I adopted my kitty, Cleocatra, almost a year ago when a coworker and his fianc├®e broke up (what kind of people would have two cats, split up, and both move into no-cat apartments is beyond me). Despite being four years old and having popped out three litters, she’s tiny and adorable, with a silky coat, calico splotches, and black superhero mask splashed across her face. Visitors compliment her cuteness and I get smug, as if somehow I deserve the credit.
The flip side of being a smug cat mom is I would do ANYTHING for her. She’s got me wrapped around her little finger paw. Here are the 10 most bizarre things I’ve done for her that probably sound crazy to any non-cat lover — but just might sound familiar to you.
This one is just plain practical. Here in rainy Portland, only rich people have A/C. So for the 10 days of summer that top 90 degrees, everyone is miserable. I’m not crazy enough to shave Cleo (and let’s be honest, she’d claw my skin off), so the best I can do is point my tiny fan at her and flip it to high.
There’s just something depressing about coming home to a dark apartment with your kitty plaintively staring out at you through the window, as if to say, "You make it REALLY hard for me to read my stories." I know it’s a total waste of energy, but I can’t leave her in the dark!
Cleo ain’t the sharpest cat in the, uh, shed (or whatever) — it took her several days to realize the pillow I placed on the floor in front of the heater would be an awesome napping spot. Now it’s covered in fur, natch.
One of the perks of living alone is no dude will leave the seat up. Yet my insane feline devotion means I created this problem for myself, since Cleo loves her some sweet toilet water. I don’t get the appeal (there was literally JUST poop in there), but she digs it.
People tell you not to buy a cat bed, so I never bothered. Cleo sleeps on me at night, but when I’m at work, the next best thing to her heater-pillow is an open drawer of my (formerly CLEAN) clothes. She also meows pathetically when she can’t manage to open kitchen cabinets and doors with her paws. So I sometimes leave cabinets and drawers ajar, just so she can peek inside. I am SO whipped.
If something is happening in my place -ÔÇô someone is peeing, painting, making out, or making dinner -ÔÇô Cleo insists on having a front seat. While creepy at first, I’ve adapted to this along with the rest of her quirks. The latest development is her unhappily mewling and pacing back and forth while I chop veggies or make eggs, so I recently dragged a kitchen chair next to the counter so she could hop up and watch. (Her walking on the kitchen counter is strictly forbidden, because hey, I have SOME limits!)
Cleo does NOT like being picked up (although that doesn’t stop me from trying almost every day). The one way she’ll let me pick her up is if I hold her in my arms and give her a tour of all the stuff she’s too short to sniff: kitchen spices, books on the highest three shelves, my earrings and necklaces on top of my dresser, the fluffy towels up high in my bathroom. Her nose goes a mile a minute, and I think she kind of likes it: She no longer wriggles furiously to get down at the end, but rather lets me place her gently on the oddly shaped gray kitchen rug I knit, like a cat landing pad.
OK, THIS made me realize I was a crazy cat lady. Not only have I resigned myself to her drinking out of my water glass, but I ACTUALLY HELP HER do so when the water level dips too low. Stuff like this makes me glad I don’t have any kids to ruin.
This one borders on the insane and unhealthy. Whether writing or watching a movie, I’ll inevitably be sitting on the couch with my laptop on my lap and my feet up when I feel her snuggle into the mini-valley between my calves. Aaaand then I have to pee. But I can’t wake her up! It’d be mean!
The first time I whipped out my vibrator after adopting Cleo was a lazy weekend morning, and she sat on the windowsill, seemingly unconcerned with my undercover activities. Until I turned it on. WHAT was buzzing and moving under the covers?! SURELY it was a new toy for her! I tried to ignore her after she jumped on the bed, but when she started batting and pouncing on my vibrator, I drew the line. I reverted to lo-fi methods, and I’m pretty sure it was MONTHS before I got out a vibrator again. Crazy, right?
What’s the most ridiculous thing you’ve done for your cat? Let us know in the comments!
About the author: Holly is a freelance writer who loves cats, words, and glitter. She lives in Portland, Oregon, with her cat, Cleocatra, and writes at hollyrichmond.com. Find her on Twitter: @hrichmofo
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