It’s been three LONG years and frankly I can’t take it anymore!
A week ago the phone rang yanking me out of an abysmal sleep. I stumbled to answer it swearing in my head as I wasn’t fully conscious yet. It was 7:30 a.m. Tersely cutting the call short, I flopped back into bed. The cat jumped up after me. I was so NOT into socializing yet so I curled up away from him. Suave male that he thinks he is and his sense of entitlement, he nimbly swaggered across the bottom of the bed towards my face. As is his habit, when he wants something—namely FOOD—he made his way towards my face, stared for a time, saw my eyes were still closed and moved in for the kill: a soft wet kiss on the nose. Sometimes this works in his favour.
I wasn’t asleep but close. I knew the routine. How cute did he think he was that I’d leap up immediately to do his bidding just because HE was ready? I was not. My mistake.
All I needed was to be left alone to come up to the surface at my leisure. I couldn’t open my eyes.They were still glued shut. Why? I’d been up half the night reading. A small pleasure, but it’s all mine.
He jumped off with a thud and padded out of the room. Loudly, it seemed. I should have paid attention to the thud. Abruptly, I was aware of a sound that spelled trouble. I DO have a vivid imagination so I tried to ignore it. Another mistake and I’d only been awake, sort of, all of ten minutes tops. Hauling my loose bones out of the sack, I again staggered out of it, heading for the laundryroom this time. He’d peed right in front of his litter box! Yep, someBODY was not pleased. Well, n-e-i-t-h-e-r was I.
A few days before that he’d sprayed one of my flip-flops, leaving a separate puddle beside them in a direct pathway to the laundryroom. I’d almost slipped in it. I wanted to throttle him but didn’t.
Fast forward to today. My seven and a half-year-old granddaughter was visiting. She likes to play my piano and asked what that dried stuff on the keys was, all flaky and yellow. My piano is electric. I’m surprised it still worked. Some of his message had dribbled down the top of the keys into the back of the instrument. As I cleaned up the mess as best as humanly possible, I finally knew what I had to do though I had no stomach for it. I’d put it off far too long.
My big grey feline started leaving wet love notes when I’d started packing for my last house move three years ago. Over that time, he’s let me know I wasn’t properly dancing to his tune. He’d always strived to be top cat even though he’d been outranked by my other cat (who had to be put down two years ago). Now he had me all to himself but resented the grandchildren. He’s perfectly healthy and only 13 years old. I’ve had him for 11 of them.
Three messages in one week. Still, it’s been a hard decision. What judge wouldn’t agree with me? I have come close many times before this but have always relented. No more. The deed will take place this week. I’m not changing my mind this time.
I may be getting old(er) and less patient but three years is ENOUGH. Thank goodness no rugs have been involved to stink up the place. I would have given in long ago otherwise. I gave in when he almost ruined the dollhouse. Now the piano. Everything else has been washable, except for my jacket, but that’s another story.
Mentioned reading: Half Broke Horses by Jeannette Walls. I highly recommend it. Absolutely riveting. Great writing style.