In exchange for them using the litter boxes, staying off the counter, and providing companionship when it suits them, we offer free-choice dry food, evening wet food (with narration provided by Arizona: "Is it squishy time? Who wants squishies? How does shrimp and cod sound tonight? No? Ocean whitefish? We can do that"), a variety of treats and toys, and all the warm-soft things (including laps and the center of the mattress) they could want. Oh, and in Lucy's case, a doorman (me).
You see, while Pixel is perfectly happy being an indoor kitty (seeing as how the last time she was outside she got thrown from a car onto the highway, she isn't exactly jonesing to return to the Big Scary World), Lucy lived for quite some time as a barn cat until the day she presented herself at the back door of my then-house to be let in. And I, having an opening for a house cat, obliged. Which in hindsight perhaps created a bad precedent: she meows at a door, and I open it. And when I don't open it, she howls. A lot.
Mind you, Arizona and I refuse to be cowed by ten pounds of tabby, and thus have weaponized our bedroom with (insert dum-dum-DUMMMM music) the Squirty Bottle. It is large. It is powerful. And, because we've been piling on the blankets rather than heating the bedroom, its liquid contents are cold. Think Supersoaker in the fridge cold (because we've all done that, right?).
Which brings us to this morning. When, at o'dark-thirty, Lucy T. Cat decides she has to Go Out, Right MEOW.
Now this is a clever cat, capable of higher-level strategizing. Knowing that we are armed, she performs a strafing run worthy of the Red Baron, darting into the bedroom for a couple of good howls, then bugging out again when there's movement from the bed.
But I am a higher mammal, which means that I am also capable of making a plan. So this morning I stealthily reached down and retrieved the Squirty Bottle when she wasn't in the room, and kept it beside me, knowing there would be another attack soon.
Wait for it ... wait for it ...
"MEOW!"
I whipped my gun hand around, aimed, and let rip with three blasts of cold water in rapid succession: SQUIRT, SQUIRT, SQUIRT!
Directly into my own face.
Yeah. I had the Squirty Bottle pointed the wrong way.
Sigh.
So how about you? Any bad pet training moments you care to share? Or unpleasant awakenings? Make me feel better!
As a kitten, Tesla used to creep up to our necks in the middle of the night, purring away. It was sweet. So we let him. Until he started traveling down under the covers to attack feet. Not a pleasant way to wake at 3am.
ReplyDeleteOkay, first off, I love the name Tesla. That rocks. And second off, awwwwww, how cute--Aaaaah! My toes! LOL.
DeletePre-dawn hours. Cat puking on windowsill, RIGHT NEXT TO MY BED.
ReplyDeleteFML it must be Monday.
Eeewwwww! Yep, definitely a Monday. Only slightly better than, say, in your slipper or exactly where you'll step on it come morning. (Can I get a 'been there, done that' from the cat peeps?)
DeleteYes, the windowsill was definitely better than the bed (several times), the floor (multiple times), the pathway from bed to bathroom (more times than I care to remember, and getting icked out remembering stepping in it, barefoot). She's never targeted my slippers, but there's always next time. *facepalm*
DeleteLOLOL! (Laughing with you, not at you. Trust me!) For a while, Pixel was targeting Arizona's office, right under his desk chair, as The Place Where Hairballs Should Be Horked Up. I tried to convince him it was a sign of affection ...
DeleteOur other cat, Darwin, waited for the rare opportunity when we stripped our bed right down to the mattress to present a hairball dead center.
DeleteClearly, you must name my next pet. And HA on the hairball placement. Teh kitties call it 'performance art' methinks!
DeleteOh, lol, ..., lol... let me finish wiping the tears of mirth away. Oh, that was priceless. I knew there was a reason I didn't bring the squirt bottle into the bedroom, because this is something I would do. And we won't even discuss the dogs. Let's just say I'm tired of cleaning up all sorts of messes lately.
ReplyDeleteWishing you a mess-free day! As for the squirt bottle, I won't claim it hasn't also been employed once or twice in the course of a tickle battle. Clearly, there is an issue with collateral damage when weaponizing the bedroom with the (cue music) Squirty Bottle!
DeleteJust stopped laughing so I could type. Been there, seen/done/stepped in that. MacGuyver goes into Cat Whisperer mode to hiss at them (just like Momma Cat!) and/or lock eyes with them. He manages to pull this off with a grim expression worthy of Tommy Lee Jones at his flintiest. I can't hiss to save the furniture without collapsing into fits of hysterical laughter. I have to rely on Squirty Bottle, which I shake like TV cops rack the shotgun. Squirt bottle can have the same effect unless the big orange cat decides he'll dare me to squirt him.
ReplyDeleteNiiiice! I can't do the hiss, either. Partly, I think, because I'm afraid I'll say something really terrible in Cat, when all I really meant is "for the love of kibble, stop clawing on the fakaka couch!"
DeleteLove the Orange Cat image (know him from Facebook!). Kinda like my old corgi who, upon being told "Not one more word out of you!" would narrow his eyes at me and mutter "rrruff" under his breath, just so he would get in the last word ;)