My middle sister lives at Surfside Beach, just on the outskirts of Myrtle Beach…Sun-Fun City. So when she called and asked if I would like to house sit for her while she went on vacation, of course, I said yes.
The only catch was I would have to pet sit her small dog Cocky, named for the USC mascot, and her black and white cat named Batman because he looks like he is wearing Batman’s mask and ears.
Now, I knew these two animals, and they were adorable. I had no problem including them in with my dog, Freddy.
Her beautifully decorated house is two blocks from the ocean, and they also own a golf cart for puttering around the community. I just knew that this was going to be a wonderful trip.
Joyfully, we packed and arrived at her house where she gave me a three-page list of instructions regarding her fur babies. Evidently, she had added to the cat population at her house and adopted a black cat named Bootsie. Okay, two dogs and two cats. I could handle this…piece of cake, even though I knew less than nothing about cats.
As my sister was preparing to leave, in walked my nephew with two cats. A brown one and a black one. I never really got a good look at them because they were very shy and upon arrival, raced upstairs to the second-floor bedroom and scooted under the bed.
The menagerie had just increased to two dogs and four cats. I was beginning to sweat. It grew worse as she verbally reminded me of what to do. “Bootsie needed oil in her food, keep Cocky away from the cat food, take him outside and tell him he has to poop and pee or he won’t, add water to Batman’s food, feed them three times a day, and clean the four kitty litter boxes once a day with the scoop…oh yes, and be careful, they will try to escape.” I was getting dizzy and nervous by this time, and I think she knew it because she flew out of the house and that was the end of that.
When she left, I turned and stared at the zoo I was supposed to nurture. Cocky looked sad and pitiful, so I sat down and cuddled him. Freddy, my dog, got jealous and to show out, began to bark at Batman. Batman hissed at Freddy, and my husband had to break up the fight. So far, not so good. I had only been in charge for 2 minutes.
That night was an eye opener for me. I fed the cats in their personal bowls with the correct amount of water and oil. I was proud of myself. But that pride only lasted that one night. That’s when I discovered that Cocky the dog had just eaten all the cat food in the bowls and hadn’t even touched his own food. Frustrated, I started the whole process over.
After two days of this nightmare, I decided I had enough. Those cats were enormously fat! As their two-legged aunt, I felt it my duty to put them on a diet. They would get two meals a day, not three.
Now, this didn’t sit well with Batman. He decided to throw a fit as only a cat can. He threw up on my shoe, hacking up a hairball. Then he jumped up on my sister’s off-white armchair and pooped. After his vengeance was complete, he sat on the floor, swishing his tail and looking quite smug.
This was war.
There was no way I was letting a twenty pound, four-legged ball of fur win this battle. After all, I had thumbs.
I began my strategy immediately. I gave Freddy one of Batman’s toys with a squeaker inside. He loves anything that squeaks and proceeds to destroy those things every time. Freddy was giddy with happiness. He tore through most of the cat toys with vicious joy. Cocky had never seen anything like that before, so curiously, he stole a cat toy and found a new thrill in his rather mundane existence by tearing it to pieces. He had previously been attacked by Batman and lived in dread of the monster cat. This was payback for him, too.
Next, I allowed Freddy to release his innate cat hostility and bark at the other three cats every time they came downstairs. They would race back upstairs, leaving Batman and Freddy to have a faceoff. Cocky thought this was fun and barked, too. Outnumbered by two dogs, Batman surrendered and climbed to the top of his cat structure where he stayed most of the time. Instead of feeding everyone in the kitchen, I just counted cats and dumped food in front of them. They knew to eat fast before Cocky found out. Bootsie was mad about the diet, too, and hid in the bottom of a closet. I couldn’t find her, kept counting cats and ending up with three. I was frantic thinking she had somehow escaped from the house. After running around in panic and calling her name throughout the house and neighborhood, when I returned to the house dripping wet from rain, the irritating critter was calmly sitting there, staring at me and swishing her tail.
Then the week ended with a hurricane, a fitting ending to a grueling vacation.
What did I learn? I am not, I repeat, I am NOT a cat person. Freddy has a doggy door and I like it. I don’t want to clean up poop from something that can’t take care of me when I am old.
