More adventures with the cat
Sometimes when you try to train a cat, the cat trains you.
This is the case with a cat that has been hanging around our house ever since our last cat went up to heaven (or down to hell, as is more likely).
This cat we are trying to train is an extra-big cat, about the size of a small bear, and it has a terrible personality. It hisses. It scratches with its claws. It bites. It sneaks around at night and suddenly appears on the planting bench we have in our breezeway.
That’s enough to scare a person. You’re walking from your garage to your house, and suddenly there’s this cat, staring into his food dish and squeaking.
When this particular cat isn’t hissing, it is squeaking, and it is not a nice little squeak. It is threatening squeak that sounds like the cat is opening Pandora’s trunk.
I have tried being nice to this cat, but so far niceness is not working.
When I get home at night, I put food in the cat’s dish in hopes he will take a liking to me and let me pet him, or will want to come in the house and sit on the couch and watch TV. Our previous cat would do that. That cat liked British comedies and news shows, and also the Animal Planet channel and NatGeo Wild.
When one of those nature shows would feature lions, the previous cat would crawl up on top of me for comfort, as though I could keep a lion from eating it.
This new cat, though, thinks he can eat anything. He would take on a lion just for the exercise.
You are probably thinking, “why does this writer bother with cats at all? Why not stop feeding them, and they will go away?”
The answer, of course is, that like anyone else, I enjoy being liked, even by a ragamuffin cat.
That cat doesn’t care whether he is liked. He just likes being in charge.
I haven’t tried petting him lately, because the bite marks from the last time I tried petting him are just now healing up. I think I’ll wait a while longer.