Of all God’s creatures, there is only one that cannot be made slave of the lash. That one is the cat. If man could be crossed with the cat it would improve the man, but it would deteriorate the cat. ~Mark Twain
There are all sorts of ways to battle. Battles can happen physically in multiple forms using an infinite number of weapons. Then there’s the mental battle, using wit and a persons internal psyche, and the list goes on and on. Sometimes battles take the form of actions based on symbolism, especially when one of the warriors cannot speak, only to say ‘meow’. I am referring to Pudd’in, my cat of roughly 17 years, who is about 19 years old now. Her opponent: My dad, who’ve I’ve known for 25 years now, being 61 years old.
My dad likes all animals, but not particularly cats. He tolerates Pudd’in but I’ve never seen my dad actually hold a cat let alone cuddle up with one. I, on the other hand, have always been infatuated with cats. I’ve always had at least one cat my entire life. When I was Kyle’s age, I used to stay on the ridge with my grandparents. They seemed to always have feral cats running around on the edge of the woods. I would sit in the yard behind the house and tame those cats. Looking back on it now, it was kind of a sight. The cats would walk up to me and I would hold them until they were purring. Then we were instant friends. Sure they would scream a little and try to run once I was holding them, but I was never afraid and rather enjoyed playing with the kitties. Then I would walk around the yard and they would follow behind like I was the Piped Piper, no pun intended. Well, maybe a small pun, but it was totally appropriate! My pappy used to call me old Cat Woman. Aside from household cats, I love big cats, but I can get into that another day. Back to the battle royale.
Well, we have this one bathroom in the house, which is right beside my dad’s office. Dad used to use it all the time, but within the last, I want to say 15 years or longer, the toilet wasn’t working right and it just resided as a room. A room that, since that time, housed Pudd’in’s litter box because, well it’s a bathroom for one and it’s on the other end of the house. Within the last few months, my parents finally got around to replacing the toilet to make it a working bathroom again. Now, the problem arises. Pudd’in doesn’t really like change, not at all. I’m guessing, from what I’m about to tell you, she is not taking this change very well.
Dad has re-adopted that bathroom as his own. In fact, he is pretty much the only person who really uses it and Pudd’in is taking a stand. In stead of using her litter box, she is now, daily, from what I understand, showing her disdain by leaving her opinion on the floor in front of the toilet. She has also increased her war efforts by peeing on dad’s pants in his room. And, not to mention, mom was folding clothes on the futon in dad’s office while watching TV. Mom left the folded cloths there to return to find a once clean pile of dad’s underwear wore soiled with Pudd’in liquid.
It does appear that only dad’s items have been targeted. My guess is because dad has never been really partial to Pudd’in. He would shoo her off the furniture and chase her back down the hallway when they encountered one another. This has gone on for years, I guess it’s dad’s way. From what mom tells me, within the last couple of years, Pudd’in started to become radical, actually suicidal. At night she would climb into bed with mom and dad and walk across my dad. That is completely unheard of and a complete kamikaze mission. Maybe this is her last straw with taking over what she felt was her bathroom.
Now, I know how gross this war has become. Trust me, if there’s anyone who has a serious aversion to feces, it’s me. I did pretty good with Kyle until the age when he could manage for himself in the bathroom. Then I was glad I was done. Even during the movie, American Wedding, when the one character eats a dog turd and has it stuck in his teeth, I about vomited. I can’t watch that. Not funny, one bit.
Ahh, what to do with this battle between Pudd’in and dad. Mom is beside herself and I don’t know how to fit this. Dad is mad and expressed it to me the other day by saying, “Damn cat! I’m going to fix her. She can sleep outside from now on.” Then I clearly stated that he should be a little nicer to her. Not that he’s mean at all, just not loving. I said, “I’d be careful, it’s war between you two, and she’s winning.” Dad just grunted, probably knowing it was the truth. So what do I do? I definitely need some professional guidance on this one. Yikes! It’s kind of funny, but I’ll admit, totally gross.
Help me! Any thoughts? Suggestions?