Most parents, upon their return from vacation, look for
signs that the kids had a party. In our case, the party animals were the cats.
Actual felines. We have two self-proclaimed housecats (we didn’t invite them;
they just moved in) and two barn cats that are quite feral but reserve the
right to come in and eat / sleep / poop in the nice litter box anytime they
want. If you suspect the barn cats have
entered the house, you cannot close the door to the basement. Otherwise you
will be cutting off their access to food, water and, more importantly, toilet
facilities. Denying them this access can have disastrous results. My daughter
and her husband were watching the house in our absence and I don’t expect them
to go hunting for feral cats every time they want to leave so I told them to
just leave the basement door open. So the cats had full run of the house. For a
week.
When I returned, here is what I saw. A fine cloud of white
fur had settled on every flat surface of the house, including the hardwood
floor, kitchen table and countertops, couch cushions and throw pillows. The dog’s
blanket, once blue and orange, was also coated in fluffy white, leading me to
believe this was the bed of choice for the felines last week.
The bread bag featured small bite marks that had no doubt
been made by sharp little cat teeth. The butter (left out on the counter for
some reason) had paw marks, scratchy tongue tracks and cat hair in it. After
throwing these things in the garbage I continued my inspection.
Having played surrogate mama to thirty-seven kittens several
seasons ago, (when I was taming them for adoption) Sheila the diminutive
housecat likes to continue in this role by carrying small kitten-sized toys around
in her mouth. She goes digging in the
toy box downstairs and pulls out anything that is about the size of a small
kitten. Then she tucks them in strange places around the house. It’s quite
endearing, really. After our vacation, nearly every wrinkle in the dog bed
contained a small plush toy. They were also deposited on stairs, behind the
toilet, on kitchen chairs and there was even a small purple elephant in the bowl
of water at the feeding station. I guess she thought it might be thirsty. She
does this often. Then she drags the wet toy around the house, leaving puddles
on the hardwood floor for me to slip in.
I also found puddles of water around each of the toilets –
obviously another favourite place to play on a long winter afternoon.
I guess the red feathers that I bought at the Third World
Bazaar look a little too much like a bird because they had been tackled,
plucked and left to die on the floor. The bird-watching station on the
windowsill next to the outdoor feeder was obviously a popular spot as my
candles and other knick-knacks had been pushed aside to make room for someone
who left large tufts of fur behind.
Probably the cats’ favourite spot to play in the house is
the carpeted staircase. I think they imagine they are ancient warrior cats,
defending the plateau of their people as they race up and down the steps,
digging their claws into the rug as they go. After a week of this unsupervised
play (I usually cut it off after round one as it can be quite destructive), the
carpet now has some frayed, loose edges and there is white fur in the creases
that even the vacuum cleaner cannot reach. Sigh.
Thank goodness I had the foresight to close all the bedroom
doors before I left. I can just imagine what my bed would look like if the cat brigade
had had their way with it.
The cats certainly appear to have had a good time with the
house all to themselves for a week. But all good things come to an end and it is
possible to have too much of a good thing. The moment I opened the sliding door
to the back porch, out they all went. And I haven’t seen them since. I guess
they have a slight case of kitty cabin fever.
Email: dianafisher1@gmail.com
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