This entry opens with a statement that may alienate the world's passionate cat lovers: I am not a cat person. I know this because my wife has left me for two weeks with her Maine Coon cat, Pumpkin Pie. Deliberate emphasis on her.
Pumpkin Pie is my wife's cat, pure and simple. She is not my cat. I don't like cats. In general, I find cats haughty, fickle, calculating and maddeningly ego-centric. I understand this ascribes human personality traits to an animal whose mental capacities are incapable of manifesting such behavior, but having no other frame of reference I must rely on my observations.
My wife--God bless her--rescued Pumpkin Pie from a shelter, days before she (that is, the cat) was to be euthanized. I suspect the shelter people say that to every sad sack who wanders in, oohing and aahing over a sweet little kitty cat.
So in the beginning there was Pumpkin Pie. She lived with my wife well before I entered the picture, and I swear she (that is, the cat) has resented my presence ever since.
I inherited Pumpkin Pie in the marriage deal--which is pretty fair, since my wife inherited my daughter. The wife loves the cat and the cat--when it suits her (generally during mealtime) loves the wife right back. I have photos of the cat sleeping on my wife's head. It's really cute. The cat never sleeps on my head--I suspect she's an anti-baldite.
Since the wife left for two weeks in California, Pumpkin Pie has not been at all cute. After four days alone together, I'm willing to bet that Pumpkin Pie--if she could form a coherent thought in her pea-sized brain--is saying to herself, "I am not a man person."
I think she is deliberately trying to sabotage my relationship with my wife, who instructed me in no uncertain terms to in her absence value the cat's needs over my own.
In just four days, Pumpkin Pie has:
* Left hairballs in my chair
* Defecated alongside her litter box--right after I cleaned it!
* Scampered on the kitchen table, knocking over candles and other fragile objects
* Overturned her water bowl
* Scampered (for reasons unknown) across my bed at 2 a.m. for three consecutive nights (always at 2 a.m., like she knows what time it is--I tell you, it's eerie)
I spoke with a few cat people I know (one must befriend the enemy to gain insight regarding the enemy's behavior)and they said it's because Pumpkin Pie misses her mommy. She knows something isn't right in her world so she's acting out.
Acting out?! Let me get this straight: Cats have pea-sized brains, it's unfair to ascribe human behaviors to them because of their pea-sized brains, yet the cat is acting out? Maybe I should send the cat to intensive therapy for the next 10 days.
Pumpkin Pie and I have a truce going, though: When I am upstairs, she is downstairs. When I venture downstairs, she moves upstairs. We pass on the stairs, eyeing each other warily. The stairs have become our DMZ.
As long as I feed and hydrate her, as long as I clean out her litter box (Aside: litter? It's not litter. It's defecation and urination. I mean, I'm in PR but really, calling it "litter" is too much), and as long as I give her some treats I think she will not claw out my eyes while I sleep.
Here's the irony, though: This afternoon while I was watching TV, Pumpkin Pie jumped into my lap (she NEVER does this with the wife) and sat there for about 20 minutes while I scratched her behind her ears and rubbed her tummy. I understand from cat people that when a cat allows you to rub her tummy that means she's comfortable around you.
I suspect Pumpkin Pie is trying to lull me into a false sense of security and resolve to remain vigilant--especially at night when she has the run of the house...
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