Today, though...I don't know, if she doesn't shape up, she's outta here.
We went to my mom's for dinner, were there from about 3, till close to 9 pm. Arrived home to a Scene, that made my heart leap out of my chest. First off, the living room was in RUIN. The TV tray I usually have near my computer desk was knocked over, and the stuff on it, spilled across the floor. Frankie's two lamps were on the floor, but still on (HELLO FIREHAZARD, a 60w bulb, laying on the rug) and his tank was all fucked up. The branch was down, his dishes were all upturned...but it looked like the lid was still closed. Moved some stuff, to get to it (seriously, furniture was knocked over) praying that it really was still closed, and discovered the truth. The cat had RIPPED the screen clean off. She broke the plastic frame, that the screen was anchored in, gouged the screen itself, and tore it off wholesale. Words can not describe the horror...
Background: 6 years ago, we had a cat named Bailey, and a juvenile beardy named JD. Bailey once got into JD's tank, and well...we thought he at JD. We tore the house apart looking for the poor lizard, and nothing. Seriously, JD was gone. I looked through Bailey's litterbox for remains, for the next month, and nothing. I cleaned out his tank, but left it up. I was heartbroken, I loved my JD, only had him for about 6 months. Fast forward 6 weeks. I was awoken by some commotion, one morning, and I swear to god, I thought I saw a ghost. There was JD, on the floor of my bedroom, near the bed...paper white, and thin as a rail. I nearly died, I scooped him up, and soaked him real quick (he was clearly dehydrated) and got him back situated as fast as possible. His orbital was broken, then healed, so he lost the use of one eye, and he was missing toes, and the tip of his tail, but he was ALIVE. The sad thing is, that after that, he was a changed reptile, never let anyone pick him up, he was very agressive, and skittish, and he never grew after that. Those 6 weeks must have been insanely stressful, I still don't know where he was living, or what he was living on...the mister thinks cat food, and sleeping under the fridge.
Anyway: Tonight, it's like a fucked up flashback. Get home, empty tank, beardie nowhere to be found. We tore the living room apart, and the mister found Frankie under the printer cart, alive, uninjured, and very very cold. He didn't seem too stressed, though, he wasn't freaking out. Just, cold. He's back home, we did an emergency repair on the screen lid, and it's good as new. He's fine, eating normally, etc.
I'm not fine, though. God. I'm still shaky from losing Pixie, earlier this year. Losing another one would kill me. Seriously, I would stop keeping pets, totally, I think. Just..I don't know, I couldn't handle it. Frankie is just a little baby, and so full of life. Thinking of him being injured in any way...well, I'd rather not.
The cat, on the other hand, might be looking for new living quarters, soon, seriously. We were both out of the room, earlier, and I caught her staring him down again, and intimidating him. That's gotta be stressy for the little guy. I totally can't trust her. Tomorrow, I'm getting the metal-screen reinforced lid, cat-proof, but still her peering at him, and batting at the glass is enough to shock him. Here I thought I could trust her, she was so docile when we had JD, and she's never cast Pris a second glance. Fucking bitch of a cat. I'm harboring ill will towards her, now. I'm not sure what to do.
[Listening to: Lady in black - Dark tranquillity - (4:19)]
7 comments:
I know this is going to be tough, but you need to decide which pet to keep. The kitty, or Frankie.
That's no kind of life for Frankie, to always be scared of the cat. You know she's harassing him when she thinks nobody's watching, who knows how long she sits there after you guys are asleep.
As for her behavior, I've always equated pissing elsewhere as jealousy. She obviously knows where she's supposed to go, but doesn't. Instead she goes somewhere that you sleep, and she used to sleep with you and pees on it.
In any case, its my opinion that you need to choose between pets, because this isnt going to get any better.
Ally, I know. I don't want to have to come down to it like that, but, I know.
I'm gonna lock her in the bathroom when we leave, till we get the heavy duty lid, then start a strict cat-training regiment. Squirt bottles, rubber bands, everything.
Since I own a cat (coincidentally her name is Bailey...after Baily's Irish Creme), I'll have to side with keeping your's and working on the training issue. It's unusual for a female cat to piss on things. It's not a scent and territorial thing with a female cat the way it is with a male cat (I could tell you some nightmare stories about my last cat, Cuervo...are we sensing a pattern here?). Anyway, you cat theoretically could have an infection. Then again she may just be pissed off about something. But please...give her another chance.
Since I own a cat (coincidentally her name is Bailey...after Baily's Irish Creme), I'll have to side with keeping your's and working on the training issue. It's unusual for a female cat to piss on things. It's not a scent and territorial thing with a female cat the way it is with a male cat (I could tell you some nightmare stories about my last cat, Cuervo...are we sensing a pattern here?). Anyway, you cat theoretically could have an infection. Then again she may just be pissed off about something. But please...give her another chance.
I'm not kicking her out, just yet. I was really angry and shaken up when I wrote that entry. Yes, hardcore training is necessary, I'm confining her when we're not home, and I'm blasting her with a squirt bottle when she gets too interested in the tank. When I'm 110% confident that she's broken the habit of preying on Frankie, then I'll quit confining her.
I don't know about the pissing, but it seems to have stopped in the past week, so who knows, we're over it. I don't *want* to get rid of her, so no worries, that would be the FINAL solution, when every single everything else is exhausted.
My Bailey was named after the Irish Cream, too. When he was a kitten, he was the exact same color. I was on an alcohol naming kick, Absolut, another cat, JD the lizard, etc. Alcohol is a GOLDMINE of pet names!
Well, gosh, I'm not certain why my comment was posted twice, but okay. Cuervo was a orange Tabby. And I know Cuervo means "the crow" (and thank you for the "can't rain all the time" reference because I love that phrase). But Cuervo was Cuervo Gold. The first time I brought him home, he puked on the floor and leaped over it. That reminded me of my first experience with Tequila. Thus Cuervo. I loved that cat (even though he pissed in my VCR and trashed it). He broke my heart when he died of a Kidney infection. He is buried in the back yard. Bottom line. Pets are not possesions. We bring them into our lives and we have responsibilities. You can't just send them to Good Will. You cat is just being a cat.
Heh, I know pets aren't possessions. My pets are family to me. Given my recent history with violent pet deaths (due to other animals) I'm supremely sensitive. Frankie really is the size of a q-tip, and totally defenseless, so my mother-bear tendency is to protect him from the big bad cat (who genuinely suprised me with her actions, cat or no, she's the sweetest, most social thing, normally). I've never gotten an impulse pet, I even take the fish very seriously. Shoot, I'm mothering 5 microscopic arachnids, right now, that I'm so enraptured with, I can't describe it.
But, when one of them overtly tries to kill another one...that does something to me, I guess. Like, I can't trust her now, and that bothers me. Training, training training. Keeping them seperated when we're not home, and all the safety precautions, etc.
On the upside, she's taking well to the training. I have my squirt bottle set to stun, and have gotten her squarely in the ear, a few times, she got all agressive/prowly. It's good. I barely have to move my hand toward the bottle, now, and she jets.
I'm sorry to hear about Cuervo, kidney stuff is so fast acting, and painful, what a horrible thing :( Bailey got hit by a car, a long time ago. He was my first indoor cat, and my prince. He was the Only Pet, for ages, and he acted that way. This was pre-kid, so, you can imagine the spoiling he got.
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