If you wish to read about the disrespectful stuff my cats do with my room, go ahead.
I just can’t believe what happened. I am shocked, but mostly outraged. And I still want to puke. First though, you need to know the fore story to the incident of this morning.
My tabby cat was behaving oddly for a week or so – running away from us, shying from touch etc. – so we figured she’s injured somehow. We decided to stress her as little as possible since there was no visible injury anywhere, and we presumed it’s her teeth. She’s old enough for such problems (14 years) and there’s little anyone can do. The vet would have had to sedate her anyway and that’s not a good thing with older cats. Then there’s our experience with our tom cat; he has lost most of his teeth already a year ago. We were convinced he was going to die; he lost a lot of weight and refused to eat from the pain, but with mashed pieces of meat and milk he pulled through. So we waited to see if that’s the case with the ‘crazy little tabby’ as well.
In a few days after lounging on the radiators we saw she had noticeable swelling on the right side of her face. We decided to investigate more thoroughly what was going on. To put her at ease, my mother and sister decided to gently comb her and inspect the swelling as well. We got a nasty shock. It was an infected bite or puncture wound of some kind just beneath her collar. Cue the first icky part – an enormous lot of thick green liquid. Ugh. Ick… I ran for paper towels and we cleaned her up as best we could, then gently squeezed the area to clear out the puss. Surprisingly, she let us do that with no fuss. I still don’t want to do that ever again in my life, but this was not the thing that almost turned my stomach.
The wound crusted over, the tabby was ok the next few days, but still a bit odd in her behaviour, though slowly returning back to her usual personality. Cue the second event, this one featuring my room.
I was just going to sleep yesterday night, when I hear a scratching noise under my bed. “That’s odd,” I thought, but did not freak out. I guess I’m used to night-time visitors of the furry kind – the tom cat often comes to sleep on my bed in the winter. I turned on the light and got on all fours to investigate. Of course it was the tabby, perched on my boot’s box far under my bed. I blinked in surprise since she rarely came to my room, but thought there would be no problem. And I didn’t wish to throw her out of my room when she was already skittish enough around us. I just opened my door to give her the option of leaving any time she liked. I returned to bed.
It turned out the tabby is a bad guest. I was woken up several times during the night since unfamiliar noises never fail to pull me out of my sleep. (You can guess what a joy it is for me to sleep in unfamiliar beds in hotels.) The tabby has an annoying quirk of walking like a trampling horse – you can hear every step loud and clear: tip-tip-tap-tap… not to mention the noise the box made every time she turned. And so I was woken up for the tenth time at three or four o’clock in the morning; I was really tired by then and a little bleary too. I looked at her, now perched on my carpet, and had the vague notion that she must want to go to her litter box. My subconscious already saw a giant puddle on the carpet – and a dead cat as a result… (just kidding, but it turned out to be prophetic)
I opened the door even wider and asked her if she wants to go, but she just looked at me with her wide eyes and stayed put. “Ok, so she doesn’t want to go,” I thought, “better leave the door opened wide just in case then.” I returned to bed. A few minutes later, I heard her return to the closed box under my bed. Then noxious fumes suddenly struck my nose. “I can’ *beep* believe it!” I thought angrily. Of course the cat had to fart right under my nose… It was unbearable. I jumped up and opened up my balcony door and the skylight window, letting in the icy cold night air. It eradicated the fumes successfully and I could sleep in peace until morning. The tabby was still on her box when I looked under the bed once I woke.
I went down for breakfast with my family. After cleaning up and changing clothes, I came back to my room. “There’s still something I smell in here,” I thought. It was really faint, but I could detect it. This was no longer funny. I started at my bed, sniffing out the scent. No, it wasn’t coming from there. “She wouldn’t…” I thought in horror and turned to my opened suitcase. The smell was coming from that direction, but nothing was to be seen, much to my relief. Now I moved to the right, to my desk and computer. I leaned over the flower pots and then I saw it – a monstrously big pile of shit. Yes, my tabby decided to do her business in my room, behind my computer. *facepalm*
I ran for disinfection wipes and paper towels, ranting all the way downstairs and drumming up my mom and sis. I was spitting mad. This wasn’t the first incident that happened in my room either. The tom cat had puked on my white carped twice in ten years, and once on my throw. It doesn’t need mentioning that he was banned from my room for a month and he knew, oh so well, why that was so. Now the tabby joined the awful tradition of messing with my room. I started cleaning up and the god-awful smell that suddenly burst from the pile just about turned my stomach. I was gagging. Ugh.
I wiped down the area thoroughly with disinfection wipes while my mother grabbed the tabby and carried her downstairs. “A day in the open won’t hurt her,” she said and released her onto the terrace and into our garden.
My room is now cold but free of any smell. No cats in my room during the night from now on, though. Not if they keep messing with me.
ETA: The crazy tabby is still visiting the box under my bed – apparently she took a shine to that dark place and won’t budge. As long as she behaves, I don’t mind (much).