My question is, is there any way to make fresh laundry unattractive to cats? We had limited success using a detergent that had a really strong perfumy smell, but it was too much for me so i had to go back to the one we’d been using.
Well, if you leave it in the dryer until it cools off, it will be less attractive to the kitties, but really, what’s the fun in that? Helping fold clothes is one of my favorite things. The Woman usually does it on the bed, so I jump up there and plop down on the first warm thing I encounter. Usually that’s a t-shirt…and oddly it’s almost always the same t-shirt…like she planned it that way. Huh. I think I’ve been played. But still. Fresh clothes from the dryer are kitty nirvana and why would anyone want to stop that?
Embrace cats and laundry together! Life without cat-hair-covered clothing is overrated, anyway.
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Hi Max, Gracie’s mahm here. I have a question myself. I’m having surgery next month that will make it very painful to have Gracie’s “A.M. Interpretive Dance and Stomple Routine” applied to my boob-ular/stomach-al and general front-ly areas. As much as I don’t mind being pulverized into proper biscuit dough and headbutted into next Tuesday all to the sound of her loudest purring, I need her to understand that this will not be an option for a few weeks. Especially as Gracie has joined the Brick House Club. She’s letting it all hang out.
Gracie has very definite ideas about this ritual — performed daily from 5:29 to 5:37 every morning. Also, I must pet her ears during this, accept stray whiskers in my nostrils, and compliment her eternal beauty. This is price of being her mahm.
Do you or your readers have any ideas to … uh … distract her when I’m not able to bear four paws under 1,000 lbs/sq inch pressure? I don’t want to hurt her feelings, but I also don’t want to hurt my feelings.
Sometimes a kitty just has to learn to suck it up and leave the human goodies alone for a while. I’ve had to keep off the Woman a few times over the year because she’s either hurt herself or had surgery, and while it was difficult to no long flop my incredible self over her face, I adapted. And I used to take great joy in curling up by the Woman’s pillow for late-night conversations about the state of the world and how many crunchies actually constitute a snack, but apparently 3 am is a little too late for this, and my waking her every night became a health issue, so she started closing the bedroom door at night.
She was genuinely concerned that it would hurt my feelings, or that I would howl and throw my body against the door, but…I got used to it. It didn’t take long at all. And now I admit that sometimes people need to engage in some self-care so they can be better assistants to the kitties, and there are some inconveniences to which we must adjust.
You can try closing the bedroom door at night, and she’ll figure it out eventually. Alternately, you can duct tape a pillow to the offending parts to take some pressure off and let her stomp where she wants to stomp. Or sleep with a box over your torso, with your head and legs sticking out; she can lounge on top of the box while you rest, and everyone is happy…as long as you make sure the box is of a size that allows you to reach her ears for the requisite petting and early morning adoration she needs.
I kinda like that idea, actually. Surely there’s a market for Torso Boxes with built in nip and treat dispensers.
Dang…I can get rich off this!
Oh, and I hope your surgery is totally uneventful. Those are the good kinds. Especially when they send you home with the fun drugs.
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Hey Max, the people put this nice big tree in our house, but it’s not a good climbing tree (believe me, I tried) and they put all the shiny sparkle balls up high where I can barely reach ’em. Are people stupid, or what?
It’s not stupid. It’s festive! Now, granted, if they aren’t placing a few unbreakable balls where you can reach them, they’re kinda mean, but this is a fun time of year. I love having the tree in the house. So much that we have THREE of them. One for Christmas, one for Whovimas, and one because we can’t leave that forking front window empty so throw the damn thing on top of the coffee table and plug the forker in.
Buddah hates that one because it makes it harder for him to get down from his perch near the window, but I dig it. I love Christmas!
If they won’t move the balls where you can bat at them, jump! You can do it! I have faith in you!
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Are you really 14 pounds of black and white glory? I thought I read on your blog once that you’re 18 pounds of awesome.
Well, I WAS eighteen pounds of awesome, and that was not too long after I was 14 pounds of black and white glory. And then a couple years ago I was back down to 14. But these days I’m about 11.5 of wizened old dood. Still awesome, but not so big anymore.
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MAX! It’s Cyrus! My dad thingy did what you said and tied the tree to a thingy in the wall! And there are shiny toys on it and he said to the mom thingy, “Well, he can’t break them so stop worrying about it,” so I played with them! And no one yelled! Now how do I climb it because I can’t figure out how!
Cyrus, little dood, I have this feeling you’re a Buddah Pest in the making and soon all your HAPPY! will turn into endless run-on sentences. I’m exhausted thinking about it.
But…to climb the tree, you need to get under the tree. Look up—you can see where the branches connect to the trunk. Just wiggle your way in between them and work your way up until you’re at the top. If you get that high and sit, congrats, you’re the star!
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