Atlanta visiting the woman I’m seeing.
When I’m gone I usually take my dog to the groomer who watches her throughout the day and takes her home to his place. She even sleeps in bed with him.
That leaves my cat.
My cat is dumb. I know that everyone says either their pets are smart or dumb, but mine really is dumb.
Example: When I brought my cat, Pantaloons, home the first time from the shelter, she ran right over your the dog and started rubbing against her, purring. Now, while incredibly cute, this is the mark of a dumb cat. Cats are supposed to be naturally afraid of dogs. But since my dog is harmless, no big deal.
This is one of the positives of being dumb.
Here’s one of the negatives. She loves peeing on my bed when I’m away.
EVER heard that cats will not sleep in an area where they pee? “Not true!” my cat says. She loves to pee in my bed and then sleep there later.
And sometimes I don’t catch it until after I’ve gotten into bed and noticed the smell. I so wish it wasn’t cruel to backhand a cat.
I think she’s either upset at me being gone and this is a “Screw you, old man!” or she forgets where to pee.
Note: I am not actually an old man, but I didn’t write the expression
The other possibility is that she has terrible anxiety about me being gone and pees outside the box as some sort of dumb-cat coping strategy. At least this is what I’m hoping because it’s treatable.
So now each night, before bed, Pantaloons gets 1mg of Prozac funneled into her gullet. She hates this, mind you. It’s not like they make goldfish and yarn flavored anti-depressants.
But I can’t keep having her peeing on my bed. And giving her away is not the solution. I mean, I’d have to lie to the agency.
Why am I giving the cat back? Um, would you believe that I suddenly developed a phobia of tigers? And you know, they’re like mini-tigers.
No, okay – how about that I’m into really kinky stuff, and I didn’t want her to see me suspended by the ceiling fan by with alligator clamps on my nips. That is not for kitty’s eyes.
Okay, last try. She ate all my mice that live in my apartment, and, hey, I really dig mice.
The Prozac takes about twenty days to take hold.
If this doesn’t work I shall throw myself off the balcony in frustration. It’s a super dramatic way to die, and I’m that kind of guy.
Plus, now I wrote it, so I need to keep the promise. My therapist is always talking to me about accountability.
