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As has been told in previous tales, my girlfriend and I have two female cats. Cat #1 has been around since 2005, and Cat #2 came on the scene a year or so later. They lived in small apartments together and even survived several moves to new homes without killing each other. They weren’t the types of felines that you see on the sickeningly adorable calendars that cuddle together as they sleep. It was more of a sleep with one eye open relationship that they shared. Four months ago they were split apart when my girlfriend moved to her own apartment in order to be closer to her job, taking Cat #2 with her. Cat #1 stayed with me, and suddenly they were each happier than they’d been in years. We often wondered and discussed what would happen if they ever had to live under the same roof again.
Yesterday, they were reunited.
Today, the world is still reeling from this catastrophe.
Just eight hours ago my girlfriend got on a plane to go to Germany for her job and I had volunteered to take care of Cat #2 in my home while she was away. Moments after this reunification took place I knew that it was in my best interest to keep a diary for the next week in order to detail the carnage.
DAY ONE – Sunday
Today, Cat #2 was brought over in the typical pet taxi fashion. I had just experienced a forty-five minute car ride with her continuously hollering off beat to the music that was playing so I was ready for some peace and quiet. I didn’t make it more than two feet in the door of my apartment when the creatures made eye contact with one another. Cat #1 began to hiss and showed fangs that up until now, I had thought only existed in vampire movies. The cat carrier began to shake violently as though a wounded rhinoceros was being held captive within. When the carrier was opened, Cat #2 bolted from her plastic prison while Cat #1 was immediately locked away in the bedroom for the season. I headed out the apartment door to get the remaining luggage from the car and Cat #2 bolted out behind me, and decided to head for the hills. She ran towards the parking lot, but due to excess body fat and a full fur coat, paired with the pressures of a rather unintelligent animal experiencing sheer panic and terror, she didn’t make it far before realizing that she had no idea where she was going in the first place. Thank goodness cats don’t have GPS devices or she may have made it all the way to Reno before I caught up with her.
The rest of the day was spent watching the two cats throw icy glares back and forth while listening to a series of guttural growling, hissing, and spitting. It was a lot like watching teenage girls interact during my high school years. Cat #1 didn’t sleep in the bed that night as usual. She stayed stationed on the computer desk, fully alert and ready to protect her home from the intruder. I assume that she was expecting some sort of sneak attack that never came. To make up for this, she took out her aggression on my Venetian window blinds. May they rest in peace.
DAY TWO – Monday
I awoke this morning to the dulcet tones of two felines attempting to rip the hides off of each other. My girlfriend slept soundly through this racket while I risked life and limb to separate the animals. I crept quietly into the bathroom to get ready for the trip to the airport and Cat #1 entered behind me, completing her usual morning routine of getting in my way. Without warning, Cat #2 also wandered in to join the party. Suddenly realizing that they were mere inches from one another, both cats jumped in shock and attempted to turn themselves inside out. Cat #2 fled the room while Cat #1 fled into a wall. Eventually we headed to the airport and the whole trip I silently prayed that I would not return to the apartment to find a cat corpse. I didn’t think I had it in me to host a cat funeral before the day was over.
During my lunch break I went home only to find cat vomit all over the floor with the five o’clock news playing in the background. I had left the television on in an attempt to distract them from trying to murder each other, hoping that the mundane daytime television would put them to sleep like it always does with me. While cleaning up the mess, I wondered what had caused the illness. Part of me figured that Cat #1 was so stressed out by the invader that she couldn’t keep her food down while another part of me suspected that maybe the Tyra Banks show had come on the television while I was away.
Upon returning home from work, it was another night of scowling and hissing on their part while I attempted to decompress for the day. I tried brushing Cat #1 to bring her stress levels down a bit, but the more I caressed her, the angrier she appeared to get. I quickly gave up on that mission and headed into another room. On my way out, the brush clattered to floor behind me. I wondered if maybe Cat #1 had thrown it at me as payback for inconveniencing her usual routine of sleeping and shedding all over my clothes. Even if she had tossed it, I probably just would have been impressed since she doesn’t have thumbs.
DAY THREE – Tuesday
Imagine my delight when I woke this morning to the sound of my alarm clocking instead of the howls of feral felines. I felt refreshed and hoped that whatever had cat drama had existed the night prior had been put solved in a civil manner that involved a lot of licking. I got out of bed and made my way to the bathroom for a shower. Like usual, I pulled open the cupboard below the sink to grab a towel and was greeted with a flurry of claws and spittle as Cat #1 lunged towards my face. At some point during the night, she had created herself a bunker within the cabinet in order to hide from the intruder cat. Having clearly activated the defense system that she had put into place, I reflexively slammed the door closed and heard the thump of her body smacking into the wooden barrier that now stood between us.
Shower complete, I headed into the kitchen for some coffee. Cat #2 sat nonchalantly on the couch. She glanced over at me and gave a look as if to say “when is that Cat in the cabinet just going to get over it?” I silently commiserated with her while heading out the door to work.
Upon my return home tonight I found the floor covered in a fluffy gray substance that looked an awful lot like cat hair, but I’m not one to jump to conclusions. Cat #1 is mostly gray in color and the sheer amount of fluff that now covered the living room floor led me to consider the possibility that she had recently exploded in that general area. After a quick walk around and finding the cats hiding out on polar opposite sides of the apartment I returned to the living area to ponder today’s mess.
I sat down on the couch to think a moment and soon realized that what I was staring at weren’t actually the remains of an animal or the scene of a recent brawl, but rather the remains of the throw pillow that would normally be situated beside me. I began to wonder the costs I would incur from having to eventually replace the majority of my household items. Seeing the mangled mass of fabric and stuffing also made me fear for what they might do to me in my sleep.
DAY FOUR – Wednesday
This morning was a peaceful one. Due to the peacefulness I experience upon waking, I suspected that the civil unrest might have ended. I only thought this way because it was the first time that I had been awake for more than thirty seconds without a feline making an attempt on my life. Cat #2 was noisily bathing herself on the kitchen floor while Cat #1 was once again hidden away in her cabinet bunker, possibly building a small nuclear arsenal.
When I arrived home from work, I found that Cat #1 had relocated and was now sitting atop the refrigerator glaring across the desolate plane that is my apartment. Her eyes met mine and shared a look that told me she was now staging a sit-in until the interloper was forced to leave. I attempted to give her a return look that would explain that sitting very still in one place is pretty much her normal day-to-day activity and thus I couldn’t take her threat seriously. She never moved, so I’m not sure if the message got across, but then again, how would ever I know?
DAY FIVE – Thursday
The events of this morning led me to believe that perhaps the cats had finally settled their differences and had bonded together to fight the common enemy holding them captive: me. At some point during their late night scheming session, it was decided that some sort of chemical warfare was the best way to combat me.
Both cats have made a hobby out of heavily shedding their fur. They shed when they’re hungry, they shed when they’re bored, and they shed whenever they are within radius of whatever I am eating or drinking. I hadn’t been awake for five minutes when I realized that both the entire bed and myself were covered in a pelt of cat hair. This fluffy yet durable substance acted like a primitive net, making it difficult for me to get out of the bed.
After escaping their trap before they could do horrible, four-toed deeds to me, I noticed that the cat dander in the air was downright palpable. With every breath, I inhaled more of their bio-weapon and soon I was down on my hands and knees gasping for air. I was able to crawl over to the air purifier in the corner and switched it on, cranking it up to the highest setting. I then did what any other allergy sufferer would do and tore off the filter apparatus on the back and attempted to stick my head inside of it in hopes that it would suck the tiny spore attackers from my body. In the minutes following the vacuuming of my lungs I went to work pulling individual cat hairs from my nose and mouth region. What I removed from my nasal cavity alone created a furry ball of hair roughly the size of another housecat.
I moved towards the porch door in an attempt to flee to fresher air not noticing the minefield of feline excrement that paved the way. After one squishy step I realized that they had bested me yet again and it was becoming apparent that they had the upper hand in this war. I fled toward the shower to cleanse myself of the defeat and began to barricade the bathroom door behind me with random toiletries. It appeared that I was no longer the master of the house.
DAY SIX – Friday
As quick as they were to lash out at one another, they were even quicker to bond together when one of them had the epiphany that if they both meowed simultaneously then their food bowls would fill up twice as fast. This synchronized hollering also worked to get them fresh water, treats, a clean litter box, and table scraps. When I disappointed them they were quick to squeal and scratch and bite. The only way to soothe the savages was to brush them, however they were not happy with the fact that I only owned one grooming tool. This got me a set of claw marks on my forearm. As the racket went on, following me around the apartment I wore myself out attempting to please them. It was becoming increasingly obvious that these cats now owned my soul.
DAY SEVEN – Saturday
After a sleepless night full of meowing and thunderous purring I decided that the best way to deal with the cats was simply to not be at home. I looked for any reason to be away from my apartment. After inviting myself to my best friends’ nieces birthday for some cake and games (I’d never met that side of the family before) and becoming a third wheel on another friends first date to catch a movie (he probably won’t be seeing her again), I began to tire and soon returned to my apartment to find my entertainment center slightly askew, the ceiling high bookcase knocked over, and the contents of both cats stomachs greeting me. I realized that my girlfriend’s flight was about to come in, so as quickly as I’d arrived, I took off for the airport hoping that one cat might figure out how to turn on the gas stove and another might figure out how to light a match, and the problem might just kind of take care of itself.
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My girlfriend has a secret weapon in the never-ending battle with our cats. It’s not catnip, it’s not a special toy, and it’s not a harsh verbal projection that hits a specific frequency in their hearing range causing them pain. It’s a simple spray bottle.
As of late, the amount of plastic spray bottles in our apartment has begun to rival the number of drinking glasses available. It’s not that we have decided to take up collecting them as an offbeat hobby, or are anticipating a world shortage, but rather we have been drafted as soldiers in a war against our cats.
Lately, in addition to doing anything in their power to open closed doors, one of the cats has also made it very clear that she despises the Venetian window blinds. She likes to paw them out of the way so that she can see out the outside world and it makes a large racket similar to that of a drunk two year old wielding a chainsaw in a hen house. As with most bad feline habits, her disdain is usually at its worst while we are trying to sleep. It’s gotten to the point where as soon as the cat starts to fuss with the window, my girlfriend, regardless of how deep into her slumber she is, will sit up, grab the spray bottle and unleash on the cat as if she were firing an AK-47. This sends the beast into a rampage and she darts into the living room, destroying anything in her path.
A few mornings ago I awoke for an early shift at work and noticed more light than usual pouring in through the window. I pulled back the curtain and was greeted by a set of maimed blinds. The slats were bent and broken so I went about meagerly attempting to fix them. Unbeknownst to me, the sound I generated while trying to situate them created a noise eerily similar to that of the cat trying to paw its way to freedom. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a shape rise up from the bed and before I knew it, a barrage of spray bottle fire was raining down upon me.
In between ducking for cover and experiencing Vietnam-esque flashbacks of water gun fights with my father, I realized how viable a weapon the spray bottle truly was and as I rampaged through my home destroying anything in my path I knew how the cat felt. There’s something enlightening about an ice-cold spear striking you repeatedly that really makes you consider all the things you’ve done wrong in your life.
I found myself hiding out under the coffee table until things calmed down. The cat was also taking shelter there and as we made eye contact she glared at me as if to say “Yeah, that pretty much sucks, huh?” I returned to the bedroom in hopes of seeking an apology from the girlfriend but found her fast asleep, likely unaware of the events which had just occurred.
This column won an Honorable Mention in HumorPress.com‘s August/September 2009 “America’s Funniest Humor!” writing contest!
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Once during a party thrown by my parents I learned two very important lessons. One: do not force a cat into a box against its will, and two: people will not show sympathy if you are injured due to your own stupidity. It’s a shame that these lessons were learned only after the cat was already clinging onto my face.
I can’t say that I remember the event that brought friends and family members to our home that day, but I do remember that we were all in the garage talking when a young me, desperate for attention, decided that I would stuff my cat into an empty refrigerator box and stand it up on end, trapping her in a prison of cardboard. She began to scratch, whine, and jump in feeble attempts to escape. Eventually someone at the party, who had obviously left their sense of humor at home, mentioned how cruel and mean my actions were so I tilted the box over to peek inside and make sure my cat was doing alright.
As the large box tipped down far enough where I could see inside, I was greeted by a pair of large, feral, glowing yellow eyes rushing up the box towards me like an out of control semi truck. In a moment of panic I let go of the box causing it to fall to the ground, but by then it was too late. The cat had already leapt for her freedom. Suddenly I felt a sharp pain in my mouth and realized the horrible truth: the cat was officially dangling from my lower lip with one claw.
I did what anyone would do in my situation and started screaming bloody murder and shaking my head profusely causing the feline to swing side to side as it screeched like a stuck pig. Eventually I stopped when I realized that everyone had gotten very silent and were all eyeballing my current situation. The guests had varying degrees of shock, horror, disbelief, and disgust across their faces. I had officially become the train wreck that everyone can’t help but watch. Once they realized that I had become conscious of their stares, the place erupted in pandemonium. My mother rushed to the rescue and together we unhinged the cat from my jaw. I asked her how badly I was injured since I was fairly certain that my face could only be identified via dental records. My mother assured me that I wasn’t bleeding and everything was just fine. This calmed me down so I went inside to check on my battle wounds. When I got into the bathroom and turned on the light I realized that my own mom had filled me with deceit. The image I saw in the mirror was like something out of a gruesome slasher flick. Blood ran down one side of my mouth, and tears down the other.
After cleaning up the puncture wound and rejoining the party, I received no sympathy. In fact, everyone was busy adding insult to injury making sure the cat was okay and hadn’t broken a nail on my face. They took their turns hassling me for messing with the animal in the first place saying things like “face wounds help you build character” and “you got what was coming to you, young man” and even my Grandma told me not to worry because my enormous head would continue to draw attention away from my face. Of course, she was on the sauce that night. Overall, no one seemed very concerned for my physical or emotional health. I tried to take comfort in the fact that all of the guests would leave that night and have nightmares of a boy flailing wildly with a cat stuck to his face.
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I live with two cats that have recently, unbeknownst to me, gotten together and voted on a major issue. The polls are closed, the results are in, and they have decided that closed doors now offend them.
Sure, we all know that cats are curious, but mine are getting to the point where curiosity has taken a back seat to being antisocial and downright rude. They play the common cat games like the “Wake Up” competition, where as I’m peacefully asleep they take turns jumping high into the air and landing on my face to see who can wake me up so I will feed them. They also enjoy the game where they lay flat on their backs and put their bellies into the air and each time I make an attempt to pat their soft underside, they dig their claws into my arm and attempt to separate the flesh from the bone. I have affectionately come to refer to this one as the “Furry Bear Trap” game. They also hold the famous “Giant Killer” contest daily where as I’m walking anywhere around my apartment they scamper in front of my legs causing me to fall and face plant into whatever furniture is closest. They especially like to play this game when I’m carrying piping hot coffee.
A few days ago the cats adopted a new game without telling me. I like to think that in their minds they’re going to call it the “How Dare You Close the Door” game.
Each morning as I lock myself away in the bathroom and prepare for the workday ahead I will try to round them up and stick them inside with me so everyone is happy. However, if they’re sleeping, or unable to be located, it’s not going to stop me from getting to work on time. The other day I found myself in the shower, fighting to stay awake, when out of nowhere something hit the closed door with power reminiscent of an atomic bomb. I paused, not quite sure what had happened and stood perplexed as soap trickled into my eyes. Assuming that I had imagined the noise in my pre-coffee mental state, I continued with the shower when moments later there was another slam on the door, louder than the first. At this point I told myself that the only logical explanation was that someone had broken into my apartment and was now shooting cannon balls at the bathroom door. Before I had time to take any type of safety precautions, such as grabbing a worn out, rusty razor, there was another extremely loud bang on the door and it came flying open, slamming against the wall. I threw open the shower curtain and grabbed a shampoo bottle for self-defense. I was greeted not by a burglar or hooligan, but by the adorable meows of two felines.
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