I don’t like to describe myself as a cat lady given that financially owning more than one cat is not within my budget. I’ve been on the precipice of writing this post for a while until it dawned on me that I am in fact my stereotype. My main moment of realization was during a modeling event, most of the girls there had a modeling photo as their screen saver and I looked down to see a picture of my cat candidly gazing away from the camera. I continued to keep a photo of my cat as my screensaver rationalizing that I rather appear to be a crazy cat lady than a raging narcissist – I have a blog bitching about my life so there’s some egocentricity there. The second realization of my, ahem, “problem” was when I detailed my plans of building a miniature studio for cat photo shoots. My dad just gave me a look of mild concern and it struck me, I may just be a crazy cat lady.
Now I can blame the parasites in cat excrement that supposedly alter human behavior, but in reality cats are just adorable creatures with vivid personalities. And my cat, Mini, exemplifies the strong willed cat-like behavior by being a constant pain in my ass.
Now, if you’ve read my blog from the beginning, I explained my first attempt at trying to get a cat. I’ll glaze over the details as you can click here to learn how I instead ended up in my underwear on the side of the highway. The following weekend was attempt number 2. Greg and I drove three hours out to a farm to pick up a cat. All I knew about the cat I would be getting is that it would be a brown female tabby. My friend, whose family owned the farm, walked out to greet us with a kitten wriggling in his arms. I put the kitten in a small travel size cooler and Greg and I were on our way. The whole car ride consisted of the kitten crying and tramping around the seats until she was ready to nap. Upon closer inspection I noticed she was unproportioned. Large ears on an otherwise tiny head and her paws were too big for her body. The most noticeable disproportion was her long ass tail. I named her Mini, short for Minerva McGonagall.
When we arrived at my apartment, I was skeptical about the sex.
Me: “My friend says it’s most likely a boy.”
Greg: “Nah, it’s definitely a girl, look at the two holes.”
It wasn’t until a week later, my roommate and I watched a Youtube video to be sure. Turns out Mini was not a girl, but rather a boy cat. His testicles were just… inverted. At that point I was stuck on the name Mini and I’ve called him Mini since. Which is now ironic because nothing about him is small. Including the foot long tail.
Two weeks after getting Mini, I subleased at an apartment with a dog. The dog was petite with white fur and a drama queen. The fucker had to watch his owners pour water out of a bottle otherwise he would turn his nose away from water. What type of selective breeding has it so a dog is picky about his water?! This dog was also flea ridden. The medication was useless as the fleas would enjoy a ride on the dog until they preyed on my poor cat. The little two pound kitten was soon covered in fleas. After combing out 30 fleas from the poor thing, I had to rush Mini to the vet in fear he would become anemic. This was not our only visit to the vet that summer.
Several weeks later, I began to notice little pellets around the cat house. I deduced that these tiny grain size pellets were most likely from a cat toy. To this day I wish I was right. A couple more days of these little pellets appearing everywhere, I became concerned. What freaking toy is leaking out? Did the dog do something? It wasn’t until one morning, I woke up in horror. The entire bed was covered with tiny rice size pieces. A light bulb went off in my head. One quick Google search and I was right. These were tapeworm eggs. I had slept in a bed full of tapeworm eggs. The eggs were empty, but the fact this tiny little monster managed to consume one of the fleas and develop a tapeworm was terrifying. I washed everything in sight and rushed the little kitten to the vet once again.
Now Mini was a sweet cat. Was. He followed me around, would wait for me to get ready, and always wanted to cuddle. Then he got older. By five months his personality was to be as destructive as possible. Mini had a vendetta when it came to paper and cardboard boxes. If there were any notes in sight, his reaction would be to rip them apart and devour half of it. He also developed a habit of attacking his own tail. I would mindlessly watch him run in circles until he caught his own tail and bit down. I’m not sure what his tail did to piss him off and cause a frenzy, but he was relentless. Having an oversize tail has its perks, I guess.
Mini’s destructive behavior would only amplify if I was out too late. On three separate occasions I went over to my friend’s and stayed later than Mini liked. And on those three separate occasions I received a call from my roommate.
Sara: Hey, the cat knocked over the kitchen trashcan and ate out of it. I chased him away and he’s hiding.
Sara: The cat pooped all over the kitchen floor.
Sara: There’s vomit in the living room.
I would’ve suspected the vomit and trashcan incident to be more accidental on his part, but the poop definitely wasn’t. Instead of using his litter, less than a foot away from the crime scene, this asshole decided to smear his shit around the kitchen. It was deliberate. There’s no way he just missed, or couldn’t make it. Cats don’t just smear poop all over the floor outside their litter.
I wish these were the only cases of his disruptive behavior. To this day, if you clean out his litter, he makes a point of using the litter right after. If you happen to clean his litter and his bladder is empty, he will still fake using the restroom to make his point. Oh, and don’t get me started on cleaning. Every time I swept around the litter box, Mini would kick out more litter. Not to mention, if I wiped off the living room table, he had to step on it right after. There was no getting rid of his paw prints.
Eventually, he lost his basement privileges. I heard a thud in the basement one afternoon and my friend and I went downstairs to see the commotion. Mini was nowhere in sight. I carefully made my way through the boxes when I looked up to see a paw. When my roommate and I moved in to the apartment, the basement ceiling had sheets hanging from the rafters. The cat was climbing on the hanging sheets. I stretched out a finger to poke the bottom of his foot and everything came crashing down. From my friend’s perspective he saw a falling cat, me screaming, then a cloud of dust surrounding us. Struggling to breathe, I ran after the cat who was already up the stairs.
His independent streak was getting on my nerves. One night, I came home from work during a bad thunderstorm to find the front door open. In a panic, I realized Mini was gone. For someone who has no balls, he sure had a ton to go out during the thunder. My roommate and I ran outside calling his name, the panic rising. He has attempted to escape before and never strayed too far from the apartment, but I had no idea how long the door was open. A couple minutes of screaming and my roommate heard a faint meowing coming from underneath a car in our parking lot. Mini was crying underneath the car, scared from the storm. I held him close and for once he didn’t struggle. The rest of the night he was my needy kitten again.
Two years later, Mini is still an asshole. He grew up to be 10 pounds with a foot long tail and now lives with my parents. Leaving Mini alone in an apartment is asking for the place to be destroyed and he manages to wreak even more havoc living with my family. His daily activities include sticking his head in the garbage disposal, terrorizing our old cat, playing fetch with any hairband in existence, and doing everything he can to get food. Including eating through plastic or paper bags to get to what he wants. Our main method of discipline is giving him lots of love since hugs and kisses seem to affect him negatively. We wouldn’t trade this asshole for the world. Though now I’m thinking about getting him another sibling. This time a dog.