That Darn Cat

That Darn Cat, who also goes by Kristof, is a mere ten years in age but seems to have the habits and struggles of a cat much older and far more decrepit.

When we lived at my parents' house, he seemed to have a problem with peeing. He also didn't get along with their cat. Their cat wasn't exactly a peach, either, but their cat is not the point. He doesn't have many teeth, so his food has to be soft and mush. His food STINKS.  The other thing about having no teeth is that the drool just falls out of his mouth, puddling wherever he may happen to be. That is something I can live with. It's being sprayed with cat saliva every time he sneezes or shakes his head that makes me scream. Literally. How do you NOT scream when tuna-infused drool splatters against your cheek.

But in spite of all that, my dad grew to have a little relationship with him. Kristof would sit on his knee and purr, and my dad would pet his head. Dad would him what a great cat he was, even though he drooled every where and smelled. Mom would shake her head.

Now that we are at our new house, the problem is the other type of accident. First it started showing up in Elliott's bathtub. So we kept the bathroom door closed. Then it showed up in the closet under the stairs and the guest room. So we started keeping ALL the doors closed.

But it is a little hard to live in a house and keep all of the doors closed all of the time.

Last night we found a pile in Elliott's room, just as we were putting him to bed. I guess it had actually been there a while, because I asked Elliott about it and his response was, "Yes, it's been there, but I DIDN'T DO IT!"

Michael cleaned it up, muttering about how he was just going to stop feeding the cat because then we wouldn't have this problem. It seems Elliott overheard.

This morning, that darn cat was doing that annoying thing where he asks to be fed by way of smashing his head into my shins and darting between my legs.

"Don't feed him, Mom," Elliott advised, with great concern. "He'll go poop again if you keep feeding him!"

"I have to feed him, sweetie, or he would die, and that would be a terrible thing to do."

Believe it or not, I was sincere when I said that, just as I'm sure Elliott was sincere when he looked at me with wide eyes and exclaimed,   "We can't let him die! Poppop would miss him."