So I like to think of myself as a good neighbor. Go on vacation, I'll take in your mail, your newspapers, water your plants, wheel your trash barrels back to behind the gate, and feed your fish. Just don't ask me take care of your cat. Ever again.
I did all those things for my neighbors....with pleasure. And, I did offer to take care of the cat. At their house, of course. My kids are allergic (thank god) and I , well I just can't stand them (cats not kids ) So after a brief lesson -on the phone- in cat-sitting...I promised to go the neighbors house (you have to feed them every day?) for 9 days to do my neighborly thing. Let me preface this by saying that I always thought cats were aloof and didn't need people to do anything for them other than use a can opener. If they had opposable thumbs, they wouldn't need us at all. And, I also thought cats who stayed in the house all the time were de-clawed so they wouldn't scratch up the upholstery. WRONG on both counts.
So- day one I go in the house, and I feel bad for the thing. So I pet it and scratch it behind the ears listening for the tell tale 'purrrr' that cats are supposed to do. I go upstairs to the kids' bath where the cat box is. It's following me in a sort of playful yet sort of 'watch cat' kind of way.
I take care of business (who knew cat poo was the size of a small shetland pony? ick) fill the water and top off the Little Friskies for it. Whew! That was easy. I can DO this! It. Likes. Me. WRONG on both counts.
Day two: I go to the house. I put the mail in the little basket and proceed to pet the cat. This time, he is purring, but has a wild look in his cat's eyes. I get the requisite purr and he rubs his cat self up against my leg. He is lonely and I start to feel sorry for him. I take an extra minute to scratch his little cat ears and fluff up his furry cat body. I go upstairs. He follows closely almost tripping me up as he sidewinds up the stairs. "go away cat" (maybe that was my downfall) . "Show me your shit" Cats don't respond to commands like a dog or a 4 year old.
I reach the cat box (why would someone want this in their house anyway?) and bend down to retrieve a bag and the pooper scooper. The fucking thing jumps on my back. You'da thought it was a frickin' lion the way I let out a wail! "Get off cat!" I don't want to hit it 'cuz it's not mine. He starts nipping at my hand and ankles. I am working furiously to get this over with. I bag up the remains (of the litter box, not the cat) and get the hell out of there.
Days 3-8: Pretty much the same as before. Toward the end of the week, I am thinking he doesn't like me either. He knows I am not sticking around for some kitty love and he's pissed and wants me to know it. That's when he bit me. Full on fangs on flesh. That Darn Cat bit me!
I took a photo so you could see the two little red dots (not the brown freckly sun damage spots) are where he drew blood! I screamed at him and really wanted to backhand him (using a bat)
He left me extra large gifts in the litter box and kicked the litter shit all over the room. This time. I am smart and close the door while I'm cleaning up the crap. He's outside the door "meowing" and sticks his paw as far under the door as possible reaching open pawed like a scene from a teen horror flick. I am scared to death...how am I gonna get out now! (deep cleansing breath now Swirl Girl, you can DO this)I open the door and bolt with my bag of poo. Hubby said if it were him, it woulda been the last meal that cat would have ever eaten. I think I left blood droplets on the floor for the CSI guys, in case there was any questions.
Day 9: I am dreading this. I decide I will wear jeans with soccer shin guards underneath. I walk in - no rubby dubby lovey kitty bum bum this time. I tell it to "GO AWAY!" It's nipping at my feet. I keep walking fast so it can't sink it's fangs into me again. "GO AWAY you frickin' cat!" This time he left me litter all over the floor, cat food kicked all around, Lincoln Logs in the catbox and what I can only surmise is a hairball in his food dish. EEeww! I've only heard of those things and saw one in Shrek II, but just eeewww.
Needless to say, I am glad neighbors are home. Their fish was a dream to take care of. Nary a whimper or a nip. The cat? Never again.
Did I tell you his name is Nova? Not as in the smoked fish or as in Scotia, but as in the pain blocker. The neighbors last name is Cain. Seriously.
I hate cats.