I really wish our cat were not a piss kitty. Otherwise, Stinky would be pretty close to the perfect pet. He's affectionate, handsome, and self-sufficient, with a dignity that's occasionally undermined by a sweet, goofy haplessness. I'm really extremely fond of him.
But he pees. Not always, and not often. It's not a terrible problem, but it's a problem. Usually it's just a hesitant spritz here and there, nothing more than a little self-expression: I declare these objects to be at gland level, and they are part of my domain. Fair enough; he's a dude, despite his lack of equipment. It's a disgusting habit, but easy enough to swab up and neutralize.
But recently Wain busted him hosing down the stereo speakers in his room. And today I was watching TV when I heard a noise that sounded like an extended blast from the world's smallest pressure washer. I turned around to watch the cat finish drenching our video shelf.
I felt betrayed. Oh, Stinky, I wanted to cry. Do we not feed you quality cat food? Do we not let you in and out according to your whim? Do we not diligently rub salve into your nipples when they are crusty? Do we not oblige you by stroking the sweet spot on the bridge of your nose when you jump on our laps, plant your hind legs squarely on our bladders, and bonk us repeatedly in the face? Do we not continue said stroking until, in your mindless ecstasy, you begin drooling and spraying spit bubbles onto our chests? Do we not find that repulsive but also exceptionally endearing?
Yes, you say? These claims cannot be denied? Why, then, is this how you repay us? For, truly, your behavior seems ill considered and patently unfair.
Etc. There wasn't time for reason, though, so instead I yelled "SHIT!" really, really loud. Then I caught him, pinned him for a few seconds, told him no, and chased him out. Not like that would do any good. He's a cat, for Christ's sake. But I felt I should do something vaguely disciplinarian. Besides, I was mad.
Eric and I spent about 45 minutes assessing and then Windexing or discarding the videos according to their soddenness and toxicity. In the process, we also discovered another pile of tapes that were warped and crispy with the evidence of a previous outburst, and we took care of those too.
It was unpleasant, but I was more saddened than disgusted. I love my cat, but I really hate this about him. I guess that's what we get for naming him Stinky.
If it keeps up, we'll have to get him checked to rule out any kidney problems, but I'm pretty sure it's behavioral. I'm a little skeptical of projecting human emotions onto animals, but I wonder if this isn't his little fuck-you valentine to us for being gone most of last month. I don't know, though. Maybe my cat is just kind of a jerk.