Sunday, December 01, 2002
 

On the matter of Jake:

The gauntlet has been thrown.

As previously stated, he weighs somewhere in the neighborhood of 17 pounds. I have difficulty lifiting him, not only because of his lead-weight-ness but also because he lacks any good gripping spot. Most cats are lifted by grabbing them first in the armpit area, so to speak. Jake has no armpit area; it's all solid rolls of fat. Even his chest is fat, and he can't sit down flat (he has to stick one or both legs out to the side). Needless to say, the vet has him on a diet. According to his indulgent mother, I'm supposed to give him 3/4 c. of diet cat food per day; she said that she often gave him a full cup to keep him quiet. I've attempted to keep him on the 3/4 c., because he's so fat that it's not endearing but instead unhealthy. Jake made an unwise decision in reaction to my determination and has made the feeding issue into a battle of wills. Some of you may have noticed that I can be just a tiny bit on the stubborn side (but only a little), and my response to his provocation has been to put my foot down in the most firm of manners. 3/4 a day, and that's it. When he really feels that he should be being fed (which is any time I walk into, or toward, the kitchen), he gets underfoot. If I don't respond, he starts tearing up the paper towels I've stuck under the kitchen appliances (though he still manages to lose his toy under there, I know not how), looking at me all the while. When I come back to the den, he looks at me, goes over to the chair, and starts clawing at it, still looking at me.

That's a fairly minor thing, though I'm tired of the paper towel bits strewn everywhere. The biggest thing is that he wakes me up at ~5:00 every morning and keeps up the noise until ~6:00. We do not interfere with my sleeping time. He wants attention then, and he wants food; his owner gives him the latter. I pretend to be asleep, mostly, until he starts doing things he knows I prohibit: chewing on the comforter, jumping on the dresser. For the past two nights I've given up and shut him out, and I have procured earplugs (I wear only one, so I can still hear if I need to, or roll over on my side and block the other ear if need be).

I've also started splashing him with water when he misbehaves (eg, this morning's attempt to drink out of the toilet-- which I thought was a dog thing-- or last night's try at jumping into the washing machine, for the second time). That's effective.

In conclusion, I'll state why my Bradshaw is a much better kitty: Because she doesn't eat plastic, doesn't get on countertops, doesn't shred papers, doesn't chew on books, doesn't rip comforters, doesn't nip pens, doesn't destroy toilet paper, is trained not to sharpen her claws on furniture or to get on tabletops, is affectionate but not clingy, doesn't yell in the night, and isn't a total glutton.

Elvisette philosophized at 2:41 PM