Cat’s a Jerk, Son
by Georgia Hardstark
I never thought of myself as someone who would say “thanks, but no thanks” to a cat. Although I think dogs are swell and everything, I’ve always had a cat, and can’t really imagine myself without one. In fact, I’m fairly certain I have the very best one right now in the form of a crossed-eyed Siamese named Elvis. I’m the kind of person who lacks the self control to not shout “kitty!!!” every time I see a stray cat, and have found myself on my knees, peering under cars in vain attempts at capturing said strays on more occasions than I’d like to admit.
Sadly, it seems as if I have met the exception to this rule. The exception’s name is Curtis, and he’s a fucking jerk. When my last (and I mean “last” in “most previous” and “last ever”, hopefully) roommate and his cat Curtis moved in with me and Elvis, I had dreams of our respective cats becoming close friends, and fantasies of what it would be like to have one cat to cuddle while the other one was giving me the cold shoulder. While Curtis can be quite cuddly when he wants to be, he spends more of his time doing the following:
- biting me
- biting Elvis
- chasing Elvis
- chewing through expensive electrical cables
- digging through the cat box for NO FUCKING REASON
- eating enormous amounts of food (which I pay for)
- clawing everything but his scratching post
- trying to jump up to the top shelf of my closet which results in things coming crashing down on top of him every single time but which he still insists on attempting
- trying to escape the house EVERY time the front door opens and being successful about half of those times
- being a general nuisance
When I moved into my apartment about a month ago I offered to take Curtis with me since my former-roommate was never home, and I was worried about Curtis’s well-being. It was to be a temporary thing, until my former-roommate got settled, but I secretly hoped that Curtis would settle in with me and Elvis and that we’d become a happy family. Nope. Didn’t happen.
I just don’t get it. While Elvis has the patience and demeanor of a dignified animal, Curtis is wild-eyed and disobedient. I don’t think he knows his own name, and shouts of “NO!” don’t even cause him to flinch. He walks underfoot constantly, demands attention and then pays you back by biting the shit out of you, seems to think that my putting on black pants or tights is his cue to rub all over my legs thereby leaving white fur all over me, and thinks that his being locked out of a room is a mistake that can only be remedied by yowling and loudly throwing himself against the door.
What’s funny is that about a year ago, Elvis was doing similarly wild things, and I thought that companion would solve these problems. “He’s bored and lonely,” I figured.
Elvis u used to b so centered
Well his problems have been solved, except now he’s a shell of the cat he used to be. Though he was once a chatterbox who you seriously couldn’t get to shut up, typical of Siamese cats, it’s now almost impossible to illicit a peep out of him. He sits quietly and never greets me at the door like he used to. He cuddles with me less, too, which sucks.
So tonight I’m bringing Curtis back to my former roommate, whose plan is to find him a home where he can be loved and hopefully trained. I’ll honestly be so relieved when he’s gone.
Update: Curtis has found a new home with Former Roommate’s friend. The friend seems very nice and patient, and has a young kitty for Curtis to play with and cat-toys in every room of his (beautiful) house. Plus, I have a suspicion that Curtis hates humans of the female variety, and prefers men, so this is a good fit.
Also, Elvis is back to his old self.
Georgia Hardstark is the contributing editor to This Recording. She lives in Los Angeles, and blogs here.
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