Today is National Cat Day and to celebrate I took my cat for a walk. This did not go so well.
First off, he is–apparently–too fat to fit into his cat harness, evidenced by the impact it had on his equilibrium and balance. My order of feline wine hadn’t even come in yet and he was three-paw swaggering like he’d washed his Wiskas down with a saucer full of hooch. That was a crazy sight to see, but not as crazy as my $200 bill for the emergency room visit that I incurred before being informed that his erratic and troublesome inability to walk was the direct result of his owner’s not reading the what-not-to-put-your-cat-through instruction manual. There are a lot of things in that manual I wish I had known a decade ago… sorry guy.
Not being able to use his harness, I went straight from the vet hospital to Pet Smart where I made the not-so-Pet-Smart purchase of a larger harness, outfitted for cat-size dogs. He was able to navigate in this one–so much so that it took me an hour of chasing him around before I could attach the body harness to the actual leash. I finally caught him by tricking him into thinking he was going to get a fourth serving of food for the day. The way to a cat’s heart is truly through his stomach, which is definitely not the case with men despite what you may have read and/or heard. If I could land a man with cat treats, I’d need something bigger than a studio apartment. Because I’d have a lot of men. Because I have a lot of cat treats. Because I have a lot of cat. Exactly.
Once I got the little shit on the leash and opened the door, I was dismayed to discover that his interest in going for a walk was not commensurate with mine. Here I was, decked out in my cat DJ shirt and wrapped in my oh-so-hipster cats-wearing-spectacles scarf, ready to tell the world about National Cat Day, and he was making this a one-woman show. I pulled and pushed, he clawed and hissed, and about a pint of (my) blood later I had barely gotten him to the epic set of stairs leading to my alley-way entrance. After all, we had to exit the alley because the cliche of leading an alley cat out from an alley was just too much to pass up.
When I managed to pull him down the first flight of stairs, he finally started moving, but this time back and forth along two or three stairs, from one side to the other. Turns out, this was an effort to search for a litter box, which he inevitably did not find, opting instead to settle on the apartment steps as an appropriate place to dump. I can’t say I would have done any different if I were in his situation, but at this point, I did what any responsible pet owner would do, and ran back inside to hide the offending animal and owner. Yes, I considered picking it up but only in conjunction with thinking about not picking it up. Instead, I pulled the classic bait-and-switch by writing a nasty note to the dog owners in the apartment, demanding that they treat our complex with more dignity than our neighbors’ lawns. Damn right.
I plan to spend the rest of the evening taking yearbook photos of my cat and cleaning out the sink that he promptly peed in after getting out of the leash.
Happy National Cat Day!