My Cat Will Kill You
Or My Cat will Kill You!
It figures I’d get a cat with a
mental illness. And she’s been to 3 vets. But then again, I’ve been
to 3 shrinks and I’m
still this way.
Here’s what happens: Josie (who
hates me to begin with) is sleeping. She hears something. She
stretches, gives me a look like she has just eaten a bad pistachio,
and glances out the window. There’s a cat outside.
Yikes!
In a snarling howling rage, she
goes psychotic and turns to attack me. I run screaming into the
closet, slamming the door behind
me.
After this happened twice, I
called the vets at Tufts in Boston. I knew they’d blame me. It’s
always the mother’s fault. I worked when she was a baby. I pushed
litter training way too early. And the worst of it is, I still let
her sleep in our bed.
I could just see
it.
Vet: “How long have you been
feeling this way?”
Me: “Me? I’m fine. It’s the cat’s
problem.”
Vet, snickering knowingly: “Of
course it is.”
Me, whimpering now: “I haven’t
done anything to make her like this. She came this
way.”
Vet, stroking his beard: “Uh
huh.”
Me, crouched in the corner,
sobbing uncontrollably: “You’re twisting everything around! I’m
perfectly sane! It’s the cat who’s
nuts.”
Vet, writing a prescription for
Prozac: “Come see me in a
month.”
Eventually, I found out that Josie
has something called Redirected Aggression. Since she can’t attack
the outdoor cats, she redirects her exaggerated territorial fury
towards me.
The treatment? Keep outdoor cats
away. How? Motion-detector water sprayers. Yes, for $90 apiece, we
have 4 hideous plastic Toucans that spew water on anything that
moves. Our mail-woman got soaked. She wasn’t too mad, which is good
considering her profession.
I called the SPCA. They suggested,
for $300 each, ultrasonic pest deterrent sound systems. We put the
speakers outside our windows. Humans aren’t supposed to hear the
high pitched squeal. But we do. It sounds like a million mosquitoes
on caffeine. Know who doesn’t hear it?
Cats.
I went to our local clinic. Our
vet, demonstrating unsurpassed expertise advised, “Don’t let your
cat look outside.”
I slapped my forehead, “Why didn’t
I think of that?”
Total cost of blinds? $458. Now
our house has a “nobody’s home” look. Burglar alarm?
$1750.
Still, we have neighborhood cats.
I went to a garden center. “Fox urine,” the fellow said. We bought
some. Not only does this smell really, really bad, it stops working
after every rain, mist and dew.
I know what you’re thinking. “Call
me,” you’re saying. “I’ll tell you what to do with the cat and it
will only cost the price of a
noose.”
But here’s the thing. I love the cat. The cat is passionate about the dog. The dog is Queen Protector of our two pet ducks.
The ducks love my husband Bob. Bob loves me, and so on.
There’s another thing amazing
about Josie. She’ll only lie near us when we have something
physically wrong. Before I had my impacted wisdom tooth pulled, she
rested against my cheek. When Bob had pain that turned into a
ruptured appendix, she laid on his stomach.
But now, I have a fit whenever she
hones in on a body part. I call it a cat scan. Last week, she slept
on Bob’s groin.
“You need your prostate checked,”
I said.
He got annoyed. “I’m not calling
the doctor and saying my cat thinks I have a
tumor!”
As you’ve probably surmised,
Josie’s here to stay. Though it hasn’t been easy going, I don’t know
of many commitments that are. I’ve never wished that she was gone;
I’ve only wished her problems
were.
