Survival In Cat Sitting

10:00 a.m.: I arrive for my pet sitting gig and I can feel the cats are wary and stand-offish. I’m sure I can remedy that but I begin by reading the multi-colored mosaic of sticky notes left all over the kitchen counter. Everything is efficiently labeled, then I see it- the notebook. As I scan the many detailed pages of instructions I can only marvel over how these animals have trained their human. I will not be dictated to by a pack of felines!

5:00 p.m.: It’s time to dish up dinner. I must use new, clean bowls with each feeding and I can’t help but roll my eyes. It’s dry food for heaven’s sake. Four different foods? Young cats, old cats, special needs cats… Don’t forget all the water bowls scattered around the house. I won’t judge so I begin diagnosing.

6:00 p.m.: After the frenzied feeding, I scan the afternoon schedule and realize all is done until evening. Time to win over the cluster. The gray tiger is a no go- he hid. The eldest lets me scratch behind her ears; but just a little. “Let’s not get all handsy,” her lofty Siamese look said through narrowed blue eyes. The Maine Coon and mayor of Cat City, is on me like butter on toast. I’m thinking about making him a pirate patch for that milky-white eye. I open the sliding patio door and the sleek sibling brothers, Tay, Andy, and Shanty shoot out.

8:00 p.m.: It’s getting toward evening and I wonder about the three sly brothers. It wouldn’t be good to lose the trio on my first day. Oh good, Tay is at the front door. I pet his head and feel him brush against my leg as he enters. I’ve been accepted. Now where is Andy and Shanty?

8:30 p.m.: The sun is sinking quickly and I check the front door again. Pure black Shanty comes streaking in like an ink splash. Down the hallway he trots and leaps up on the open ledge in one fluid motion. He’s gorgeous and knows it. I call him my lithe Egyptian cat. He’s munching down dry food and I pet him. He rubs against my hand and I smile. I’m making progress. Still no Andy…fret, fret, fret. It’s very cold and dark out there.             

10:00 p.m.: Where is that sneaky Siamese? The notebook clearly states I have to get all cats in for the night. I spy him laying by the big pine tree out front. “Come on Andy-Pandy,” I call in a high, cajoling voice. He’s coming! …almost here…strolling slowly across the drive…almost to the porch… He agonizingly slowly tip-toes over the threshold and he’s in! Shanty darts out. WHAT THE…? Are you kidding me? “Get in here!” I yell at him. Black tail held high and waving like a victory flag, he runs off. Ok, fine! Don’t panic. I’m determined to go about my business and get ready for bed.

11:00 p.m.: With crazy anxiety, I crack open the front door. Shanty streaks back in. I’m so relieved but I can’t help grumbling, “That’s what I thought!” He appears to care less so I add a, “Hmph!”

1:00 a.m.: Andy is exercising an excruciating, echoing, guttural howl. He wants out. His brothers are wound up now and they also want out. I assure them they are not going out. They shoot daggers at me with piercing eyes and pace laps around the kitchen island to show their displeasure at my ignorance. “This one is truly dumb and cannot be trained,” they howl to one another. I crawl into bed and try to get back to sleep, but it’s only a pipe dream.

5:00 a.m.: Shanty is at the door howling and pacing; growling, and parading. His two brothers join him. “Don’t you know we do what we want, ignorant human?” Their shrill cries mock me. I refuse to sit and try to explain to them about responsibility. Yawn…so tired.

8:00 a.m.: Time to begin the process all over again. But, HELLO! This morning’s chore list is much more in depth, but I’m doing none of it until I’ve had my coffee! I must check the notebook. Get it right because it’s a cat frenzy up in here when I pop the canned food. I juggle bowls and try to keep my balance as I navigate the gauntlet of frantic cats. I’m trying to remember who gets what and where. I feel my IQ going up 30 points. The gray tiger and Maine Coon are done in record time. The special urinary food is for the elder. I guess old female felines get UTIs just like the rest of us. The three hoodlum brothers will have leftovers as they jetted out the door while I tried to grab some fresh morning air. What a trio of asshats!

4:30 p.m.: Afternoon routine completed. The Three Brothers Grim bolt out.

8:45 p.m.: I open the front door to yell for the trio of delinquents. Tay runs in.

8:50 p.m.: Front door is opened. Shanty runs in.

9:00 p.m.: I once again open the door and nothing. Where is he? “Annnndy, Pannndy!” Wait, is that him? I click on the front porch light and he’s lying under the blue spruce staring at me. “Get in here!” Staring…. staring. “You’re an idiot!” I slam the door. I open the door. “Get in here!” Staring… staring. “I hate you!” I slam the door.

9:30 p.m.: I open the door to yell and Andy nonchalantly strolls in. Shanty makes a move to scoot out but I “Psssst!” at him. I’m pretty sure he told me to go “F” myself, but I win!

8:00 a.m.: I sit and ruminate over my cup of coffee. Today I head home. Everyone is fed and out and in and out and in. Kitty naps are in progress. I give last pats to all my furry friends and feel my jaw tighten. Survival is a rewarding feeling.