| More Abbey Musings |
[Jun. 1st, 2009|05:49 pm] |
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I had a gossip call with ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) tonbun today, and got to tell him about our new addition to the family. That is, Abbey the Ragdoll cross Persian I mentioned in my previous entry. This got me thinking about how Abbey's settled in over the past week and a bit, so I thought I'd share some of the cute, and not-so-cute experiences we've had with her in our household so far.
It probably wasn't the best idea for us to get a cat, when we had so many conditions we had to place on it staying with us. Like budget_barry's cat alergy, the fact that Zupps didn't seem all that keen on cats in general and we wouldn't know how he'd go with a cat around full stop. The fact that we'd be caring for her totally on our own with very little sighted assistance. This I wasn't so worried about, as I'd done similar before, but it was a major concern of Damian's. And the fact that this is a rental property, and we didn't want any cat to destroy things much more than general wear and tear, if that makes sense. However, Damo seemed quite taken with little Oscar, the cat at Don's, and you know me, a cat lover from waaaay back. What I most wanted was for Damo to be happy with the decision, and I didn't want to influence him in any way in case things went wrong.
She was fairly quiet the first night, spending most of her time under the massage chair; right up inside the thing in fact, behind the foot rest. I don't know what she would've done if anyone had sat in it and turned it on. Don said I might have to coax her out with food, but I would only want to use food as a last resort, otherwise she'd come to accept it as normal if she was being naughty, and I didn't want that.
Then there was the incident at 11 pm when she decided it was too exciting being on a bed for the first time, promptly forgetting where her litterbox was and peeing on the bed. This resulted in a hurried bed change and thorough cleaning and drying of the mattress to prevent odor and staining. Neither of us were particularly happy, but Abbs settled down for the rest of the night after that.
The next morning, I felt really bad because we had to leave her for the majority of the day. However, she was safe and happy in the bathroom with food, water, comfortable quarters for sleeping, toiletry facilities and playthings. We came back to find a sleepy little kitten coming slowly out of the cardboard box she'd been sleeping in. No accidents on the floor, but Don said she had used the litterbox.
We put her in the garage after talking about the best way to approach the whole "having accidents on the bed" thing, as we decided that was the safest place for her in terms of if accidents did occur. It's warm and dry in there with lots of room for her to run around, and her litterbox and water/food bowls live in there, so it's a place she was very familiar with. She settled down after about half an hour, and we didn't hear a squeak from her until we got up the next morning.
I decided to bring her into the bedroom again, under the assumption that she would've gone to the loo during the night and thus, wouldn't have any more accidents... Hah! I think her thoughts were, "Ooh yay! Mum and Dad are up! Let's run around and have cuddles and roll on the bed. Oh no, I need to go. Where is it again? Oh dear I can't find it, and... Oops, too late." So there was I on another linen changing excursion, this time at 8 in the morning. Duvet and sheets all through once more, but the mattress protector was bone dry, as I'd caught the accident as soon as it happened, thank goodness.
We decided then and there that she wasn't to be allowed in the bedroom again until we were certain she wasn't going to have any more accidents. She hasn't been in there since.
We discovered on that day that she did actually know where her litterbox was, but I was being extra specially vigilent in case she got stuck somewhere or decided she wasn't exactly sure how to get there from various parts of the house. My repeated attempts to put her into the box to toilet were, for the most part, fruitless, but she did seem to know what to do when she was in there. I was so pleased when, very late in the day, I heard a scrabbling noise in the box... Until later that night, when I smelt a rather disturbing smell under my desk. I felt like a puppy down on my hands and knees, using my nose to follow the smell to find its rather crappy source. And yes, much as I'd suspected, our little darling had left us a little present near the wall, in the darkest corner of my desk. That's when I remembered one of the annoying things about not being able to see; you can't locate cat poo by sight! I know that must sound really disgusting to those of you who aren't really animal people, but I wrapped my hands in paper towels and quickly disposed of the unwelcome gift, took the kitten to the box and then sprayed the hell out of the carpet with Preen stain remover. A note to those of you who are considering a cat/kitten. If you feed them on dry food, their litter in general is far easier to dispose of.
The next day, she discovered the joys of climbing up the fly screens on our windows! She also discovered she liked sitting on my shoulder. And climbing all over me. I put her in the garage for about half an hour while Rems and I went up the road to post some stuff in the post box, and she was so happy to see us when we got back that she was quite difficult to settle. She spent most of that day either curled up behind the couch in the sun, on the couch with me or under my desk while I sat studying. I was feeling decidedly under the weather by then, and had to take frequent rest breaks to prevent my head from splitting in half. The cold/flu thing didn't hit me as hard as it hit Damian, but it still hit, and I slept a lot until it had passed. What didn't help was the constant worry of if little Abbey was going to have an accident that I couldn't find, and listening for her jingling bell to make sure she wouldn't get into something I couldn't get her out of on my own.
The next few days passed in a haze of tiredness and Vitamin C tablets, Lem Sip, tissues and resisting the temptation to take Panadol. During that time, our little girl found that if she jumped at the curtains and held on, that she could laboriously claw her way up them, until one or other of us found which curtain she was on and lifted her away. We got into a routine of tiring her out before bed so she wouldn't cry so much when we put her in the garage. I fashioned her a little rope toy that originally had a plastic bag attached to it, but that seemed to scare her. So I took off the bag and tied a knot in the end of the rope, and that provided hours and hours of playtime amusement. We worked out that she was used to being fed twice a day, a little in the morning and the same again at tea time. I established a little routine where we'd get up, let her out, eat our breakfast, feed and water her and then toilet the dog and carry on with the rest of the day. Until Friday morning, that is.
Damo had told me that one morning, when he had breakfast alone while I was zombified with the flu, he didn't let her out while he ate. He heard her meowing for about ten minutes, then scrabbling around in the box, then yowling again. We'd let her out straight away, as usual on that Friday morning and as soon as Damo left, (about ten minutes after she'd been let out,) what did I smell? The telltale whiff of a litterbox forgotten, somewhere near my desk again. So, it was out with the paper towels and the Preen, pick up the litter, pick up the cat and show her where one is supposed to eliminate if one is a cute little furry ball of claws. I left that one in the box, as suggested by numerous "How to stop your cat shitting on the floor" articles, but covered it up and took her to the box again and again throughout the day, just to reinforce the point. "At least she's consistent," I thought as I sprayed and disinfected with my head once again under my desk, in the same place as last time. "Yeah, real consistent," the cynical side of my brain cut in, as it conjured up images of me as an old woman, with the Preen glued to one hand and a roll of paper towels glued to the other. "Consistently shitting on the carpet. Under your desk. Which you will have to clean up. For the rest of her life or until you kick the habbit."
And so, I was determined. We will no longer be let out as soon as we start crying. We will no longer forget where the litterbox is. We will no longer shit on the carpet, or we will no longer have any paper towels or Preen, and the shopping lady doesnt come until next Thursday! So, on Saturday morning, we got up. She started crying and we waited. She kept crying, and we prepared breakfast. She got more insistant and indignant-sounding, and we sat down to eat. And then, there was silence, except for a faint scrabbling in the litterbox. Silence, then more frantic scrabbling. We waited and congratulated ourselves, and when the call came, we let her out immediately, with loads of cuddles and praise and "Oh you're such a clever girl's". We followed this routine the next day, until she started going to the box voluntarily during the day. No more accidents and no tired Shon with holes in the knees of her jeans. I actually think that she'd been going the whole time, but that we had to keep the routine rigidly consistent until she'd figured out what was supposed to happen.
Then, guess who decided to try jumping up on us, just to see if she could? For me at least, this involved a claw in the back or butt whilst sitting at the table with a mouthful of food. As you can imagine, this wasn't too conducive for eating, and the neighbours were treated to many a strange and muffled shriek as I wrenched a rather bewildered brown missile of terror off the seat of my pants. I frightened the hell out of Damo and Zupps many a time, as I'm not normally one for spontaneous shriekage, let alone when I have my mouth full of cereal or chicken curry. I tell ya, the number of times I'd hear an ominously close and innocent little jingle, followed by a rather painful clawing feeling, I couldn't count on one hand anymore. I had to repeatedly tell myself that it was just her way of exploring, and not that she had a morbid fascination with my bum.
She also discovered that swinging from my skirt is fun, as is clawing her way up my leg when I am studying, or playing with my hair when she sneaks up behind me on the couch. I'm positive she looks at me and hones in on the place she thinks will be the most painful and will make me make the most interesting noise before she pounces. Or is that just the cynical part of my brain again? I'm also positive that she's on a campaign to help me lose weight, as she's found that if she jumps on my back when I'm eating, it will create a rather nasty jolt in my stomach which will suddenly and mysteriously ensure I'm no longer hungry. Not to mention the ever present weird and wonderful shrieks and flying lessons. Maybe that's it, perhaps she's on a crusade to become a Kamakazi pilot and wants me to teach her? If so, she's going about things totally the right way. And she's started asking Damo for lessons too. Glad to know I'm not the only one with the privilege of teaching this furry fricken feline to fly. I reckon the only reason she doesn't jump onto my lap when I'm at the table is so that she doesn't hurt her pretty little head, with that evil, innocent little brain that thinks up innovative weight loss schemes and ways to make Mummy make the funniest noises. The rest of the time, when I'm on the couch or sitting in my chair, she'll happily jump up into my lap, now that she knows how far she has to jump.
She decided yesterday that she could use the chairs as a means of getting onto the table, especially when I'd set out some food. She's quickly learning that on the table is not the safest place for a cat, and as soon as we find one suitable, she'll get a little squirt of water from a bottle or a water pistol to reinforce things. That seemed to work well with Tabs and Mau, so I don't see why it shouldn't work for her.
In the mornings, when we let her out, she's so cuddly and gorgeous that it makes you forget that she can be a little terror sometimes. This morning for instance, I got the royal treatment. Lots of beautiful loud purring, kisses all over my face, a head tucked under my chin and a little sit on the shoulder before breakfast. Those times are really special, and so are the times she's sitting all cuddled up on my lap, or between us on the couch, or just asleep out of my way for a while. She has the most awesome pur; deep and thunderous like Maff, and she's so expressive with her meows. I'm trying to encourage her to be vocal, so at least then we always know where she is. She's got a personality far larger than life for such a little kitten, but she's usually very friendly and relaxed, loving to be around us at all times. It'll be interesting when she's heavy enough to start pulling curtains down, but hopefully that won't be for a while.
I feel like a human pin cushion at the moment, with lots of little pin pricks all over my legs and back from where she's caught me by surprise, but I know this phase won't last forever. Rems will be able to stop worrying about me eventually when Abbey's older and not so playful, but at the moment I'm always having to reassure her that I'm ok when she nudges me if Abbey's given me a particularly painful playful swipe. We're just lucky she's not actually a vengeful cat, and I keep reassuring Damo that yes, this is normal and yes she will grow out of it. I'm thankful she doesn't pick on him as much, but I think that's because I'm with her while he's working.
I've written this over two days. I started last night in the evening and finished mid Tuesday morning. I seem to have had my share of claws and cuddles for the moment, and she's quietly settled behind the couch, I think. My apetite still hasn't quite returned after the skewering I got last night during dinner, but we prevented any surprise ambushes this morning by using our very stern "don't you dare jump up on us" voices at breakfast, which worked for the most part.
She really is a delightful little girl, and even though it sounds like she's a terrorist in training, it's all natural and a part of her growing up. A lot of people don't or can't percevere through that stage, but it is so rewarding once you've passed the initial exploring phase. And despite the initial rough start, Damo thinks that she was certainly easier to toilet train than a puppy. We've had no accidents since Friday so I think we've successfully toilet trained her.
Love and Hugs to you all. |
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