She’s HIS Cat…


It’s bad enough to have to be up at 5:25 a.m. in 20-degree weather with two Shih Tzus… but when I open the door to let them back in the house and this little scamp flies out the door, then proceeds to make me chase her all over the yard… well, let’s just make it perfectly clear, she’s Hubby’s cat. I know you’ve all heard the story of how Cleo, Queen of the Raccoon Hunters (formerly O.C. for “Outside Cat”) came to be in our home. She knows the story by heart. She knows who made the final decision to let her come inside. I don’t know how, but she knows. Mostly the other cats are 50/50 in their love and attention to Hubs and myself. Sure, I’m the one that feeds them, waters them (most of the time – sometimes Hubby catches them staring at him and realizes through cat ‘mind-control’ that they are out), and changes their litter boxes. Cleo? She reserves small blocks of attention to me… but her all-out performances of silliness and affection are saved for him.

Not that she’ll come inside any better for him. She has gotten out before when he’s been home alone and he doesn’t have much better luck getting her inside. However, for me? Well, as I say, I’ve just spent 30 minutes of my life I’ll never get back chasing this friggin’ kitty all over the yard. Grrrrr….

I’m not sure what it is about the call of the wild that is so persuasive. Three of our kitties have never been outside and don’t even make the attempt. We have another older cat, Jammie, that was an outside farm cat at one time and she used to try and get out all the time. Occasionally she’d manage it – always either first thing in the morning or late at night when I was in my p.j.’s. They must have a sixth sense about that. Or a very good warped sense of humor. She would go just outside the house and hide in the overgrown evergreen bushes next to the house. Now, you could see her there, and she would meow at you, but do you think you could get to her? Hell no. You’d go to the front, where you could reach her, and she’d zoom to the back. So you go around the back and slide in back of the bushes, getting scratched and gouged for life, then she’d run and sit in under the front. Finally, you might get her scared by up on the porch where she’d go back in the house. Hubby used to say, “If she wanted to get away from you she could just run, but to her it’s a game.” Sorry, I don’t wanna play.

Finally I got to the point where if it was really bitter cold out, I wouldn’t even try to get her. I’d wait about 5 minutes and she’d be out on the step crying to get back inside. I’d try this with Cleo, but I’m just not sure how she’s going to react and since we basically found her as a stray, I’m afraid she might just wander off. Too many bad things happen to kitties who wander off – especially now she’s been declawed to be an inside kitty.

I love my kitties. All of them… but just remember. She’s his.