The morning began as so many others had. The house was cool, still from the temperature drop overnight, but not so much that it was frigid. I was applying deodorant before choosing a T-shirt for the day when the silence was interrupted by the hacking sound of my cat, Monkey.
He's lived with me for almost five years and despite my repeated efforts, the cat still refuses to vomit on the linoleum where it's easier to clean up and it's effects on my carpet is greatly reduced. When first addressed, he actually followed my instruction, which was a huge win for me, but apparently in viewing the joy on my face, he quickly decided to stain my carpeted floors instead. Now I have a slight leopard motif throughout my home from his many expulsions.
In the beginning, this would upset me. Often I'd pull him aside, scold him heavily at the wrong that he'd committed and send him off with a quick rap to his bottom. I must have done this too often as nowadays, when he vomits, he quickly makes shameful eye contact with me, then runs to hide. These days, however, I don't get as upset with him, citing that this is simply one of the many "perks" of being a cat owner.
For a while, Monkey would get creative when depositing his vomit. If he threw up near the fliers sitting by the front door awaiting being taken to the recycling bin, he'd pull a flier or two over his mess, hoping that I would never discover it. The same went for the blanket I have draped over a suede chair I have in my front room. Many many stains later, I received a cat-themed quilt as a gag gift from my sister, who was subsequently disappointed when I failed to be upset. Upon opening the colourfully-wrapped gift, I knew straight away, what purpose it would be serving in my home. The cat loved the small quilt, more so when he was able to pull the corner over whatever unfortunate deposit he may have made on that particular day.
Nowadays, I barely get upset. Monkey knows that what he's done is wrong. He visibly displays embarrassment and shame when confronted. I still grab him, when I can, a task that often requires a distraction, then sit with him between my legs as we (I) clean up the mess. He still believes that he's going to get a lickin', but is always surprised when I scratch him behind the ears and tell him it's okay. I tell him that I understand and that because he's sorry, he won't get a scolding.
I've never beat my cat (I just realized that sounds dirty, like a reference to female masturbation), but I do believe in an authoritative smack to remind them of the rules. In most cases, I don't smack him. Everything has come into perspective, for me. I realize that hairballs are a natural phenomena and given the circumstances, if the proverbial shoe were on the other foot, and I were faced to lick my own asshole, I'd probably vomit, too!!
He's lived with me for almost five years and despite my repeated efforts, the cat still refuses to vomit on the linoleum where it's easier to clean up and it's effects on my carpet is greatly reduced. When first addressed, he actually followed my instruction, which was a huge win for me, but apparently in viewing the joy on my face, he quickly decided to stain my carpeted floors instead. Now I have a slight leopard motif throughout my home from his many expulsions.
In the beginning, this would upset me. Often I'd pull him aside, scold him heavily at the wrong that he'd committed and send him off with a quick rap to his bottom. I must have done this too often as nowadays, when he vomits, he quickly makes shameful eye contact with me, then runs to hide. These days, however, I don't get as upset with him, citing that this is simply one of the many "perks" of being a cat owner.
For a while, Monkey would get creative when depositing his vomit. If he threw up near the fliers sitting by the front door awaiting being taken to the recycling bin, he'd pull a flier or two over his mess, hoping that I would never discover it. The same went for the blanket I have draped over a suede chair I have in my front room. Many many stains later, I received a cat-themed quilt as a gag gift from my sister, who was subsequently disappointed when I failed to be upset. Upon opening the colourfully-wrapped gift, I knew straight away, what purpose it would be serving in my home. The cat loved the small quilt, more so when he was able to pull the corner over whatever unfortunate deposit he may have made on that particular day.
Nowadays, I barely get upset. Monkey knows that what he's done is wrong. He visibly displays embarrassment and shame when confronted. I still grab him, when I can, a task that often requires a distraction, then sit with him between my legs as we (I) clean up the mess. He still believes that he's going to get a lickin', but is always surprised when I scratch him behind the ears and tell him it's okay. I tell him that I understand and that because he's sorry, he won't get a scolding.
I've never beat my cat (I just realized that sounds dirty, like a reference to female masturbation), but I do believe in an authoritative smack to remind them of the rules. In most cases, I don't smack him. Everything has come into perspective, for me. I realize that hairballs are a natural phenomena and given the circumstances, if the proverbial shoe were on the other foot, and I were faced to lick my own asshole, I'd probably vomit, too!!
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