Barney and Whitney turned out to be fast friends. The hissing and fighting ended within a couple of weeks of his arrival. I was happy to come home and find them curled up together on the bed. It had been a good decision to get a friend for her.
Barney was a pretty laid back cat. He never was in the forefront. He always waited to come find me after Whitney had had her fill of the petting and attention. Then when she was off sleeping somewhere, he would come for his. I guess they had established their pecking order. All was well in my two-cat world.
After I had had Barney for about two months, I had a break in in my apartment. I knew who the culprits were, but for lack of evidence, even the police could do very little. The people had decided to terrorize me and I seemed powerless against their assaults on me. Working 12-hour shifts left me very little time to try to monitor my house. I was at their mercy it seemed.
After about the fourth break in (where they wouldn't usually steal anything), I began noticing odd behaviours from the two cats. They would fight now and even hissed at me. I really couldn't fathom what was going on, nor would I really figure it all out until a while later.
One night I came home to find the furniture rearranged. I was at my wits end. Right then and there I decided I was going to move. That might help with all of this. Another thing I discovered was that there was cat urine in very strange places. The very thought of having to get rid of them because of their bad behaviour just broke my heart. Only months later would I find out that when those people would come to the apartment they would kick the cats around. They were degenerates for sure to pick on helpless animals. No one would have ever known had they kept their mouths shut. But they bragged about it, the lowlifes.
I didn't know which cat was doing the urine deposits, but I was almost sure it had to be the male. They are known for their spraying techniques. But he had been neutered so that baffled me. So I decided to find out which one was doing it. I would lock one in the bathroom while I was gone and the other would have free reign. Then I did the same with the other the following day. My heart nearly broke in two when I discovered it was Whitney that was acting out. I took her to the vet but he said there was little I could do. His suggestion was that perhaps another home would be the answer. I died inside.
I contacted a local pet organization who had a no-kill policy. They assured me they would find a suitable home for her. I delivered her there and they contacted me about two weeks later telling me she had been placed with an older woman who had no other pets and that she was doing fine. There was no more acting out on her part. Although I missed her dearly, I was happy knowing I had done the best thing for her.
In the meantime, I moved and the break ins stopped. And a wonderful new beginning began to blossom. Not having to worry about any pecking order, Barney's personality began to flourish. He was loving and very clingy. No matter where I would go in the house, there he was. He was always happy and curious and my goodness, did he love to play!
We lived in the country now, but I was still reluctant to let him be an outdoor cat. I had to have my first kitty put down because he had contacted feline leukemia. It seemed kind of cruel not to let him out, but I thought that if I ever moved again into the city, I couldn't do that there and he would be very unhappy. Now and then he would try to make the escape out the door. But that was remedied by actually putting him out the door a couple of times a year at 'selected' times. In the summer I would take him outside in a rainstorm and put him down on the ground. He would skedaddle back in the house so fast! I would do the same thing when it snowed the first time with the same results. He hated having his feet wet or cold and that prevented any more escape attempts.
We settled into our boring little life. I was his world and for the most part he was mine too. On one attempt to go out, he actually made it and I couldn't find him. I had to go to work and I was worried sick. I must have come home 20 times that evening between the taxi calls. Finally around 11 p.m. he was there in front of the door waiting for me. It was the reunion of a lifetime for me. I really didn't think he would make it out there by himself never having been outside. The cars went so fast down our road. I didn't know if he would understand about that.
A few days later later we were watching TV and my hand hurt. I looked down to find a flea on me just being the little blood sucker they are. He had brought home company in his little escapade. The next day I went and got the flea dip and all the paraphernalia that you need to rid your house of fleas. This was not going to be fun, I just knew it.
I hadn't been around cats since I was a kid except for the first kitty and Whitney. And I had never done a flea dip before either. I checked out his size and for whatever reason decided I would do this thing in the kitchen sink. I think it was because I didn't want to bend over him in the shower stall and I thought also that the stall might spook him more. BIG mistake.
I put the lukewarm water in a small basin I had and then added the flea dip. He had no idea what was coming. And as I look back... neither did I!!!!!
I picked him up and held him on his back just like I usually did. I walked around the kitchen waiting for just the right moment. I strolled slowly over to the sink and slid him into the water with the dip in it.
His eyes got HUGE. And as the recognition slowly came over his face of what was happening, I know now that I was not prepared for the impending battle. He turned over in a flash and tried getting away. His little arms reached for anything and everything to get a hold so he could escape.
His body got about three feet long. I remember thinking he looked like a long string of black spaghetti as he stretched to get away. What he anchored himself on was ME. He got his nails stuck in my shirt as he scrambled for safety... well at least dryness.
This was the day I remembered that you should always keep the cat's nails trimmed. He sliced and diced me pretty good before it was all over. It wouldn't have been so bad except the package said you had to keep him submerged for about two minutes. He was having none of that, I tell you!
In the end, the two minute job lasted about half an hour. I had to practically buy the store out of antibiotic ointment for all the scratches I had. The kitchen was a mess with flea dip water all over the counter, the floor and anything else he may have reached. The cleanup alone took two hours.
He vamoosed under the bed where I didn't see him again until the next day. I couldn't give him enough wet food and treats for the next week to try to make up for the trauma he had suffered.
But I did learn an invaluable lesson. He only got fleas two other times in his life. And I had come to know what the word 'dip' meant. Each time I would have to do it, I would get out the big garbage can and fill it with the water and dip. The opening was big enough to allow his body to submerge and the can was deep enough that he had nothing else to grip to escape. One botched job will get you smart LOL.
He is just very fortunate.... VERY fortunate... that I didn't have to repeat this process this time. You see, when he went off to his final resting place he left me many presents. You guessed it - fleas! In our other place he would lay by the door all the time. And there was a crack at the bottom. I guess some flea stumbled in one day and then invited his buddies over for brunch too. And so now they reside with me and use me as their chewing ground. I only discovered that after they didn't have him to munch on any more.
Oh yes... Barney's legacy lives on... until I bomb the place tomorrow!
... to be continued...
0 comments:
Post a Comment