I did not adopt my cats, Sal and Dean. Rather, they seem to have adopted me.
Sal and Dean were originally my fiancé’s cats—young, friendly and playful balls of fur who enjoyed my company for a few hours, but then we’d go our separate ways—I’d go home to my cat-free residence and cat-free habits, and they’d blissfully retire for the evening with my fiancé all to themselves.
When my fiancé and I decided to move in together about three years ago, my un-feline ways clashed head-on with their cat lifestyle. Suddenly all my clothes were covered in cat hair, and I had to share the unpleasant task of cleaning a litter box. I didn’t think they could possibly be as affected by the alterations to their daily lives as much as I was.
Boy, was I wrong. The trouble started when I got a phone call at work one day a few weeks into our cohabitation. My fiancé sounded nervous on the other end of the line.
“Uh, honey, I have to tell you something…” he trailed off. (I know it’s never good when he trails off.) “One of the cats peed on your pillow.”
Since I was expecting some news that was infinitely more awful, I was a bit relieved. That’s all? I thought. But I came to find out that it was indeed an awful thing. Cat urine, in addition to being unpleasantly pungent and hard to clean up, represents the greatest show of disapproval a cat can muster.
It dawned on me then. They hate me! These cute little fluff balls think I’ve stolen their man and their seniority in the household! I tried to imagine their perspective: An annoying, smelly (to them) human just came in and took over, kicking them out of the bedroom, shooing them away from the closet (where they loved to nap) and vacuuming up the scent they laid on everything!
To demonstrate who was boss—i.e. who was here first—one (or both) sprayed their powerful scent in the spot where my own scent was most concentrated—my pillow.
I didn’t know what to do, and neither did my fiancé. We all had to live together somehow! We tried punishment by absolute eviction from the bedroom, we tried rubbing their noses in the urine-soaked pillow (to reinforce that spraying is a no-no), and held off on the cat treats. Nothing worked. They peed on my pillow again and again (we went through a lot of pillows).
Finally, we shared our woes with my fiancé’s mother, who has had cats for years. She said it would be a good idea to have me start feeding them exclusively. If they knew I was in charge of feeding them, they might stop acting out. You don’t bite (or pee on) the hand that feeds you, right?
It was like magic. I’d crack a can of wet cat food or rustle the bag of dry food, and they would come running into the kitchen and see I was the provider. After that, no more wet, smelly surprises on my pillow! Only wet noses nuzzling me lovingly every day. That’s when I knew they had decided I was cool, I had a function, and they adopted me into their feline family.
—Jessica Bloustein
We love cats…but sometimes cats don’t love us back! (At least, not right away.) Share your tips on how to successfully “make friends” with a cat.
