My beau insists his green-eyed cat has “issues.”
As with most human/critter controversies, I suspect it’s actually about human error. But Chris insists it’s Squiggy who’s at fault. See if you agree.
So what is Squiggy’s big problem? Pooping – on everything, says Chris.
When I first heard about the trouble in Poop City, I suggested Poor Kitty might have a parasite or IBS (irritable bowel syndrome.)
But Chris informed me his cat is a revenge pooper. Really? Well, that’s certainly one way to evidence severe displeasure.
“She does this when she’s upset with me, little pooper,” he grumbles into the phone, while scraping dried Squiggy poo from his kitchen floor. She’s deposited her latest dose of fecal disapproval because he spent Thanksgiving at my place, according to his theory.
At first I considered he might be right – although I attributed her pooping to stress, not spite. But on closer inspection of kitty’s commode, I realized it was likely not about emotions, or her diet. It was more likely about the accumulation of doo-doo. I tried to tell him it’s not that she’s mad. She’s simply NOT going to poop in a litter box that isn’t cleaned at least once daily.
Cats are fastidious creatures, I tell this most fastidious of men.
“Picture yourself as a cat,” I say.
(Actually, he is much more ‘cat’ than ‘dog.’)
“Now suppose someone left you home alone with a couple big bowls of food and water and a neighbor to check on you. You’re OK with that, right?” I say.
Right, he says.
But what if no one cleaned your litter box, I asked.
“Where would you poop?”
“There’s still room in there,” he says.
Eyeing the cat’s box for a clean corner, I call “foul!”
“Room in there?” Is he serious? The Englishman would never trot his puss ‘n’ boots into a dirty litter box. Not for love nor catnip.
But my neatness nagging has been to no avail. I can’t convince him Squiggy’s ”issues” are about the mucked up box and the lack of clumping litter. It’s stink. Not spite, stress or salmonella.
He still periodically decides ”the little monster” must be ill, instead of purposefully irritating. He considers taking the seven-year-old tabby on yet another diagnostic vet visit or trying a different commercial diet for IBS.
Meanwhile, Squiggy is still pooping outside the box. Chris is still scraping his floors, still resisting scrupulous box cleaning and clumping litter. And I’m still having to hear about this “issue.”
Anyone know how to train a male human?
