I was on my way downstairs to my office to post something lovely about spring, with pretty pictures of the flowers in my garden, but I got sidetracked. By a big, runny pile of poo on the carpet outside the bathroom where we have not one, but two litterboxes. For our two cats. But only one of them has become my nemisis. Her name is Lulu. And I look forward to the day she moves on to her great reward. I don't feel a bit guilty when I say it can't happen soon enough for me.
Which is not to say we don't love her. We do. We MUST. Because I don't think she would have lasted this long anywhere else. I tried to find her a good home last year before the move, because a) I didn't think she'd make the trip, and b) I believe she needs a home where she can be the only cat, a home with no children, a home with someone who does nothing but pet her endlessly and feed her and snuggle her. But really, how do you market a cat like Lulu. "Free to loving home. Wheezing old cat who digs her claws into every piece of furniture, has constant runny poo and uses entire home for a litter box." I did my best with the ad. I tried humor and love and all I got in return was scorn and condemnation from rabid animal lovers. Someone actually told me I was a flake and soon I'd be trying to give my son away. I took the ad off within an hour. So yes, she made the trip, but not without spraying cat poop all over our car within the first twenty minutes of a twenty hour drive. (My darling husband was driving that car - we followed three weeks later. He still has flashbacks. And the car still smells.)
Believe me when I say we've tried everything. Ev.Ry.Thing. New food. New litter. Separate litter boxes. Giving her more love and attention than someone who shits on your carpet every day twice a day for six years has any right to get. We take her to the vet about every six months, convinced that she's on her last legs, and they never find anything wrong. They do a battery of tests, and then say, "I think it's behavioral. Try this." It might be more cost effective to just use that two hundred dollars to wipe up the mess off the floor. THEN flush it down the toilet. At least something would be accomplished. The last time I took her, he did some tests and gave me some antibiotic for her wheezing, but asked if I wanted to wait a couple days before getting it, just in case the blood tests came back with dire predictions. I told him that I'd just get it now, because even if he said she was on her way out, she'd live another three years just to spite me. She's just a crabby, crappy, scrappy old lady.
The first time she did it was when Joe-Henry was four weeks old. She did it right in front of his changing table. Convinced she was really sick, we got some meds from the vet. Mind you, we had a four week old baby, and were as scruffy and sleep deprived as we could be. But we tried. Charley held her wrapped in a towel, and I tried to administer the dropper full of pink goo. She crapped down the front of my sweet husband, and the medicine wound up in my hair. We left it at that. She once managed to dig a pair of $600 compression stockings OUT OF THE HAMPER to do her business on them. Say what you will, she's a great communicator. And the thing is: Joe-Henry ADORES her. He pets her gently, talks to her sweetly and softly and reminds us not to scold her too loudly. He is perhaps the only reason she's not gone.
We have another cat too. A good cat. He's been with us since we first got married and he's a grand old man. He's got diabetes, which we treat and he tolerates, and he's dignified and loving. If it weren't for him, I'd definitely not be a cat person anymore.
I dream of life after Lulu. Clean carpet. (New carpet.) No more cat hair (she sheds like crazy). No more loud wheezing waking me in the night.
I know, I know. I'll probably miss her.
But I'd really like to find out.
PS: The best stain remover for pet stuff in carpet is Folex.