Isn’t she sweet. Laying in the sun, on one of our kitchen chairs. Enjoying all of the glory of being an overindulged modern housecat. She can be the most loving and adorable cat on earth, and she often makes me wonder if I could ever be without such a fine-furry companion.
And then she does this.
About 3-5 times a week.
She takes a big crap at the bottom of our basement stairs (and as you may be able to tell, she’s also confused this area with the proper peeing venue quite a few times as well—that leaves more lasting and smelly evidence--and as an additional note, that's the reason for the plastic mats). So, I wake up several times a week and descend the stairs with my hot coffee and bowl of cereal (with milk on it, already doing it’s cereal-sogging work) to find a big fat turd at the bottom of the stairs (or rather a group of fat turds, as was the case this morning).
For a while, I was determined that she would stop this behavior, so I attempted punishment in hopes that she would start choosing her clean litter pan over our carpeting. On mornings when turds were left for me, I would bring her downstairs, “show” her the mess she made and confine her to the utility room for the balance of the day. The utility room is a decently sized room, which also contains her litter pan and one feeding station (of two in the entire house). I made sure to remove any piles of laundry or baskets with clean or dirty laundry from the floor (this is also the laundry room), as well as any other cuddly spots that would make the confinement similar to sending a child to their room where they have an X-Box and a TV. Then, I would listen to a cat wailing all day as I worked in the basement (also my office). “This is a mistake. Please, let me out of here. Help. Is anyone there?”
After weeks of this routine, it is I instead of the cat who has been conditioned. I found this turd this morning as I walked downstairs with my breakfast. Did I hunt the cat down, scold her and inflict the proper punishment in hopes of altering her behavior? No. I shrugged, said “fucking cat”, and cleaned it up. And she’s upstairs right now, sitting on that same kitchen chair, having the time of her life. I take this as sign #280 that I would make a lousy parent. I can’t even discipline a cat.
And then she does this.
About 3-5 times a week.
She takes a big crap at the bottom of our basement stairs (and as you may be able to tell, she’s also confused this area with the proper peeing venue quite a few times as well—that leaves more lasting and smelly evidence--and as an additional note, that's the reason for the plastic mats). So, I wake up several times a week and descend the stairs with my hot coffee and bowl of cereal (with milk on it, already doing it’s cereal-sogging work) to find a big fat turd at the bottom of the stairs (or rather a group of fat turds, as was the case this morning).
For a while, I was determined that she would stop this behavior, so I attempted punishment in hopes that she would start choosing her clean litter pan over our carpeting. On mornings when turds were left for me, I would bring her downstairs, “show” her the mess she made and confine her to the utility room for the balance of the day. The utility room is a decently sized room, which also contains her litter pan and one feeding station (of two in the entire house). I made sure to remove any piles of laundry or baskets with clean or dirty laundry from the floor (this is also the laundry room), as well as any other cuddly spots that would make the confinement similar to sending a child to their room where they have an X-Box and a TV. Then, I would listen to a cat wailing all day as I worked in the basement (also my office). “This is a mistake. Please, let me out of here. Help. Is anyone there?”
After weeks of this routine, it is I instead of the cat who has been conditioned. I found this turd this morning as I walked downstairs with my breakfast. Did I hunt the cat down, scold her and inflict the proper punishment in hopes of altering her behavior? No. I shrugged, said “fucking cat”, and cleaned it up. And she’s upstairs right now, sitting on that same kitchen chair, having the time of her life. I take this as sign #280 that I would make a lousy parent. I can’t even discipline a cat.
