My cat and I almost came to blows the other day.  We’ve never been what you would call “close” (I’m really more of a dog person), but we had been able to coexist peacefully by adhering to a few simple rules. I would freshen his cat box, keep plenty of his favorite cat food on hand, fill his water bowl, erase all evidence that may point to the fact he had hairball “issues,” and NEVER UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES touch him unless he initiated first contact.  He, in turn, would use his cat box.

But, a disturbance in “The Force” occurred a few weeks ago when Toby began reneging on his end of the bargain.  A certain corner of the family room became quite malodorous, and it didn’t take me long to find the cause.  I saw Toby squatting in the area in question.  Giving him the benefit of the doubt, I took Toby to the vet thinking he may have a urinary tract infection.  Several hours and five hundred dollars later, the vet informed me that everything was A-OK.  “It must be a behavioral thing,” he said.

“Oh, really,” I said tapping my toes and glaring at the pompous orange cat that was cleaning his face as though he didn’t have a care in the world.

I know there are some people out there who would seek out the best cat whisperer they could find in order to get to the bottom of Toby’s mood swing.  I am not one of these people.  Five hundred dollars was about $499 more than I wanted to spend on that cat.  I have, however, seen people willing to go to this kind of extreme on TV.  They’re the ones who build entire rooms for their cats and spend much of their spare time growing a variety of hybrid catnip plants to find the one that best suits Morris’ palate.  Toby’s lucky if I happen to toss a bag of Whiska Lickin’s in the grocery cart.

It’s not that I don’t like cats.  I like them just fine.  They’re pretty cute when they’re kittens.  But, when they get to those adolescent kitty years, something in them changes.  They become aloof, cool, and disinterested in anything we have to offer unless it’s food.  Kind of like human teenagers. And, just like living with teenaged “people,” living with grown cats means that you have to wait for them to make the first move, knowing that when they make up their minds, they will come to you for some affection and comfort.  Here’s a little something I found on the internet I think sums up cats (maybe teenagers too) pretty well:

Cat Haiku

You never feed me.

Perhaps I’ll sleep on your face.

That will sure show you.

The rule for today:

Touch my tail, I shred your hand.

New rule tomorrow.

Humans are so strange.

Mine lies still in bed, then screams.

My claws are not that sharp.

The Big Ones snore now

Every room is dark and cold

Time for “Cup Hockey.”

In deep sleep hear sound

Cat vomit hair ball somewhere

Will find in morning.