Unlearning “cat” habits

Golfing is going to start today, so I went downstairs to get our golf clubs. By habit, I shut the door behind me so the cat didn’t sneak down. About halfway down the stairs, it dawned on me….we don’t have a cat.

When I come from work at night, our golden striped kitty is no long waiting for me at the door. He’s no longer scratching against the computer when I write. His food is no longer in the entryway, the kitty box is gone…and yet I keep seeing the kitty out of the corner of my eye.

Somehow I have to “unlearn” all the cat habits that we’ve adopted.

Like yesterday when I took a package of frozen hamburger out to thaw on the kitchen cupboards. I no longer had to worry about Picasso eating half the hamburger before I got off work. Almost to my unbelief, I left the hamburger unguarded right on the cupboard.

And I’m not getting woken up at 5 a.m. every morning by a cat who wants to snuggle next to my face.

You could almost set your watch by it. Picasso would jump on our bed at 5 a.m., but before lying down, he would paw at our blankets for a couple of minutes to make sure nothing unexpected was going to jump out at him. Then he would plop his butt down…about an inch away from my face and then gently snuggle until his fur was rubbing my nose. 

While he might have thought this was the ideal pose, I would quickly move him and then Picasso would lay still…for about five minutes before leaping off the bed.

To go eat.

Or use the kitty box.

I wouldn’t see him again until I got up to shave. And then there he would be right at the bathroom sink waiting for me to fill up the sink with water, just like Grandpa did.

After satisfying his thirst, he would jump down, run out of the bathroom and hit our bed again. By the time I was done with my shower, he would be sleeping on one side of the bed with Belinda sleeping on the other.

I would eat breakfast and head to work. Belinda would get up and make the bed. Once the bed was made, Picasso would again lie down – this time on her side – and sleep until noon. Such was the life of our cat.

But alas. Picasso came down with something called irritable bowel disease. Although he was on medication to help him, our kitty lost his appetite. And he was losing his hair, and his bowel control…and we were losing our minds. So after a visit with the veterinarian, we returned Picasso to the animal shelter.

Our house is quieter, cleaner, more predictable and smells better…but we miss Grandpa’s cat. We have to unlearn that as well.