Let me start off this entry by saying that Emoticon, my sick kitty is driving me nuts. She is used to being outside. All the time. Wild. Free. Unencumbered by the trappings of society. So lets just say that trying to keep her in the dog crate so I can treat her every six hours is slowly degrading her tiny kitty mind.
And taking mine with it.
The two days or so was fine. She seemed to accept being in her crate, used her litter tray neatly, and spent most of her time looking out the window and sleeping. Which was a good thing, because we were playing Drive to All the Used Car Lots Game. This was also combined with the Try Not to Freak Out Because Everything Ever is at Least Two Grand Over Your Price Range Game.
These are not fun games.
However at some point she realized we weren't going to let her go back outside. And that we weren't going to stop giving her eye drops. So that when I got home from work last night, Emoticon was entering some sort of full blown kitty tantrum.
When the loud pitiful/angry meowing failed to produce a cage opening epiphany in her human caretakers she moved on to phase two. Phase Two involved grabbing everything she could reach through the metal bars of the crate and attempting to drag it in there with her. While I could steadily ignore phase one, phase two did succeed in drawing my attention. Because in the span of about, oh ten minutes she had managed to drag the following things into her crate: a rain coat, a curtain, a hunk of trash bag, the top and strap of a backpack, half of my cloth tool bag, and two towels.
Of course I moved everything out from her nefarious clutches that she could possibly hook her claws into, which prompted her to bang out a drum solo on the plastic tub that her litter comes in, and also a magnificent double drum solo on the jugs I used to water the animals in the morning.
While I was trying to watch a movie.
So there I was, head phones on, trying to be oblivious to to the wailing, drumming and scratching, determinedly watching my film while possibly praying for the sweet release of death. Or deafness. It gets pretty bad when you can't tell the Epic Movie Battle Sounds, from the Pissed Off Cat Sounds.
Finally I let her out. The problem with letting her out, is that she is an outdoor only cat. She has no concept that the things in my house are both valuable and breakable. So far she has drooled on my laptop key board, sharpened her claws on the window sill, knocked over everything on the coffee table, tried to bust through a window screen, toppled a trash can, tried to get in a fight with Tom Tom Tiger through the glass sliding door, fell into a back pack, knocked over Scott's hat, eaten a fuck ton of the dogs food, and forced her body between my desk and the window, knocked over the router, and thrown kitty litter in at least one pair of shoes.
I had always had indoor cats prior to moving to the country, so it came as a surprise to me how much of a tornado of destruction an outdoor cat in the house can be. Also, another thing, outdoor cats are strong. Like indoor cats? Butterballs. Mostly fat. Don't move a whole lot. Outdoor cats? Solid muscle.
So all in all I try to keep her contained as much as possible.
Although it was all worth it when she finally settled down and jumped up into my lap and curled up and then we watched the end to the movie together and she purred like a little motorboat and then the movie was over and we just sat there and I petted her and she closed her eyes and I thought that maybe things were going to be okay after all.
Until I had to put her back so I could get some sleep and she wailed for like, a motherfucking hour.
But that's okay because in the end I am sure it will be worth it and we can save her eyeballs and then she will stop misjudging jumps and taking everything down with her.