Suzy Q Homemaker

I love Scraps.  She’s my baby kitty.  I bottle-fed her, wiped her butt before she could go to the litter box all on her own, and have put up with all of her shenanigans when she got to that jumping-out-at-your-feet-from-under-the-bed phase of kittenhood.

The thing is, she hasn’t outgrown that kitten phase and up until a week or so ago, we were still cleaning up piles of poop from the kitchen or the bathtub. As far as the kitten phase goes, Scraps seems to believe that if she has at least her head under a towel, she magically disappears from sight.  I have to watch my toes every time I take a load of towels out of the dryer and add it to Mount Laundry in the living room.  Hot towels are especially inviting and quickly become a fortress to be guarded very, very carefully.

We recently acclimated her to the outdoors in hopes of solving her Bathtub Pooping problem and when she’s out there, there are no towels under which to hide.  So she crouches down in the grass and assumes her “I’M INVISIBLE” position in order to spring at your feet while you walk by.  I wish she realized that a white cat in the middle of a field is incredibly easy to see.

There are no words to describe the amount of frustration we have had with Scraps pooping somewhere other than the kitchen, our shower, or the boys’ bathtub.  We assumed at first that she associated pooping with the smell of our water since I had to hold her over the sink as a tiny kitten.  For anyone not familiar with kitten raising, if you have an untrained kitten and no mother to lick their rear, you have to get a washcloth and “stimulate” their organs in order to get them to go.  Once she was old enough to go in the litter box, she did.  I don’t recall exactly when she started going next to her water bowl in the kitchen, but it has been so long ago that we were used to it.   It was an embarrassing problem that was a pain to keep up with.  Corey was a great sport and took on the chore of cleaning it up with reluctance.  I mean really, we were already cleaning up Timothy’s poop and would have gladly traded jobs.  He wasn’t interested, though.

The introduction of Going Outside for Scraps was done in hopes of her finding somewhere else to go.  It took a few weeks for her to be brave enough to leave the porch and then afterward not to hide under the house once she left the porch.  There really isn’t much to be afraid of out there since we no longer own a cat-killing dog.  It was just overwhelming for her and when she went outside those first few weeks it was like she had taken an enormous amount of psychedelics and walked into a county fair fun house.

The smells!  The sounds!  Birds!  She still hasn’t gotten over the birds.  Whereas before she would stalk them from a cushy place on the desk, now she can try her hand at stalking them for real.  Yesterday I witnessed her running toward the sound of a Blue jay in a tree.  I’m pretty sure the jay was mocking her from afar because of her horrible hunting skills.  Don’t get me wrong–she is really good at standing perfectly still and moving with stealth.  It’s her bright-ass white coat that gives her away, though, and she needs to find a bush to hide in or all the birds in the world are going to just sit in one tree and laugh at her while she tries to blend in with the ground.

After I chuckled about the jay incident yesterday, I went back inside to help Aiden with his homework.  We looked out the kitchen window and noticed that Scraps was trying to bury something in the middle of the field.  My heart sang and I quickly grabbed my phone to investigate.  What I happened upon was a pile of dead grass surrounded by neat scratch marks in the grass.  It was a glorious Grass Sun with a treasure in the middle.  You guessed it: her poop!

Yes.  I was so excited that I took a picture and immediately emailed it to Jamie.  While I’m glad she finally crapped outside of the house, I still do not trust her.  So we continue to keep the boys’ bathroom door closed if she is in the house and the water dish still rests on one of those wire shelf organizers (to prevent her from splashing water everywhere and pooping in the kitchen).  I rationalize keeping the water on the shelf thing, though, because Lucy and Gwennie are both considered “elderly” so it makes it a lot easier for them to eat and drink from raised dishes.

I feel like we have won the battle.  Whether or not the war is over, only time will tell.

It’s summer time around here (duh) and it’s hard to make time for blogging.  I realize I’m way behind on reviews and whatnot.  Also, you’d probably like to hear more about my choir adventures with Joe Jennings.  Thing is, usually if I sit down to type something substantial, Timothy toddles over to me, often falling down once or twice on the way, and starts yelling at me.  Then he pulls his hair and does that fake crying thing that babies of around 14 months are so good at doing.  Bless him.

Anyhoo, Lucy is also starting to go stir crazy and I keep finding her sleeping in odd places instead of in her usual bed.  Remember how I fixed up a laundry basket for her filled with handknit kitty blankies?  She’s abandoned it for safer places.  Places where she won’t get hit by the random ball or Bakugan or Pokemon action figure that might be flying across the room even though I’ve told those kids A THOUSAND TIMES NOT TO THROW THINGS IN THE HOUSE.  I’ve found Lucy sleeping under the dresser in my bedroom, which isn’t very unusual.

This, however, is the strangest place I’ve ever found Lucy.  And as you can see by the pictures, she’s quite happy there.  Don’t ask me how she got into the basket on the middle shelf.  I didn’t see her do it but I wish I had!  Remember that Lucy has cerebellar hypoplasia, so her climbing isn’t so great.  For her to climb onto our bed is a feat and it takes every ounce of effort for her to jump the baby gate.

Oh, Lucy.  She’s eleven years old and still keeps us guessing.