I hate cats. I hate all of them. Even kittens. Yes, I understand that makes me an enemy of, like, Gahndi, but I hate them. I am not a cat person. I cannot willingly befriend and/or love some animal and then allow them to poop (even in a box designated for such) in my home. I berate my dogs for passing gas in the house; but our cats? Our cats have the run of the residence.
Admittedly, I didn’t think the cats would make it this long. We have two cats, Shelby and Friday, both of whom can be found on my Flickr stream. They are both 12-14 years old (as adopted strays, we have no idea of their real age) and they both act like old cats. If you don’t know what old cats behave like, let me share the joys of old cat ownership with you: they vomit. They sleep.
Yes, that’s it.
And sometimes, they don’t even wake up to vomit. They just spray wherever they are with projectile, kitty-food scented vomit, and then curl up in another direction.
Bryan tried to console me with their age when we moved in together. “They don’t have much longer, Sarah,” he said, making me feel as if I had suggested skinning them alive and then wearing their skin. “Let’s just give them a fantastic, loving home while they’re here.”
And they are still both alive and kicking. Still yowling through the night. Still vomiting. EVERYWHERE. Except now, I’ve learned that Friday has taken a liking to foregoing the litter box and, instead, making use of OUR BATHROOM RUG. Which is fun when you stumble in at three o’clock in the morning.
I think they are pulling the lifeforce out of me and using it themselves. Only that would explain Shelby’s newfound use of the f-word and Friday’s need to hide in corners and leap out at unsuspecting passersby. (Yes, I do that. It’s exercise.)
Now, before you call PETA on my anti-feline ass, I should say that I do really love these cats. But I am not a cat person. I don’t grasp the idea of hairballs. I hate that amonia smell. And the kneading thing feels awfully aggressive and taunting. But they have a fantastic, loving home here. While they’re here.
I just needed something to gripe about. That’ll do.
Poor Sarah…the trick with cats, at least in the night, is to tuck them in. Seriously. Otherwise they think they own the place. All three of ours sleep in the laundry room, and so their beds, food, and litter box is there. Every we night we call them to bed and they come running because they know they’ll get kitty treats. =)
And they STAY there?! Your cats must be brilliant. Mine get lost in their own house and yowl for someone to come find them.