Cat Collusion

Jailbreak

Characters:

  • Stevie-San – cat, 12+ years old, male, fixed, lover boy
  • Mishi – cat, 14 years old, female, fixed, skittish
  • Georgie – cat, 2.5 years old, male, fixed, teenage punk

I had a peeing issue for a few nights. I’m not the one that peed, but I was the only one that had an issue with it.

Mishi started peeing on my couch. At first we thought it was Stevie, him being older, possibly having arthritis, etc., but we put him in a room overnight and lo and behold – pee-o-rama on my couch.

After a few mornings of 6 am laundry and a gallon of Urine Be Gone, we decided to put Mishi and Stevie-San downstairs, which is a long hallway with several rooms branching off. In the rooms are litterboxes, food, water, a heated cat house, a regular heater, soft blankets, and a cat scratcher. I mean really, it’s a kitty cat paradise. Stevie gets along with everyone, so he’s a bit of a therapy cat. Mishi is not a fan of: plastic bags, loud sounds, being picked up, and other cats (except Stevie).

We prepped the room, turning on heaters, laying out blankets, then did the duck duck goose dance of this cat in this room while we get that cat in that room. Once properly placed, we blocked the cat egress hole with a box and weights, this way Mishi wouldn’t get upstairs at night and do her deed.

Well, this lasted for two nights. I woke up on the morning of the third day to see Stevie wandering the halls and two pee spots on my couch. I went to research the forensics of the situation and in the picture above you can see all I needed to know. It’s clear Georgie helped. He’s a young punk that needs to be in the middle of everything, and there’s no way little old Stevie moved that box.

It fun to see the whole “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” in the catscape, though they all still drive each other nuts. We’ve doubled up on the weights, and it did the trick. One week and holding.

Shut Up, Pants!

Did I quit running? I’m not sure if I did. I ran and ran for four years, and now? Meh.

It started with a Super Spartan, then Disney Princess runs and Star Wars runs – half marathons, 10ks, a couple of 5ks in there to keep me honest. But now….

I know I need something to train for. I can’t just run to run. With my impending move to a much higher altitude, I’m also intimidated. I have low blood pressure and heartbeat already – I’m afraid I’ll pass out somewhere along the road in a new town.

I can see it now, me laying on the side of a country road, slightly concussed, calling my husband.

“Come get me. I’m concussed.”

“Where are you?” He would say, already in the car.

“I don’t know.”

And woe is me if I had our cattle dog with me, his baby.

Excuses, you say? I agree. There is nothing easier than being middle-aged and lazy.

I have started to stalk online a running club in my new town, thinking it will get me running and social (I am terribly introverted and so is my husband. Peas in a pod!).

However, I have noticed that my excess chub isn’t melting away like it used to. Before I could just use the power of thought, but now, post 40, it seems things have changed. At least that’s what my pants keep saying, and boy are they vocal!

“Lunges. Remember lunges?”

“When’s the last time you did a sit up?”

“A lap around the block wouldn’t hurt ‘ya. Take the cattle dog.”

Pants are nags. Not like tops.

The tight armholes in my blouses are more like “Well, this is interesting”, and my jersey tees just talk behind my back with my bra, something about doing push-ups and maybe dips. Jersey tees are kind of passive-aggressive come to think of it.

The bra? She’s just doing her best. Definitely not an instigator.

Maybe I will. Maybe I will start running again, just to shut them up. Stupid clothes. At least my leggings and tech tees are supportive. They’ve been clamoring to get out of the drawer anyway.

Aforementioned baby.