First, I must say that I am not one of THOSE people. You know who I am talking about. I do not have 12 cats. or dress them in funny clothes. I am not a crazy cat lover. Don’t get me wrong, I do love cats. Especially the cat that I inherited from my wife. In fact, he is part of the reason we got married (not really but I like to tell people that). I passsed the cat test, so I was allowed to marry her. If he liked me, then we were good to go.
And the rest was history… so I thought. Murray. Murray the cat. He is THE greatest cat ever. I have had many cats in my life. The first cat, G.C., which stood for grey cat. Then we had then Porsche. Then we had Prissy and Nephertiti (later nicknamed Poo Kitty cause she… pooed… EVERYWHERE). Then, time goes by. No cats. Then bam! There is Murray. He is 14 years old and in great shape. Indoor cat, no front claws but has some nasty sharp back claws. He is the best.
Here is how the story begins: When I first came into my wife’s life, Murray was in a stretch where he was puking. Not all the time, but every once in a while. My wife thought that we probably need to change his food. So we did. And things improved. Later she thought that he might be having trouble eating his food. She thought that his teeth might be hurting (he is 14). So we added a quarter can of soft food in the morning supplemented with dry food. He was getting plenty to eat. Of course he absolutely loved this. He couldn’t get enough. He would eat his food and then go lie down in the living room grooming himself as the sun shone in on him as if he was some kind of king. You know how it is. Anyway… each morning I would go give him soft food. It only took like 3 days and he was hooked. This is when disaster strikes. Not for him, mind you, for my wife and I. Every. Single. Morning. 30 minutes before my alarm goes off. “Meow! Meow! MEOW!” And so it begins.
Every morning. Like clock work. He would jump on the bed and I would push him off. He would wait a minute, and then jump up again (but that little song and dance is for another day). So I would get up. I would come to the kitchen. I would get the food out of the fridge or the pantry and put out a plate for him. I would rinse his water bowl and add some more dry food. A little history. I have never been super responsible with my pets. I haven’t mistreated them by any means… just… they would probably appreciate a little better hospitality. So I realized as my OCD cat woke me up every morning (even Saturday and Sunday) that the cat has forced ME into a routine. This routine was better for him, obviously, but me as well. And seriously, who trained who? I realized that I had a very specific way that I fed Murray. I cut the soft food pate into quarters. I scooped it out and cut/mashed it on to the plate. I gave him fresh water and a scoop of dry food. Then I started to get the Ferrets water and food, too (we have 2 ferrets coco and squeak). Then I would go and get ready for work. The cat had forced me into a routine that changed me. Something I was needing desperately. He was needing(wanting) food. I was needing (wanting) structure.
Posted in OCD Cat