Definition of “furtration”: When a cat is experiencing extreme frustration with his or her owners, lifestyle, habitat, or, really, anything.
“Once upon a time,” thinks my cat, “my life was so simple. Get some food, have a wash, go curl up on the couch or bed of my choice.
“Then the small human came along.”
The baby. And then the baby began crawling…and then walking…and getting into everything. Including the cat’s food, water, tail, paws, ears…
“Now I have to look all over for my food. Who knows where they put it this time? The countertop? The table? Over there? Up here? What the heck, people!
“Forget about sitting on the couch without being disturbed. I had to sleep in the basement for a month! The basement, folks!
“Now at least they let me go in the bedrooms again. They just shut the doors. Luckily that little terror isn’t tall enough to reach the knobs. Ha!”
The Polecat has come up with some creative ways to get a little peace and quiet. If I leave a closet open (so that Muffin can play with the coats — hey, don’t judge me), when Muffin goes down for nap, and I forget about said open closet, Furry Boy will soon be visible asleep on the pile of coats on the floor. Win, win, he thinks.
In the basement, he found a bunch of old sheets and curled up in those. (Now they’re covered with cat hair. Whatever; we just used them for painting the kitchen.)
Now that spring is here, the Polecat will simply be spending more of his time outside. And he is allowed to roam much farther than the toddler is, so getting out of arm’s reach won’t be difficult.
Finding his food can be a challenge. Sometimes I have to pick him up and carry him to the dishes, which we placed somewhere off limits to Muffin, like the bathroom, or the room with all the Legos. (White Fang and the cat are bonding a little over their shared dislike of the grabby toddler stage. Not all that long ago, White Fang was the one to avoid. Now he’s an ally in the battle of Keeping Away From the Runt.)
Hang in there, Furness. I promise it won’t be this way forever.
“And the cat’s in the closet and a silver spoon, Little Boy Blue in demand of a horn…” (Wait, wasn’t it a cradle? Whatever; it works.)