I went over to my sister's last night to feed the cats and scoop boxes. They have seven cats, five boys and two girls. The two girls don't like the boys at all, so they live in the attic; it's not really an attic anymore, more like a really nice third floor.
Whisk is their "problem child" (i.e. he pees everywhere he gets a chance). He is a gorgeous tuxedo who came to them as a wee kitten with part of his butt hanging out. They took him to the vet and the vet operated, but didn't hold much hope for his survival, but he made it through. That was about 7 years ago. He's a sweetie, but he pees. Everywhere. He's been to the vet, they've tried Feliway, Bach's, and he pees. They put pocket doors into both entrances to their living room, so he can't get inside and destroy the furniture. And he is not allowed in the attic with the girls. The only cat allowed up there, other than Maizie and Samarrah, is Thaddeus; for some reason, the girls adore that boy. If I can't find him in the rest of the house, I know he's in the attic with the girls.
Anyway, everybody had a good supper. I had washed dishes and water bowls and refilled everything. I had finished scooping the boxes in the attic, came down the steps, opened the door, and....whoosh! in and up the steps went Whisk. Crap. I knew I'd never get him back out. And I knew that he'd pee all over everything. What a mess for my sister to come home to. Plus Samarrah despises Whisk and they go at it every chance they get. I was a little worried about him. Not her. Him. She can be one nasty cat when she wants.
So I came home and called my sister. She told me to go back over to the house with a laser light; Whisk loves laser lights. So I went back over with both the light and a Da Bird. And nothing. Samarrah was on the table, Whisk was under the table, and every time he even made a move, she started yelling. He was suitably cowed, or so I thought. I reached under the table and Whisk got me....four nice punctures in my hand from his claws and he was hissing and spitting the whole time.
I was desperate because I knew that if I couldn't get him back to the main floor, my sister and BIL were going to have to come home early. And I was going to end up having to spend the night in the attic....it's a six-hour drive for them to come home, so I would have had to stay until they got there, simply to protect Whisk from Samarrach. But Samarrah was too much in charge to let the boy out from beneath the table. I took a whisk broom and gently swatted Samarrah off the table. She yelled at me, jumped from the table and ran under the bed. One problem solved. But Whisk was still in the attic and he was beside himself. So I went down to the attic door, opened the door, and came back up the steps to the table. And started keening. Loudly. EEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Whisk's ears went flat, his tail bushed out, and he zoomed down the steps and out to the main floor. Success! Called my sister and told her to enjoy her dinner, Whisk was back where he belonged. She was happy because she didn't have to come home last night. I was happy because I didn't have to spend the night there. (Since Mom passed away, we have a standing joke that she spends some time in their house. They've come home and there have been lights on in the house and nobody has turned them on. So the joke is that Mom is visiting. But I didn't want to spend the night there and be visited.)
Came home and washed my hand and liberally applied disinfectant. Whisk has scratched my sister's hand twice now and both times she ended up on antibiotics for a bad infection from the scratches. So I'm keeping a close eye on my hand. It hurts, but that's to be expected. Not warm, not red, not swollen. Thankfully.
And I told my cats what good kitties they are.
Whisk is their "problem child" (i.e. he pees everywhere he gets a chance). He is a gorgeous tuxedo who came to them as a wee kitten with part of his butt hanging out. They took him to the vet and the vet operated, but didn't hold much hope for his survival, but he made it through. That was about 7 years ago. He's a sweetie, but he pees. Everywhere. He's been to the vet, they've tried Feliway, Bach's, and he pees. They put pocket doors into both entrances to their living room, so he can't get inside and destroy the furniture. And he is not allowed in the attic with the girls. The only cat allowed up there, other than Maizie and Samarrah, is Thaddeus; for some reason, the girls adore that boy. If I can't find him in the rest of the house, I know he's in the attic with the girls.
Anyway, everybody had a good supper. I had washed dishes and water bowls and refilled everything. I had finished scooping the boxes in the attic, came down the steps, opened the door, and....whoosh! in and up the steps went Whisk. Crap. I knew I'd never get him back out. And I knew that he'd pee all over everything. What a mess for my sister to come home to. Plus Samarrah despises Whisk and they go at it every chance they get. I was a little worried about him. Not her. Him. She can be one nasty cat when she wants.
So I came home and called my sister. She told me to go back over to the house with a laser light; Whisk loves laser lights. So I went back over with both the light and a Da Bird. And nothing. Samarrah was on the table, Whisk was under the table, and every time he even made a move, she started yelling. He was suitably cowed, or so I thought. I reached under the table and Whisk got me....four nice punctures in my hand from his claws and he was hissing and spitting the whole time.
I was desperate because I knew that if I couldn't get him back to the main floor, my sister and BIL were going to have to come home early. And I was going to end up having to spend the night in the attic....it's a six-hour drive for them to come home, so I would have had to stay until they got there, simply to protect Whisk from Samarrach. But Samarrah was too much in charge to let the boy out from beneath the table. I took a whisk broom and gently swatted Samarrah off the table. She yelled at me, jumped from the table and ran under the bed. One problem solved. But Whisk was still in the attic and he was beside himself. So I went down to the attic door, opened the door, and came back up the steps to the table. And started keening. Loudly. EEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
Whisk's ears went flat, his tail bushed out, and he zoomed down the steps and out to the main floor. Success! Called my sister and told her to enjoy her dinner, Whisk was back where he belonged. She was happy because she didn't have to come home last night. I was happy because I didn't have to spend the night there. (Since Mom passed away, we have a standing joke that she spends some time in their house. They've come home and there have been lights on in the house and nobody has turned them on. So the joke is that Mom is visiting. But I didn't want to spend the night there and be visited.)
Came home and washed my hand and liberally applied disinfectant. Whisk has scratched my sister's hand twice now and both times she ended up on antibiotics for a bad infection from the scratches. So I'm keeping a close eye on my hand. It hurts, but that's to be expected. Not warm, not red, not swollen. Thankfully.
And I told my cats what good kitties they are.
