A few weeks ago, after we wrote about what cats look for in a new a home, we received countless panicked inquires (not really) from people saying they couldn’t afford to buy their cat’s dream house just yet. Don’t worry: You can still renovate your way to your kitty’s heart. All you need is a sledge hammer, a willingness to let your home have a sense of humor, and our five tips, which we culled from our panel of experts (cats).
Hardwood floors are nice, but lying on them for 18 hours at a go tends to make kitty totally numb. What she wants is carpet. Not berber — don’t try to pull that low-pile crap with her. She wants a deep ply, something thick and wooly she’ll sink to her belly in and then trudge from room to room enveloped in luxurious velvet loop. Eight-inch-high carpet is, of course, a custom job. Get your wallet out. And your 401(k).
You know those outdoor pools that go under walls and pop up in the bedroom or the foyer or something? (Everyone here reads Luxe Interiors + Design Magazine, right?) Well, your cat would like a pool like that, one-foot deep, circumnavigating all the rooms in the house and filled with fat, slow-witted carp. Frogs would be nice, too, and a sampling of waterfowl (nothing too aggressive — no terns are anything). Oh, and make it babble like a brook. No dragonflies.
Hey, you get your own room to conduct affairs — why should the cat have to share his space with the washer and dryer or (God help your house) the refrigerator? Your cats would like a little Zen retreat to call their own, featuring a nice bed of litter. Think of it as top soil. Make sure it goes wall to wall; you can clean it from the doorway with one of the long-handled rakes or something. It’ll be like indoor gardening, only instead of harvesting something like peonies or heirloom tomatoes, you’ll be harvesting crap. Good times!
Sun puddles are nice, but they’re too small and they move too fast. What your cat wants is not a sun puddle but a sun pool — a sun lake, a sun lagoon, a sun cove. A sun fjord? A sun ocean, bathing the living room and all attendant rooms in deep, thick layer of UV rays, which can be accomplished only by just vaporizing three-quarters of your roof. Get your sledge out.
The centerpiece of a kitchen is, of course, the cat bowl. So why is the cat bowl nudged in the corner, tucked out of sight? The eye should be drawn to the majesty of the cat bowl, the visual manifestation of the glory of feeding time, and the only way to do that is to build a five-foot-tall pyramid topped with a gold — or sliver, for those on a budget — cat bowl. This, you place in the kitchen. Twice a day, you ascend the pyramid, holding chicken aloft. Supplicating, you lower the chicken, intoning prayers. Don’t worry, your guests will love the pageantry.
Oh, and don’t worry about putting a water dish up there. You’ll be building a waterfall for that.
Cats are funny. We prove it in these posts:
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