Smelly Cat

We’ve been having a problem with our cat. At some point in the last six weeks she has decided to stop urinating in her litter box. Instead, her preferred location of relieving herself is whatever pile of laundry, towels, or blankets she deems pee worthy. At our house, there always seems to be a waiting pile of laundry, towels and blankets at the ready, so she has found plenty of potential toilets. Fortunately, as of this point, she has not soiled our new carpet, but I fear it’s just a matter of time.

With the exception of a few negative comments about the smell, I am trying to stay out of the cat situation. Thanks to the great dog disaster of spring ‘09, there are still pictures of me in the basement that have dart holes in my forehead, so there is no way I’m getting in the middle of this.

The cat and I have a tolerable relationship. By that I mean that we barely tolerate each other. I am fairly positive that as far as the cat believes, I am just some weird uncle who drops by occasionally to visit the family that lives in her house. Usually, she completely ignores me, which is fine on my part, but when she does take notice, she gives me a look of complete disdain.

She likes to stretch out at the top of basement stairs, lounging like some ancient Egyptian Queen. My family has gotten used to my standard utterance when I open the door to go downstairs and find her blocking my path. “Stupid cat,” I say, and then repeat even louder, “stupid cat!” And I absolutely mean it. I am positive that she would not cough up two tiny hairballs for my wellbeing, but her blind hatred of me also endangers herself. One day I will step before I look and it will be a tangled, squashed mass of kitty and tumbling fat man. It won’t be pretty.

Still, I prefer the cat to the dog. The dog wanted me to love it and that was never going to happen. I couldn’t love anything that smelled that bad and was so annoyingly blatant in wanting my attention, (with the possible exception of my kids). The cat could care less. That means she’s not at my feet panting and tail wagging for a few pats from my hand. For the most part she stays out of my way and that’s why she’s still here.

The pee situation might change that. Connie is taking the cat to the Vet this week and if they can’t get some solid answers about our liquid problem, there might have to be drastic measures. Like I said, I’m staying out of it, but Connie and the girls have already talked about worst case scenarios.

Supposedly there is a home for cats with bladder control problems. I had no idea there was such a thing, but that is what I’m hearing. I suppose it must be a place with concrete floors and hose down system, but that sounds pretty sterile for a cat used to a sofa bed and a comfy pillow. I’ll reserve judgment on how that will work out.

Despite our differences and mutual dislike for each other, I’m seriously rooting for a cure for whatever is causing this problem. Maybe a pill will fix it, or some psychotherapy. Right now, rather than dealing with the tears and trauma that will surely follow a feline house eviction, I’d much rather deal with the cat.