Domesticating a cat (insert laugh here)

Cats. We all know them and some of us love them. They are sweet and affectionate when they want to be and mischievous and sneaky and insatiably curious the rest of the time.  If you're a cat owner, you've probably learned over the years that the best way to coexist in the same space as your cat is to let them do whatever they want and just hope they don't do too much damage.  The Professor and I have certainly adopted this approach when we adopted Gadget.  For the most part, we've given her free reign of the house since she entered our lives.  We let her jump onto the dining room table and prowl around the kitchen counters (don't worry--we do clean these surfaces before we prepare or eat food on them), we let her into the bathroom with us (she enjoys sitting in the sink while you do your business) and we let her sleep at our feet or on our heads.

Needless to say, Gadget has grown quite accustomed to her freedom and unchallenged way of life.  So it's been quite an upheaval for her to have the rules changed on her since we moved into our new apartment. And the rules have changed quite a bit and for reasons that are mostly for her own good.   I've mentioned before our glorious living room and dining room windows.  These wonderful windows which let in so much natural light during the day, also open all the way and like most European windows, do not have screens.  Which means that while they do let in a great breeze from the street, they are also potential death traps for cats.  If you have a cat, you probably know that their favorite spot to hang out is near a window or on a windowsill.    They get as near to the window as they can by jumping from the floor straight up into the air to perch delicately on the thinnest of surfaces.  Except that we don't have windowsills.  If Gadget tried her usual jumping act, she'd be jumping to her death.  I'm not exaggerating here.  I sadly know a person whose cat died this way.  She had left her bedroom window open and the cat jumped after a bird or something and fell five stories.  It's a story that makes me cringe.  Gadget has already scared the hell out of us when a maintenance man came by and left the bathroom window open not knowing that Gadget would find the fresh air and adventure too irresistible to pass up.  We found her a few minutes later precariously perched on the narrowest of ledges just outside the window.  So as a safety precaution, we've been careful to lock Gadget in one of the bedrooms whenever we open a window.

We've also begun locking her in the bedroom with us at nighttime for a few reasons.  The first reason has to do with conserving heat.  Before we go to bed, the Professor and I run our tiny space heater on full-blast so we can sleep peacefully without freezing to death.  For the space heater to be effective, the door needs to remain closed or the heat escapes.  If you open the door even an inch, you can feel an icy blast coming from the hallway--I'm not kidding. The other reason we lock her up with us has to do with our furniture.  We recently bought a sofa that we're quite keen on and we're not willing to have the upholstery shredded to bits.  The first night we had the sofa, before it occurred to us to lock her up, Gadget managed to scratch at both arms of the couch and one of the sides.  We were rather irritated to find her handiwork the next morning.

So, in an effort to save her life, conserve heat, and preserve our furniture, the Professor and I have begun the painful experiment of trying to domesticate our cat.  The reason I say painful is because the brat will not go quietly into the dark night.  She meows and meows for hours and claws at the door. When she doesn't think she's being annoying enough, she throws her full eight pounds against the door like she's a detective on Law and Order busting up a drug ring.  There is no amount of petting her or pleading with her that will get her to shut up and go to sleep.  We've tried ignoring her (louder meowing) and yelling at her. I've even thrown pillows at her.  We've tried moving her food and litter box to the second bedroom and locking her in there. All that has accomplished is that now we hear her scratching at and throwing herself against the wall that connects our two rooms.  Clearly, no tactic will work with this headstrong and willful little cat.

And yet for some reason, despite a week of only intermittent sleep, we've managed to soldier on.  We are determined to do this undoable thing--to housebreak this cat.  To get her on OUR schedule instead of vice versa.  So why do I feel like she's really the one winning?

(Photo: Dali Atomicus by Philippe Halsman)

Presenting: Gadget

  

Readers, allow me to introduce you to the youngest member of our family.  This is our cat, Gadget. She is an eight pound calico cat who showed up on our doorstep six years ago.  She was (and is) a happy, perfectly healthy little cat who someone abandoned in our apartment complex.  When her previous owner left her, Gadget wandered around the complex, hid in bushes, relied on kind people to feed her and cleverly avoided getting hit by passing cars until one day she decided that our front stoop might be a good place to sit.  And that is how one day, upon opening my front door, I saw a somber, silent little cat sitting on our stoop as patiently as though she had rung the bell.  She has been a part of our family ever since, providing endless amount of entertainment (especially when there's plastic bags or gift wrapping about the house) and bestowing us with all of the love a cat can provide.

Because she is such a big part of our family, we are taking her with us to Barcelona (as I first mentioned in this post many moons ago).   Towards that end, there are many steps that one must take before transporting a pet from one country to another and every country has it's own rules.  Here are the steps for taking a pet to Spain:

1.  First, your pet needs to be up to date on all of their vaccines and shots and must be micro-chipped.
2.  Second, you need your vet to issue a certificate of good health.
3.  Third, you need your vet's certificate of good health to be endorsed by a veterinarian at the
     Department of Agriculture.

Once you have the above documentation, be sure to contact the airline to let them know that your pet will be traveling with you.  Every airline has a different policy and may require a specific kind of carrier or harness for your pet.  You will also need to pay for your pet's ticket.

I know the question that must be weighing on all of your minds right now, which is: how on EARTH do you get your normally active pet to stay still, be quiet, and not poop for more than eight hours?  Well this question worried us too.  Fortunately, I have a good friend who was able to share her experience on this very issue.  According to my friend,  who took two cats with her to Spain, she brought along a sedative for her cats but never ended up having to use it.  She figured her cats were too freaked out to make a fuss (poor things!).  Furthermore, her vet advised her to not feed the cats before or during the flight to ensure that they would not need to use the bathroom.  Just in case, she lined their carriers with puppy training pads.  The two cats are now living happily in Spain (as are their owners), so I'm feeling very confident that Gadget will be just fine and that this is totally doable (which is a huge load off my mind, by the way).

Today is Gadget's appointment with the vet to get her aforementioned health certificate.  I'll keep you guys posted on her adventures as she makes her way to Spain :)

Mrow!

How cute are these cat shirts? Is it wrong for me to want all three? You're right---two is enough :) And for the dog lover, I've got something for you too. What about you, dear readers?  Are you a cat-lover or dog-lover or that rare mix of both?  

(Photos: Numph, Express, Zara)

Meet Larry!

One of the interior design blogs that I frequent, Desire to Inspire, does a segment every Monday called “Pets on Furniture” where they ask readers to email pictures of their adorable pets sitting, standing, or sleeping on a piece of furniture.  This is my submission:

A few weeks ago, I was thumbing through the photos of the day section of The Guardian online, when I stumbled across a photo of this little cutie.  If you don’t know who Larry the Cat is, you probably don’t live in England or read lighthearted, non-serious articles in European newspapers (I fall into the latter category).  Larry is the British Prime Minister’s newly acquired white tabby cat.  He resides in Number 10 Downing Street which is where the Prime Minister lives and works and where important political meetings take place.  When he is not busy chasing and killing rats in Her Majesty’s Headquarters, he can be found perched on a windowsill contemplating grave economic matters,

bounding down staircases in hot pursuit of thugs and criminals, 

or patiently waiting for the distinguished, political, bipeds to arrive at the conference room.

I don’t know why the idea of a cat residing in a major political establishment tickles me to death.  I suppose it’s because I can see him behaving the way my cat does.  Can’t you just picture him lounging lazily on that conference table, or perhaps batting around a stray pen while a major meeting is taking place? Or perhaps he’ll lift up his leg, point his toe in the air, and proceed to bend over and clean himself which our cat always feels the need to do when we have company over.

I know this post has nothing to do with Barcelona, but with all of the violence and tragedy ongoing in England, I thought we could all probably do with a good dose of levity.

Happy Monday!

(Photos: The Guardian) 

On flying with cats

It occurred to me the other day that I had never really been on a plane until I graduated from college.  Before graduation, I had been on a plane once when I was ten on a family trip to Toronto. Now I seem to be flying all the time. The irony of this is that while I love to travel I’m also a terrible (read: terrible) flyer.  I hate flying.  I don’t mind the mind- numbing waits at airports, the uncomfortable airplane chairs, or even the airplane bathrooms (which I actually think are kind of cute in a Tokyo-apartment kind of way).  No, what I hate is not being able to shake the feeling that at any minute we are going to crash and plummet to our deaths and that if by chance I do happen to survive the crash, I would drop into the sea where miraculously I do not drown but am instead devoured by a school of sharks.  I am one of those people who actually pay attention to the stewardess when she provides the just-in-case-you’re-about-to-die, do-this procedure.  I have actually shushed my husband if he tried to talk to me during this. 

Nor does it help that I am extremely motion-sickness prone.  I’ve gotten nauseas watching fast-paced car chases in movies.  So there you have it.  On a trans-Atlantic flight, I am sick to my stomach, green in the face, and willing myself to remember if you should stay perfectly still when you see a shark or if you should just try punching it in the face.  My husband is the complete opposite as a flyer.  He loves to fly.  He takes advantage of the free newspapers (normally getting one in every language even those he does not speak), gets a glass of wine with every meal and watches as many movies as he can. 

So what kind of flyer do I expect our cat to be?  Does she take after her mommy and will she also be battling sharks, or will she be curled up next to her daddy reading a copy of El Pais? Yes, readers (or reader, rather):  We are planning on taking our cat with us to Barcelona.  I’m actually surprised when people seem surprised about this.  Why shouldn’t we want to bring her? She’s been a part of our family for five years.  Yet, many people whom we’ve told have reacted with a mixture of bewilderment and disapproval.  I don’t know what they expect us to do. Take her to a shelter? Unload her on a family member? (not that she wouldn’t be an excellent addition to anybody’s family). So now we are deep in the research on the proper shots needed, what kind of carrier we need to buy, and how to make sure she doesn’t have to poop for 12 hours.  ¡Qué lío!