Here, Kitty, Kitty

Ok, so we decided the cat was too complacent in his life, and decided we’d dedicate the last couple of days to totally freaking him out.

Well, it just worked out that way. He has the tendency to get his fur in a wad when the furniture is moved (slinking into the living room after a nap you can see the “oh HELL no! Sonofabitch we MOVED again!” look) and over the last couple of days it’s been moved several times.

The urge to rearrange struck after realizing that we really only had seating for two, and the Boy and his Significantly Better Half are probably going to visit for the holidays. Our old sofa and loveseat were still in the garage, so why not move the love seat in? Sure, no problem—no problem other than the way this house was designed. The architect must have dedicated many waking hours to figuring out how to design a home with little actual usable space, both storage and furniture-wise.

We got the love seat in, and it worked, but everything was awfully jammed together. It was enough to really get the cat going, so we left it like that overnight, figuring we could move it around again the next day. Just when he relaxed, I started taking all the knick knacks off the entertainment center and put them on the table.

He was not happy. As I made my way from the table back to the entertainment center for a 4th or 5th time, he launched across the room and wrapped both paws around one of my legs, trying, I think, to stop me. Or trip me. Or rip my leg off. When that didn’t work, he crouched on a chair and watched as his little world was ripped apart. All the knick knacks were on the table. Pictures were taken off the walls. The rug was rolled up and moved. Then to add insult to injury, we moved the entertainment center across the room.

Pissed off kitty.

He began to relax as things were put back into place. It wasn’t as painful as he seemed to think it was going to be (but I am definitely checking the bed before I climb in tonight, just in case he left me a little present) and he seems positive that the love seat was brought in just for him—with the bonus that it still smells like the dog (could have something to do with all that dog hair embedded into the cushions…) The living room seemed much bigger once everything was where it should be, and there was more space for the kitty to play. Time to relax.

We couldn’t have a relaxed cat. Nope. So we put a battery in the uber-nice clock that my ultra talented father-in-law made for us and got it going … and sat back to watch what he’d do when it chimed. Every fifteen minutes.

Seriously pissed off kitty. Not as funny as the dog was the first time he heard it—he thought it was the doorbell and every fifteen minutes would run to the front door (hence, why the battery was removed. He was going nuts and the cat we had then had a heart condition, we were really afraid the chime was going to terrify her into keeling over and dying right there in the middle of the living room)—but PsychoKitty is going to sit on his loveseat and glare at the clock until it finally shuts the phck up.

Poor kitty.
It’s going to be a long night for him.

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