The Cat Menagerie

When one of  your cats tells you how it's really going to be from this day forward, it's time to start looking for that alternate universe with that sweet kitty that's the opposite of yours.  I love cats.  I love most cats.  I love a cat...most of the time sometimes, and some of the time most times. She's a fiery little calico, a lean, mean, fighting machine leaving another cats blood spilled path in her wake.  She's a hunter out for the kill...her territory's her territory, and there's no room in the inn for the little gray interloper she would love to kick clear to the moon. 

While we love to plaster human characteristics all over our pie-eyed, sharp fanged pets who own us...come on...no cat thinks like a human; which, come to think of it, is probably a major blessing for them and a thorn in our side for us.  My super realistic more experienced than Methuselah dog lover veterinarian voiced his thoughts as to how it really is in the law of catville.  To cats...you're a mate, a mommy, a playmate, or dinner.

That rubbing incessantly all over your shoes and pant legs (you're marked as safe territory) - that purring machine curled up on your lap (my territory, stay away you other foolish felines)...you think its love...hehehe...HAHAHA!  So...when your cat sizes you up for the day, is it a date, Mother's Day, partner in crime, or munch time?

Unless it's true family relations, a single cat in the house is indeed the happiest cat in the stratosphere and beyond.  All cat lovers and cat losers know a multi-cat household is a household always in flux, a household always in mood shifting mode.  Fight, tolerate, terrorize, suffer, chase, run, stake out territory, takeover territory...on and on and on.  It's basically a household of stress...baby...stress...peace flying out the window and setting up camp in the Antarctica.

Last Christmas I counted my blessings (foolish me) as all were peacefully congregated in my cozy warm living room awaiting the arrival of the man in red and his eight tasty reindeer.  Apparently by Valentine's Day a falling out between the feisty gray lady and that spitfire calico created an abyss as huge as the Pacific Ocean in this dwelling that's too small to be the apex of adversity.

Miss Calico was rapidly evolving into chronic bad mood territory, leaving no choice but to chauffeur her yowling and complaining to the house of meds for furry beasties for an evaluation in hopes all could be copacetic once again in this cat house with human shaped toys.  It's been confirmed food allergies have gotten the best of her and she's a body of pain...literally and figuratively...most likely from stress brought on by her association with a temperamental black furry mini-monster, well past his kitten hood and ambitiously clawing his way up the chain of command to that prize at the top of ruler of the Kingdom of Calico.

Trapped in this soap opera drama of my longing to be bored again sad life, a mommy cat pheromone collar was strapped onto the calico's neck and removed from the calico's mouth after she skyrocketed  into a ballistic frenzy of trying to rip that thing from her existence.  Since I evidently have a craving for more pain than normal, another mommy cat pheromone collar was strapped onto the black mini-monsters neck and cut with a pair of scissors from the black mini-monsters mouth and neck after he tore up half the living room trying to claw that contraption off his body.

OoooKay...that didn't work :(

The feisty gray lady's living behind closed doors in my studio.  The spitfire calico is being pumped full of Probiotics, Inflam-Ease, Antronex, Prednisone, and new eats.  That black mini-monster is scheduled next for the vet in hopes of diverting that last ditch resort of evicting him from our life altogether.  I never give up, I never give up, I never give up... :(  I'm having to remind myself once again why I ever thought living with cats was a such a grand idea.  Maybe I'll believe myself in a day or two.