Robyn.Bowles.es

We live with cats. Three of them. We did know ahead of time that they were part of the deal. But they seemed so well behaved when we came to check the place out. And the only odor I noticed on our initial visits was the sweet aroma of incense. Our flatmate – the owner of two and “cat-sitter” of one more – has been gone since the day we moved in which was almost four weeks ago. “How does she “cat-sit” when she is on vacation?” you ask. Well our flatmate has a friend who has been commissioned to take care of the cats while she is away. The friend also has a cat, but thankfully, that one stays home. Needless to say, the friend can’t be here all the time to feed, water and change the litter of these cats. . .

Which leaves us. Two of the three are not very well-behaved. One thinks it owns the place and that if you come within ten feet of it you are trespassing – and trespassers will be prosecuted with sounds of violent hissing, growling and random swatting of outstretched claws. I have experienced first hand this violent prosecution. I’ll just say that the cat – provoked only by my presence on the same couch – decided I was the enemy and wanted me to know it. I had a bloody laceration from the middle of the back of my left hand to the tip of my little finger to remind me of who’s boss: me. No more “Mr. Nice Guy” – we now approach that cat armed with a spray bottle, broom and hisses of our own.
The other one thinks it owns the place, too. But is much more willing and desiring to share it. He is everywhere. He wakes us in the morning (the very early morning, mind you) with meows and scratches at our door. Then he bounds ahead of me into the bathroom and sits up on the edge of the tub while it fills with water. He is fascinated by running water, which means getting a glass of water or doing dishes is a wonder to him as well. But I don’t want the butt of a cat in my face while I’m standing at the sink. Despite my consistent admonishment of pushing him off the counter – he jumps right back up. I think that he is also jealous of my laptop. In his mind, the only thing that should be on one’s lap is he. The spray bottle comes in handy with him, too. Though not for long. Samuel has, however, seemed to “put the fear of God into them” when it comes to entering our bedroom. They still try, but with great timidity.

Cats stink. Not them personally, but, you know what. The worst part of this cat experience is that their litter boxes are in the kitchen! Can you imagine anything less appetizing? I got so fed up with the wafts of stench that filled every breath while I was making a sandwich the other day that I decided I had to do something about it! I went online looking for the magic cure . . . baking soda or vinegar seemed to be the consensus. I searched high and low in the stinky kitchen and found no baking soda. I finally got to the point of dumping out all of the litter and scrubbing both pans. I then filled them with vinegar water and left them to soak in the tub for a while. It seemed to help for about 2 days. I’ve also tried simmering water with lemon and nutmeg – which does smell nice until I forget to check it and end up with burnt lemon. I’ve purchased numerous scented candles – the scent of which seems to be present only when sticking them up my nose. I’ve bought potpourri, and a perfume air freshener – all to no avail.

I hope I’ll be able to find some baking soda here soon. I think I may have to go to the expensive grocery store that imports such things. Even more so, I hope that our flatmate is obsessive about cleaning up after them, she’ll be back in a week.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” our flatmate’s friend said to me the other day. “There will be another cat coming here on Thursday, to stay while its owner goes on holiday.”

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