Cat Adoption, Part 2

Don't get me wrong.  I love Patches, the adorable adopted cat.  She is a remarkably friendly, gentle cat.  She sits on your lap.  She purrs.  She only eats the plants sometimes.


Unfortunately, Patches has an alter ego, which I have dubbed "Bad Cat."


Bad Cat is a terrible, destructive, animal menace.  This alter ego manifests itself in the wee hours of the morning, and I first become aware of Bad Cat when she leaps across the darkened bedroom and latches herself onto my sleeping face.


I suspect this behavior is the result of Bad Cat's overwhelming desire for canned cat food, otherwise known as "Fisherman's Delight."


8 AM:  Feeding Time

Bleary eyed from lack of coffee, I shuffle to the fridge.  On my way there I realize that at some point during the night, Bad Cat could not contain her exuberance, and decided to open every cabinet door in the entire apartment.


Muttering about the stupid cabinet doors and the dirty cat paw prints all over my clean dishes, I scoop out some cat food from the can, while Bad Cat winds herself around my ankles, up my leg, and nearly murders me.

I put her food in her dish.


8:05 AM: Shower

Have you ever been taking a shower, and somewhere between rinsing off the shampoo and rubbing on the face wash, you become certain you are no longer alone?

It is a Bate's Motel feeling.  And this time it is real.


8:25 AM: Make Coffee/Eat Breakfast

Bad Cat has yet to fully discover the mysteries of the coffee maker. If I had to wager a guess, I'd say she thinks there is a small, growling animal inside the percolator.  It growls.  She growls.  It is all very suspicious.


I shoo Bad Cat off of the counter for what feels like the millionth time, pour myself some coffee, get cereal, and leave the room to eat it.  Unfortunately, I am not a competent morning person, and I leave my water glass on the counter, beside the now-silent coffee maker.

Apparently, shoving your face into a mostly-empty glass of water is a totally worthwhile experience.  But in the seconds that follow Bad Cat's initial joy at finding she can shove her entire face into the glass, it dawns on her that the glass is, in fact, ON her face.


ON, as in STUCK THERE.

Panic ensues, followed by flailing.  

I can't say that this was a particularly traumatic experience, because Bad Cat has shoved her face inside three glasses, on three separate occasions.  And none of those glasses have survived her attentions.  


8:45 AM: Damage Control


9:00 AM: Work

It took me several months to realize that I wasn't crazy, and that my pencils, pens, erasers, and assorted chapsticks weren't somehow walking off on their own, and having grand adventures.

I realized this because I finally vacuumed.

WHEN I finally vacuumed, I discovered a massive hoard of writing utensils, styrofoam packing peanuts, chapsticks, buttons...even a piece of wax from a candle stick, all carefully hidden beneath a corner of the living room rug.  Everything was gnawed along the edges.

The erasers on the ends of my mechanical pencils were just gone.  I had to assume Bad Cat had eaten them; a sort of mid-afternoon snack.

And it isn't just plastic and styrofoam she loves.  Bad Cat enjoys the taste of shoes, books, sticks, bird seed, and even the end of her own tail.

Thankfully, Husband has arrived at a somewhat acceptable solution:

String.

We see Patches a little more often now.

Thank you, string.

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