Spock, our cat, has recently become an outside cat. Merely because he is dumb. Or rather, as Neighbor puts it, humans are dumb for requiring animals defecate in small dirt filled boxes. Yes, Spock relieved himself one too many times on the carpet in the room that is soon to be baby’s. Not that baby will sleep in said room for a while; he’ll probably sleep in our room for at least a couple of months (easy boob access). But still, cat pee stinks and I like seeing J get mad about the baby’s room being violated:)
Anyway. Spock is outside 24/7 now and is getting used to it somewhat. He doesn’t often paw on the patio door begging to come in, doesn’t often meow incessantly for loving. He bears the rain pretty well under his makeshift cat house. He is getting really good at the scrawny, world worn look.
Poor kitty, I feel like I’ve made him become who he is. He was happy as a stray cat 1.5 years ago. He didn’t know what it was like to be a pampered house cat, fed premium food, crystal clear water, and given any number of cushy surfaces to lie on ALL day. Then all at once, those 1.5 years are up, he doesn’t live up to our standards and we KICK HIM OUT. And he’s left in the rain, wondering how he got there, remembering those long distant days when rain was normal to him. When fleas were his friends.
Well, he still gets his flea treatments.
But not the CUSHY SURFACES. Or the easy posh life.
Ode To My Cat: I am sorry, I am sorry, I am sorry. Pee in the litterbox, not on my carpet. Neighbor says he has a farm cousin who will give you a Home. I don’t want to let you go.