Cats are funny creatures. My cat's name is Charlie. I was gone for a week last week in Vancouver, Victoria, and Seattle, leaving the poor pussy-cat to fend for himself in the vastness of our house with no one to pet him. We arrived home last Sunday...Charlie was all over me, purring and rubbing his head against my leg and licking my fingers. OK, so he missed me. Right now he's crawling all over my keyboard, blocking the screen with his furry whiteness, waiting for me to pay him the respect and attention that he so justly deserves. Not gonna happnen, Kitty-Boy. And this is why.
He's peed four times in my room over the last three weeks. Once on clothes on my floor, once on a towel on my floor, once in a suitcase on my floor, and once in a laundry basket on my floor. All of these lovely locations were filled with clothes. He could be trying to communicate a number of things to me.
1) I don't like my litter. 2) I don't like my food. 3) I don't like you. 4) I don't like the dog. 5) Why are you so messy? Pick up these clothes. 6) I am the King. Bow to me. 7) I hate your style, it's so passť. 8) Why the hell have you stopped petting me, Insolent Fiend? [this one goes with #six]. These are only eight of the many, many reasons why he's decided to piss on my garments. Lord knows what goes on in his little cat brain.
A while back, he chewed off all the fur on the tip of his tail. He either had a seizure, a midlife crisis, or he just decided that his tail was evil and must die. Or, needless to say, all of the above. You can find Charlie at any hour of the day watching his tail twitch placidly BANG he's on it like a bloodhound, chewing and pawing and scratching. I have to admit, it looked pretty funny when there wasn't any fur on the end of his tail. We liked to call him "RatCat."
When he was a kitten, he'd do these funky little sideways jumps whenever we walked towards him. He'd sort of bob his head around, sway back and forth, and then Sprrrroinnnngg! He'd spring up a foot in the air, launching himself to the side. He still does it sometimes...but not as often as I'm bored, so he really is devoid of entertainment to me.
The funniest thing is watching the dog and the cat together. Dog's name: Ditto. She's a she, not a he. OK. Anyways, if Ditto's in the garage, juuust making sure that her bowl lacks food, Charlie will wait directly outside of the door. As soon as Ditto exits, Charles-Bo will spring upon her with the ferocity and vigor of a....uhhh....(waiting for a good simile here)...AHA! A small bear trap. He'll leap up, claws extended, front legs waving around in the air. Ditto will look over at him, and, with the reflexes of an extra-lethargic three toed sloth, she'll open her great, drooly maw and "thrust" it in the general direction of the cat. By then, Kung-Pao (one of the names we considered) will have departed and will be letting a stinky stream of urine loose on my freshly folded laundry.