The Sad Saga of the Cat Who Pooped Too Much
Yep, that's about it really. But of course, I can't leave well enough there and there's plenty that should be explained and expounded upon.
And so I shall.
A little background information about the cat, the house and the arrangement. And then the fallout resulting in the cat's near imminent exile from our universe.
The cat is a housemate's little sister's cat that we took on because she'd gotten into a prestigious dance school in New York. And it was utter silliness to try and take the cat with her. Which turned out to be a good thing because she didn't ever really gel with Big Apple living and completed the summer course and came home. Which I think is a sign of maturity really. She didn't try to force a situation that wasn't for her. Maybe there's something to be said for stubborn stick-to-it-tiveness but I don't think it really applies in this instance.
Anyway, she returned to the west coast but not to Santa Cruz. Now she lives up near Lake Tahoe with her beau. Only thing is that she's been back out west for six weeks or more. With no inclination to collecting her cat.
The cat is a cool looking calico but that's about the end of her good traits. She's the loudest, most talkative cat I've ever seen. She's needy in the sense that you can pet her for ten minutes and the second you stop she's looking at you like you never started. It gets tiresome. She'll play revolving doors to go in and out of the house ten times in five minutes if you let her. Yes, all of these things are dealable and none of them are the reason she's got to go.
About a month ago she pissed in my closet, in fact, I think I wrote a post about it at some point. Ruined my backpack and was thusly permanently banished from my room.
Her newest trick is stunt pooping. Or maybe more properly, pooping to mark her territory.
Among her favorite places to leave stinky cat nuggets are two places in the garage, behind the second floor toilet, once on the dining room table, several times behind the bar, several times on one of the blankets we keep on the bench next to the bar, once on the door mat just inside the deck door on the second floor so that my housemate stepped in it and spread it all the way down the stairs. And the piece de resistance? Somehow this irritating ball of fur and claws figured a way to poop INTO a beer stein.
Think about that slowly. A big old German beer stein, at least 12 inches high and this cat target crapped into it. How? I've got no idea as the top of the stein was a good four inches higher than the cat's ass. Why? Who knows what makes a cat's brain work. But yep, that's just plain bizarre.
So the cat's GOT to go. Its no longer a livable situation and I feel bad because I don't feel bad at all about having to do this. Does that make any sense whatsoever? I think it does but then I know what I'm trying to say. Its a bad kitty.
