The Dippy Cat

The Dippy Cat

Wednesday, May 22, 2013

Scratch That...

You would think that after 23 years of formal education, 4 degrees, and over 40 years life experience I would have some common sense.

You would be wrong.

As a proud cat parent I did not wish for Dippy to be a feline "have not"- specifically a "have not got a real scratching post." For some strange reason she and I cannot see eye to eye about her current post, the scratching post formerly known as my $850-bazzillion dollar leather recliner.

What was I thinking?

You see, Dippy has lots and lots of toys. She has Mr. Stuffed Mousie (and several members of his extended family including Catnip Mousie, Deformed Rubber Mousie, and We Think Its Supposed to Be a Freaking Mousie But it Has Five Legs), Plushie the Tiger, Miss Bouncie-Ball (and her backup band, the Jingle-Balls) and Mr. Weird Unidentifiable Plastic Cat Toy Thing.

Does she play with any of them?
Who are you kidding?

She plays with Mr. Shred of Contact Lens Wrapper Plastic, Miss "Jesus, Is That An Old Cookie?" and her very favorite, Mr. "Piece of Old Rope Abandoned By Hobos."

Knowing her fondness for Mr. Rope, I bought her a brand new, state of the art, guaranteed Green, hand-wrapped by well-paid hand-wrappers, 100% new, rope-wrapped scratching post.

In doing this I forgot one important thing.

Dippy has the brain of a walnut. Somewhere her village is calling softly for her return.

I put the new post, with its nice firm round rope base and attached "fun for hours kitty rope and ball toy!", beside my desk.

I called her.

She hid under my desk, explaining in her best meow that the rope monster was going to eat her.

I flicked the "fun for hours kitty rope and ball toy!," making the rattler inside rattle...

Note to the Petco team-  your definition of both "fun" and "hours" might need some re-examination. By my clock it took slightly over 0.008 seconds for a shrieking wad of hissing cat to climb my leg, slalom down the arm of my chair and cake-walk across my desk on two legs to hide behind my computer monitor. A good time was not had by all and I'm quite sure that kitty claws are not meant to reach the femoral artery under normal circumstances.

I laid the deadly rope wrapped murder pole on its side and waited.

Two hours later Gunga Dim wandered over.

And flopped on top of it.

I scratched vigorously at the post- hoping the sound might trigger some previously untapped sense of normalcy.

She started to lick the rope, looking puzzled.

Brian, who had been watching quietly from his desk, sat the pole upright, and grabbed Plushie the Tiger.

My 67 year old, normally quite sane husband (who does not like cats) put the stuffed tiger in scratching position on the pole and began to move it up and down. Dippy watched wide eyed.

When I ask why he appears to be stimulating a stuffed tiger with a scratching post, he tells me he is "demonstrating," and says that "maybe she just needs an example."

Dippy and I sit in respectful silence until he wanders off to watch TV.

I lay the pole back down.

She falls over on it, and begins to lick the rope.

I give up.

I bought my cat a rope-cicle, and she likes it.

Close enough.

Monday, May 13, 2013

A Dippy Scorned

The last time I left home for a few days, Dippy wee'd in my new suitcase.

This should have given me a hint that she is slightly averse to being left behind (well, that, and the fact that every time I try to leave the house she grabs me by the leg shrieking the feline equivalent to "No! Don't go you fool! The apocalypse is upon us! Oh woe for I am undone!"

I don't do hints well.

I just went away for 11 days.

I got home last night.

Showing what I thought was great restraint, Dippy actually let me get inside the door before merely catapulting herself from the chair across my suitcase, climbing the front of my jacket, clawing her way up my arm, biting me on the ear and then fleeing.

Into my office.

If Dippy were human, this would have been the point where she stood sobbing on a balcony, preferably in the rain, while throwing my possessions over the rail. The theme from the Exorcist would have drifted softly through the air...

Not owning opposable thumbs (or a balcony, or rain) she did the next best thing.

In 7.3 seconds (the time it took me to drop my bags and don protective armor) she managed to:

  • pull the hat from the human skull model on my desk (why yes, I do have a skull on my desk, doesn't everyone?) and toss it to the floor
  • knock the same skull's sunglasses and 2 teeth into the waste can
  • shred the back of my office chair
  • pull her rug off her perch
I don't think she broke the sound barrier until the second time she ran across the desktop- I saw a fang-y hissing blur and then what was either a unicorn exploding or a very angry cat landing claws out in a huge bowl of colored markers and pens.

As I stood in the carnage, serenaded by the gentle sounds of my professional tools and chair crumbling into fragments, and the faint odor of shattered perfume samples, Dippy staggered over to where the skull's hat lay on the floor like a deflated Rastafarian hedgehog.

She dragged it  to my foot- and then turned around and did the "kicking sand over the unspeakable thing I have left in the litter box" maneuver.  

And marched away. Triumphant to the last.