Cat Diary 18

Tonight, the first time ever, I finally understood what the old woman wanted me to do when she said, “Come on! Come on!” in that high voice she uses to encourage me to do something good.

Just recently she started watching Jackson Jupiter, or some such name, to get a few clues about what we were trying to do.

Training she calls it. I don’t see the use yet. But as I said today I played along. I came. I walked beside her and every four or five human paces she gave me a kibble and patted and stroked my back and said, “Good girl! Good girl!”

Whatever, you know? Just keep the kibbles coming. We went twice up and down the house and then I swung into the den, stood waiting for my supper. The other half of the kibbles that means.

How many days has it been that she gave me a kibble just for looking at her? About a month worth of days.

Anyway, the training is worth it from my end. I just picked up 24 more kibbles than if I’d been stubborn and ignored her entreaties.

This is me on a day when it is sweltering outside and we have the aircon going inside.

Cat Diary 17

Usually I can convince the old woman to turn off the TV by about 8.30, for a game or ten involving me getting kibbles for prizes.

We’ve given up on the eggbox, I’m happy to say. Yesterday she tied that horrible furry snake onto the end of a red wheeled thing that she dragged behind her, trying to get me to follow it and get the kibbles loaded onto the tray.

I soon showed her what I thought about that game …

So that night ended with her, after much cajoling, offering me kibbles by ones and twos first on her bare feet (not so scary) then on her knees, then on her hands (scary!) Though I did manage to eat more than half my bedtime snack.

Today was completely disrupted. The two wild human young came while their owner went shopping. The old woman spread the craft sheet over the floor and everybody cut things, glued, taped, then they went to the sink and floated a boat. All this while I hid under the couch.

After their owner fetched the young humans, the old woman tidied the room and rolled up the craft sheet. She’s always saying things like … Now then Moggy-mine, what mystery will we work on today?

Today she hid seven kibbles in the rolled up craft sheet. And after I found them she put in another lot. I don’t mind this game … I think it can lead to greater things. Imagine if she hid a handful?

(This is 29 seconds of me finding eight or ten kibbles. Ttoo long for you?)

We’re both sitting on the couch now waiting for the bedtime alarm. Well, she shuts me in the den then, whatever she does for the nect hour.

Cat Diary 16

My first time at this …

Cat Diary 15

I am in total shock!

I started to scratch the couch to get her attention, it’s 8 PM, I need my playtime and she just keeps sitting watching her TV, why wouldn’t I try to get her attention?

And she sprays me in the face?!

I ran! Around the corner, into the corridor. Stayed there five minutes.

When I came out she’s still sitting there!

She invited me to sit on her lap?

So I line up to give the other couch arm a scratch.

She said, “Ahh!” In a hard nasty voice and showed me the spray bottle.

Now I’m sitting in the middle of the room. Not looking at her.

Cat Diary 14

We have a new thing in the garden. Ha ha, bet I tricked you there. It’s irony, of course. Of course you didn’t know cats do irony. I assure you I have no difficulty woth it.

Any way, the new thing. The boy brought it. I think he’s trying to soften me up.

After the man and the boy and the prancing foal-child left, the old woman brought the new thing inside. Set it on a dessert plate and on the home-made kindergarten chair.

Within easy reach, she said.

An invitation I could not resist.

Cat Diary 13

I’m laying here impatiently waiting for the next thing.

These are the cross roads, you understand? The place where I’ll be ready for anything. A couple of cat-lengths southwards of my tail the old woman is having her breakfast.

Behind my back is the kitchen where food is stored. In front is the primary space for playing and hunting. Northward is my den, where I have my water well, my bed and my wood for scratching.

Sniff. Sniff. Oh, I’ll just take another turn through the woodland. I believe I may have missed a cache or two of kibbles. The old woman keeps finding new places.

Kibbles both inside and on the top? I made short work of them!

Then it’s time for her to clean the den.

I’m looking forward to an uninterrupted day. Both Friday and Saturday we had far too many visitors for my comfort. I spent most of Friday under the couch, and a good half of Saturday under the big bed.

Lol, Cat Litter

We definitely have not yet hit our goldilocks moment with cat litter!

Who knew there would be so many brands and types available. I started with my usual arrogant save-the-world attitude and bought a large 10kg bag of recycled newspaper pellets. This being possible because someone else was carrying it to the car and from the car to my apartment. Newspaper pellets go sludgy.

Second was hemp pellets, left overs from the process of producing hemp for rope, hemp-crete and other products, this was another product that was going to save the environment. Hemp pellets disintegrate into a fine dust difficult to clean up and very bad for my allergies.

Third was a gravelly product made of tofu and pea flour. It is meant to ‘clump’ and so be easier to keep the litter box clean. It does clump but is also easily transported into the rest of the house by sticking between the poor cat’s toes, and is nearly as bad as the proverbial Lego block to stand on when walking around on bare feet. And why wouldn’t I?

Fourth is a tiny vermicelli-like extruded pellet made of coconut fiber and charcoal. This was probably the worst purchase yet. Very sharp, and I soon picked up a piece in the sole of my foot. Have been wearing a big band aid for a week. Apart from that, the stuff ‘clumps’ only reluctantly. The one thing going for it, it does work wonders on odors.

Above, a mix of fresh litter containing all four of the recalcitrant litter types. As by then I’d been buying a new sort every time I went shopping, and since I can carry home only the stuff I can fit on my walker, the average bag of litter weighs 5 kg.

At the present we’re trying out the mix of sawdust and wood-splinters. And when I go shopping in a few minutes I will probably–out of sheer pernickety recalcitrance–buy yet another of the still untried possibilities.

Having to send untold bags of used cat litter to land-fill is also not ideal. Before, when I lived in freestanding houses, the used cat litter went into the compost bin, or was buried in the garden and helped to build up my low-lying yard. I’ll be asking Brisbane City Council why apartement blocks don’t get green bins. It’s not as if we don’t produce any organic waste!

There has got to be a better way!