I awoke early one morning, 5:30 am to be exact, to find I was sleeping in an very sour smelling wet spot on the bed. I jumped up, startling Matt awake, and headed toward the bathroom to fetch a clean towel. "What happened?" I wandered aloud. "Are you sure you didn't pee in the bed?" Matt asked. "Yes, I'm sure!" On second thought, "I'm not sure. Maybe."
I laid the dry towel on top of the bed and crawled back in to get a couple more hours of much needed sleep before Scamp awoke. At 7:30 am, we heard Scamp cooing through the monitor, and Matt went upstairs to bring her back down. I drug myself out of bed as well and bent down to sniff the spot in question. Scratchy!! If you've ever had an indoor cat, you know the smell of cat urine -- It's unmistakable. My soft ball of precious kitty cat had peed on me, his beloved owner.
This wasn't the first time he'd "forgotten" to use his litter box. And it's been happening more and more lately. I figured I wasn't giving him enough attention, enough one-on-one time with just me without my feisty 21-month old trying to love and pet and squeeze him. I had been trying to pick up the slack by giving him treats if he's had a rough run-in with Scamp or making sure he has a quality petting session while I'm sitting on the couch. But, it hasn't helped. And why did he pee on me? Matt's the one threatening to make him a full-time outdoor cat. I've been fighting to keep my baby kitkat inside.
Exasperated, I called the vet and made an appointment. Hopefully, he could give me insight into what's been running through kitkat's head and how I can make the bad behaviour stop. The appointment was for yesterday, 9:30 am. Matt had let Scrathcy outside as he was leaving for work. So around 9:00 am I let him back in. I wanted to make sure he was in my sight. I lugged the cat carrier out of the closet and realized it still had orange and white "Boots" hair still inside along with deep scratches marking the plastic near the carrier door. Boots was the cat that bit Scamp, and Matt had fought this beast of a feline and won, forcing him into this same carrier so that he could be taken into the pound and be tested for rabies.
I toted the carrier outside and shook all the hair out, then went back in to fetch Scrathcy. But, he was no where to be found. Frustrated, I raced from room to room, looking behind sofas and under tables, calling his name, and shaking his container of cat food. I ran upstairs and looked under Scamp's bed and even in the doored crawl spaces inside the walls in her room and the office. Scamp even helped with the search carrying a bag of kitty treats and calling "KitKaaaat! Ownt cheets." (Translation, want treats). We continued our hunt outside. "Maybe he snuck out when I went out with the cat carrier," I thought but still no Scrathcy.
I ended up having to call the vets office. The receptionist laughed at my predicament and told me to bring him in when I found him. We searched all day with no luck. Last night around 6:00 pm, on hour after the vet's office closes, Scratchy sauntered out of his hiding place. He had been in the crawl space upstairs after all. I knew I had not left the doors of the space open and wandered how he got in there.
Scamp woke up around 7:00 am this morning, and Matt wearily climbed the stairs to get her. They played for several minutes until Scrathcy found his way into her room. And upon seeing him, Scamp opened the toddler-sized eye-level view doors of the crawl space and allowed Scratchy to run inside. Matt realized that Scamp had aided kitkat in his escape. Then, I remembered she and I had looked in those same doors yesterday, and she kept motioning inside and saying "kitkat" like she knew he was in there. Scratchy prolonged his stay away from the vet this time, but tomorrow is another story. I'll find a way to get him there. . . hopefully.