Translating cat to English is easier than you might think
When they change habits, the whole household is held hostage
As I type this, my cat, Sweet Pea, is upstairs yelling her head off. I’m downstairs ignoring her.
She sounds mournful. Perhaps she is being tormented by inner demons. Maybe someone is breaking in. When it first happened, I thought she was in pain and, of course, it was a weekend, which meant an emergency vet. I swear cats glance at their watches and wait for emergency vet hours to kick in before they get sick.
Pea is eight. She was a feral cat in my sister’s yard and she is darling. A very refined kitty who doesn’t like to discuss her rough start. Cairo is six, airlifted from Egypt by a rescue group who, I guess, decided that Canada had run out of stray cats. I know now not to encourage such
rescues, frankly. Cairo is a pain in the arse, but she’s mine.
I have four litter boxes because there were once four cats here. I have an unfinished basement so keeping the boxes tucked under the stairs is easy. Cairo sleeps down there. One box stays in an upstairs bedroom. It’s opened only at night so Pea, who sleeps upstairs, has access in case she has to pee at night. We call it Pea’s Ensuite. She rarely uses it.
The problem with cats is they get diligently immersed in a rigid way of going about their day. They like to eat at the same time. You think you’re going to be sleeping in? Ask the cat how they feel about that. They have their favourite napping spots, which is vital because they nap for about 20 hours a day. They spend the other four telling you you’re feeding them the wrong food at the wrong time.
You can buy them adorable pet beds and they will hate them until you move them an inch to the left and then they love them. In our family, we all buy these stupid beds and end up swapping them around because nobody’s pets like the beds that were bought for them. I once spent $45 on a bed, and the cat slept in a plastic laundry basket instead.
When these creatures of habit change their habits, the whole household is held hostage. Pea is the cat who taught me the day she announces she no longer likes the food she’s been eating is the day I just bought two cases. I have to buy random tins and try them out until Her Majesty announces which one will do. For now. Cairo, bless her, eats whatever I plunk in front of her. She also eats whatever I plunk in front of Pea.
That’s why Cairo eats in the kitchen, but Pea prefers to eat on the landing to the basement, with the door closed. We call it al fresco. “Are you dining al fresco this evening?” I actually say. She runs to the landing. But the yelling upstairs in the daytime? That’s a new quirk. I finally went up to see what she was bitching about. She was standing outside the room with her ensuite in it.
“I’d like to use this bathroom,” she said.
“It’s daytime. Go downstairs,” I told her.
“I will yell and yell until you think I might pee in the laundry. Open the door.”
“No.”
“Is this a battle you really want to choose?” she asked me.
“I do not want to normalize you using a litter box up here,” I explained. To a cat.
“I don’t like sharing with Cairo.” “I grew up sharing a bathroom with sisters. I understand. You still have to go downstairs.”
I’m holding my ground. For now. I know you never actually win with a cat.
It’s been a long pandemic. How are you doing?
The problem with cats is they get diligently immersed in a rigid way of going about their day. You think you’re going to be sleeping in? Ask the cat how they feel about that