Day Three of the Cat Wars: August 26, 2017
(Note to readers – especially Tom and Julie: Things are improving. 😊)
My day of fighting – the cats not me – starts when Laur and I go to bed (which is well before the birds.) That’s when Charlie, our visiting grandcat, starts to wander the apartment - howling. Of course, he cannot resist howling in Lucy’s face (our cat) while she sits on her favourite chair – and she cannot resist hissing. Charlie then runs back to the bathroom and hides behind the dryer, until the next round – some five minutes later. And on it goes until breakfast time.
I come into the living room in the morning at 6 am to find the furniture covered with fur. Charlie and Lucy never actually touch each other. But Charlie occasionally perches on Lucy’s favourite spot and pulls mouthfuls of fur out. And when she moves, he then goes to that spot and repeats the process. It reminds me of Carolyn and Tom when they were younger. Caro would shriek, “Tommy just looked at me!” And Tom, wiping a fiendish look from his face would say, “What?! Can’t I even look at her!?”
I’m a creature of habit - especially in the morning. I normally do four things without even coming to consciousness: top up Lucy’s water bowl, get orange juice for Laur and me, turn on the coffee, and get canned food for Lucy. I have to add in an extra four steps these days: tempt Charlie into the bathroom with food, top up Charlie’s water bowl, give him some dry food – and lock him in there. You see, Lucy is a slow eater – she only has a few teeth – and it takes her 15 minutes of nibbling and looking for pats and nibbling and looking for pats. The second I let Charlie out, he races to Lucy’s food bowl and eats her food.
Once Laurence and I are both up for the day and he’s eaten all the cat food he can find and pooed in the living room litter box at least once, Charlie goes behind the washer-dryer combo in the bathroom and curls up to sleep for the day. Charlie’s not a “bad” cat – he’s a scaredy cat and a “want-to-be-an-only” cat.
So why is he at our place? He’s the cat-baby of our son Tom and daughter-in-law Julie. They are expecting a human baby on September 1st and Julie’s mom is coming to help out for a month, two weeks after the baby is born. Julie’s mom is very allergic to cats and it will easily take a month to de-fur and de-dander their apartment. Trust me, having run a cat shelter at our home in St. Catharines, and then putting it up for sale – I know these things.
So why is Charlie so weird? Charlie was an older feral kitten when Tom and Julie found his flea-filled, grit-covered self under a car in a parking lot in Korea. And a few months later, he had to travel by air in cargo from Seoul, Korea to Toronto, Canada – with a stop-over in between. This would be a nightmare for the calmest, domestic cat – but to a skittish, feralish cat, it would be near the end of the world.
Said I to son Tom, “Maybe it was the flight that ‘broke’ him…” And Tom replied, “Actually, he was far weirder in Korea.” I cannot imagine.
Charlie had many other moving adventures once he arrived in Canada – about four of them in one year. His favourite home was living with Granny Marj – along with his parents – while Tom was looking for work and Julie was looking for opportunities for her. Charlie would sit at the patio window, cussing out the birds and the squirrels and groundhog. But if one came up on the deck, Charlie would run away and hide. We nicknamed him “Charlie the Brave.” It didn’t help.
And now this. All he wants is to be is snuggled in with his human mom – Julie, and to be played with by his dad – Tommy – in his Toronto home.
And trust me, it’s what we want too. We love Charlie, we really do. But to sleep at night we have to turn two fans on high, wear ear plugs, shut our doors, and hope we get to sleep before Charlie starts his arias.
Not only that, we’ve had to put a litter box in our living room (in addition to the one in the bathroom) so that Lucy can use the litter box at night without being stalked and howled at. There is nothing quite like having a non-flushing toilet sitting in your living room. Of course, I scoop it regularly but I also need to light a heavily scented candle to mask the odour. Right now, our apartment smells of “odeur de pain de banane et de toilette.” I don’t think we’ll be inviting any guests over soon.
Do I sound like I’m unhappy? Truly I am not. I am so glad I can be of any help at all to our kids. We are now on that side of the family arc where we seem to need them more than they need us – and that’s not a great feeling. And Charlie is a “good” cat – he uses the litter box and doesn’t destroy things. (Not that we have anything worth destroying.) Our standards are not high.
Still, I have it written on my calendar the day that Julie’s mom leaves. Charlie will return home the day after. I had a twinge of anxiety about this, this morning when I was scooping the living-room litter box for a second time. (Both Charlie and Lucy seem to like it best.) So, I facebook messaged my son,
“You’re sure you want Charlie to come home after the baby is born and Julie’s mom leaves?”
Tom sent me a frowny face. ☹ … Oh no! I asked him why the frowny face, and he replied, “You implied we might want to get rid of him.”
Hee hee. I am reminded again of when Tom and his sister Carolyn were little. I loved them both dearly, but if Laur/Dad was going away for the weekend, Tom ended up going away somewhere too. Grandparents in Elliot Lake, friends in Sault Ste Marie. Charlie is lucky. We will at least drive Charlie home. Tommy, no kidding, I sent him off – unaccompanied - on a Greyhound bus. But I was a good mother. I bought him a return ticket.
I just need to know that Charlie has a return ticket too!
My day of fighting – the cats not me – starts when Laur and I go to bed (which is well before the birds.) That’s when Charlie, our visiting grandcat, starts to wander the apartment - howling. Of course, he cannot resist howling in Lucy’s face (our cat) while she sits on her favourite chair – and she cannot resist hissing. Charlie then runs back to the bathroom and hides behind the dryer, until the next round – some five minutes later. And on it goes until breakfast time.
I come into the living room in the morning at 6 am to find the furniture covered with fur. Charlie and Lucy never actually touch each other. But Charlie occasionally perches on Lucy’s favourite spot and pulls mouthfuls of fur out. And when she moves, he then goes to that spot and repeats the process. It reminds me of Carolyn and Tom when they were younger. Caro would shriek, “Tommy just looked at me!” And Tom, wiping a fiendish look from his face would say, “What?! Can’t I even look at her!?”
I’m a creature of habit - especially in the morning. I normally do four things without even coming to consciousness: top up Lucy’s water bowl, get orange juice for Laur and me, turn on the coffee, and get canned food for Lucy. I have to add in an extra four steps these days: tempt Charlie into the bathroom with food, top up Charlie’s water bowl, give him some dry food – and lock him in there. You see, Lucy is a slow eater – she only has a few teeth – and it takes her 15 minutes of nibbling and looking for pats and nibbling and looking for pats. The second I let Charlie out, he races to Lucy’s food bowl and eats her food.
Once Laurence and I are both up for the day and he’s eaten all the cat food he can find and pooed in the living room litter box at least once, Charlie goes behind the washer-dryer combo in the bathroom and curls up to sleep for the day. Charlie’s not a “bad” cat – he’s a scaredy cat and a “want-to-be-an-only” cat.
So why is he at our place? He’s the cat-baby of our son Tom and daughter-in-law Julie. They are expecting a human baby on September 1st and Julie’s mom is coming to help out for a month, two weeks after the baby is born. Julie’s mom is very allergic to cats and it will easily take a month to de-fur and de-dander their apartment. Trust me, having run a cat shelter at our home in St. Catharines, and then putting it up for sale – I know these things.
So why is Charlie so weird? Charlie was an older feral kitten when Tom and Julie found his flea-filled, grit-covered self under a car in a parking lot in Korea. And a few months later, he had to travel by air in cargo from Seoul, Korea to Toronto, Canada – with a stop-over in between. This would be a nightmare for the calmest, domestic cat – but to a skittish, feralish cat, it would be near the end of the world.
Said I to son Tom, “Maybe it was the flight that ‘broke’ him…” And Tom replied, “Actually, he was far weirder in Korea.” I cannot imagine.
Charlie had many other moving adventures once he arrived in Canada – about four of them in one year. His favourite home was living with Granny Marj – along with his parents – while Tom was looking for work and Julie was looking for opportunities for her. Charlie would sit at the patio window, cussing out the birds and the squirrels and groundhog. But if one came up on the deck, Charlie would run away and hide. We nicknamed him “Charlie the Brave.” It didn’t help.
And now this. All he wants is to be is snuggled in with his human mom – Julie, and to be played with by his dad – Tommy – in his Toronto home.
And trust me, it’s what we want too. We love Charlie, we really do. But to sleep at night we have to turn two fans on high, wear ear plugs, shut our doors, and hope we get to sleep before Charlie starts his arias.
Not only that, we’ve had to put a litter box in our living room (in addition to the one in the bathroom) so that Lucy can use the litter box at night without being stalked and howled at. There is nothing quite like having a non-flushing toilet sitting in your living room. Of course, I scoop it regularly but I also need to light a heavily scented candle to mask the odour. Right now, our apartment smells of “odeur de pain de banane et de toilette.” I don’t think we’ll be inviting any guests over soon.
Do I sound like I’m unhappy? Truly I am not. I am so glad I can be of any help at all to our kids. We are now on that side of the family arc where we seem to need them more than they need us – and that’s not a great feeling. And Charlie is a “good” cat – he uses the litter box and doesn’t destroy things. (Not that we have anything worth destroying.) Our standards are not high.
Still, I have it written on my calendar the day that Julie’s mom leaves. Charlie will return home the day after. I had a twinge of anxiety about this, this morning when I was scooping the living-room litter box for a second time. (Both Charlie and Lucy seem to like it best.) So, I facebook messaged my son,
“You’re sure you want Charlie to come home after the baby is born and Julie’s mom leaves?”
Tom sent me a frowny face. ☹ … Oh no! I asked him why the frowny face, and he replied, “You implied we might want to get rid of him.”
Hee hee. I am reminded again of when Tom and his sister Carolyn were little. I loved them both dearly, but if Laur/Dad was going away for the weekend, Tom ended up going away somewhere too. Grandparents in Elliot Lake, friends in Sault Ste Marie. Charlie is lucky. We will at least drive Charlie home. Tommy, no kidding, I sent him off – unaccompanied - on a Greyhound bus. But I was a good mother. I bought him a return ticket.
I just need to know that Charlie has a return ticket too!