Recently I had a lapse where my emotional side overrode the logical and adopted these two fur balls without doing quite enough research about them, or their previous owner. As I mentioned in my previous blog they have both been spoiled by regular feedings of anything other than cat food. One is adjusting easily to the ready dish of what she should be eating, but the other seems to be in nearly perpetual begging mode. Fortunately the beggar is the sweet, affectionate and otherwise quiet one, so we humans will make allowances as she learns her new dietary rules. The one who doesn’t beg is actually the wild child.
Bitchy, once known as Betty, was renamed within hours of her moving into the house. Before you say it, I will. Yes, it takes one to know one, and this is test of who can be the bigger bitch. Given that it’s my house, I am many times larger than she is and I am the eldest, I will prevail ….. eventually …..somehow.
Miss B (the more affectionate of several other names she has acquired) is a cat rescued from the streets by her former owner. Thankfully she is not feral, but neither is she quiet tamed. She is clear to alert you when she thinks you have stepped out of line. A round of hisses is the split second alert that teeth are about to be sunk into your flesh. At least you are spared being shredde by claws as well, because the former owner had them removed. The least interference with what ever her plan or desire of the moment will trigger this action. We learned rather quickly that in the case of Miss B, rubbing up against your leg and meowing is NOT a request to be petted. Sometimes it is, but listen carefully as you reach for her so that you can spare your hand if you have misinterpretted her actions.
When she discovered the comfort of my bed (uninvited) I was informed, via puncture wounds to the thumb, that any disturbance of her hiney-ness without being given the approval signal (usually a headbutt) would not be tolerated. In turn, she soon discovered a swiftly moving foot under the covers was more than a match for her sprawled mass, and she found herself summarily relocated to the floor. Our ritual is now repeated at various times throughout the night. It would appear that I am winning this battle, except that she usually returns to stake her claim in less than 10 minutes, and I am the one losing the most sleep over it.
All cat owners that experience various forms and levels of power struggles with their oh-so-independent pets, so these experiences may sound familiar. Bitchy is not the first feline I have had skirmishes with. At least she is not 25 lbs. of pure muscle hanging from the grout of the bathroom wall by razor sharp claws, like my dear Louie the first time the vet insisted I bathe him. However, this blog was inspired by a truly unique experience Bitchy visited upon me this past weekend.
After a few swats from her paws and a warning hiss, I backed away from the Psycho-kitty perched on the corner of my bed and began some light strecthing exercises for my injured shoulder, before risking sutures in a hand or arm. As I completed the 20 reps of raising a piece of doweling over my head while laying on the bed for support, a rather docile, almost snoozing, Bitchy watched. When I finished I dropped my equipment on the floor and brought my arms down to my side for relief from the aching shoulder as Bitchy stood and stretched, seeming to be having a hard time rousing from her boredom. Then before I could defend myself she stepped across my face and slowly continued to the other side of me. I say slowly because her furry belly dragging across my face, that is so opposed to contact with fur, seemed to take far too long. In reality, given my response time, it could only have taken seconds. Thoroughly displeased with this stunt, I turned to shout my objection. Wrong move! I was now face to face with the base of her upraised tail. Repelled, literally and physically, I jumped back only to watch as she stayed motionless, ass in the air, tail straight up, apparently enjoying my comprehension of her commentary. Bitchy is the first cat I have ever known to clearly tell their owner to “kiss my ass.”
Groovy - Her sweet, plaintiff, feed-me look......
Bitchy, the psycho kitty.....
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