We recently reintigrated our two cats to exclusively indoor living. While they have enjoyed the freedom the great outdoors allows, they developed the nasty habit of wandering into neighboring yards and leaving presents of the unwanted kind. I never heard complaints per se, but the elderly woman next door called one day to say she observed someone in an official looking truck (animal control?) which had pulled up to the single woman’s house across the street, where our cat, Cookie, happened to be lounging. I took that as a sign that not everyone feels the same way about our felines as we do. As it turns out, we later discovered that this woman LOVES Cookie, and had no idea she belonged to us. She even gave her the name “Domino,” and has enjoyed her affectionate nature.

While I can’t be certain that anybody actually called Animal Control, I still thought it wise to keep them inside. "Why not put collars on them," you say? Tell that to the cats, who have managed to come back at the end of the day with theirs missing…several times.

Since their imprisonment they have made it understood in no uncertain terms that they are displeased with the arrangement. There are several ways they have communicated this:

1. An insanely full litter box. While I realize that the litter box was rarely used while they were outside cats, there’s NO WAY on God’s green earth they could have consumed enough food to produce the piles I am scooping and dumping on a daily basis. I know I have some corks around here somewhere…

2. The meowing…no, the whining…the INCESSANT WHINING at every door, window, crevice, crack in the wall, you name it. These cats are serious, and not about to give up, even three weeks into their solitary confinement.

3. The sassy behavior. Actually, I pin this one totally on Mitzy. She was ornery from the moment we got her, but became much more settled once I introduced her to the outdoors. She tasted freedom, then had it cruelly snatched away. I am never to be forgiven and shall have to sleep with one eye open for the rest of my life…or perhaps just the rest of hers, which will be greatly shortened if she so much as swats at me from the top of the refrigerator just ONE MORE TIME!

4. The refusal to compromise.

This one is worth spending some time on. Now, folks, we all know cats in general are not instinctively leash friendly, not to mention averse to water (but that’s another painful blog). If a cat owner wants his/her pet to tolerate a leash, he/she had better start young. I didn’t have a choice in the matter. Mitzy was already three years old when I inherited her, and Cookie was at least five when she was adopted, and is now knockin’ on borrowed time. I’m not sure of her age, but if her lack of teeth is any indication, she at the very least should be taking Geritol. But I digress….

I wanted Mitzy, in particular, to venture outdoors once in a while, so I told my husband I was going to buy a leash and harness and see if I couldn’t break her in. He advised against this, but I talked him into it with my powers of persuasion (which is really just me wearing him down to the point of exhaustion. It works rather well). He said I would never be able to drag that cat anywhere on a leash. It turned out he was wrong.

I indeed, DID drag that fool cat (literally) all the way across the street and back, with her hissing and howling at me, a sight which I probably could have charged admission for. Either that cat is incredibly stupid or incredibly stubborn, because, despite having her beloved fur mangled by the surface of the cold asphalt street, she chose to lay on her side, legs stiff as a board, while making noises that would have put the fear of God into a Doberman.  This went on for several minutes before she managed to wriggle out of her harness. I wouldn’t have minded that so much had it not taken me two hours to get that blasted, God-forsaken, octopus-like, blankety-blank contraption on. I’m not really sure how I managed to wrap that thing around her body and still come away unscathed, but let me just say it took two cans of tuna fish before I was successful. It was a small price to pay for unbroken skin. A word to the wise: If you see an invention hanging from the pet store shelf that requires you to reach under your unwilling cat and through her front legs to attach straps to tiny little clips, keeeep walking!

Stay tuned for Part Two: The Chef’s Special (subtitle: What lengths you’re willing to go to so your cat will stop barfing all over the house); and Part Three: The Flea Circus

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