Tempered Fragility

Rissa urinated on my bed again tonight.

I’m blaming myself for this incident, because I haven’t been upstairs (except to sleep) since Friday. Since the vet cleared her of any health problems, the behaviour is probably due to stress. She is particularly nervous - not unlike her owner - so my absence would have stressed her out.

As much as I love her, I almost threw her out the window when I found that wet spot.

I’ll make a point to spend more time with her from now on, and perhaps bring her downstairs in the cat carrier so she gets used to Shadow. I’m also thinking about changing her litter and buying a bigger box; she might not like the setup she has right now.

If all else fails, a lot of nervous cats have been prescribed a medication similar to Valium, that apparently helps to calm them down and reduces inappropriate urination. I’m all for medicating if the behaviour continues, because I simply cannot own a cat that pees on everything.

I have never before discussed an animal’s bodily fluids this often.

There’s something wrong with Rissa.

I changed her litter last night, and this morning it was flooded with pee again. I originally thought that Rylee had used it, but she wasn’t in last night, so. There’s definitely something wrong with her. According to the internet, it could be feline diabetes.

She could also be in season, I suppose, but she isn’t displaying any of the other symptoms. I knew as soon as Jazz was in season; she yowled, she rubbed up against us all the time, she tried desperately to get outside. Rissa is acting completely normal, aside from the excessive peeing.

I’m trying not to think about what that might mean.

Her appointment is at 4pm. I’m hoping to find out more then, but the vet will probably want to do (very expensive) tests before he can tell me anything. Which means I’m free to stress about this for a few days at least. I hate waiting. Seriously.

UPDATE:

The vet told me that Rissa is probably upset because there were six extra people in her ‘pack’ for three months. And now they’re gone, so she’s stressing about that. The peeing on my bed is her trying to re-affirm that the bedroom is our territory. She thinks she’s helping, heh.

I have no idea how to fix this problem, but I’m going to start by keeping her relatively contained and changing her litter regularly. I’ll watch her, and try to spend a little more time with her. Plus, I’ll keep Shadow away from her, so she doesn’t have the chance to attack her.

Yesterday, I went upstairs to help the girls turn on the television (because at age nine they still can’t remember to push the AV button after turning it on) and encountered the foulest stench to exist on this planet. I don’t know if it’s what I’m feeding her, or whether it’s her age, but Rissa is stinks at the moment. It’s horrendous, really. I go downstairs sometimes, because I just can’t stand it.

Anyway.

I walk into the study to get the remote control, and notice that instead of getting stronger (since the litter tray is in the bathroom next to the study), the smell is less overwhelming. It’s a little strange, but what do I know about how smells spread? I walk back into the bedroom and the smell gets worse. Strange, I think, again. I turn the TV on and look around for the Foxtel remote.

Rissa had taken a giant dump on my bedspread.

I mean a mammoth crap, seriously. Ten centimetres wide by 15 centimetres long. It was disgusting. The girls freak out. I freak out. Rissa freaks out. I clean it up as quickly as I can - it’s still warm, ew ew ew - but it’s right over the pleats and I can’t get it all out, so I pull the bedspread off and begin sponging it clean. I was trying to salvage the doona, because it’s goosedown and feather and expensive.

I don’t succeed in salvaging the doona; it’s left a nasty mark.

I toss the bedspread aside, put some Napisan in cold water and start cleaning the doona. It seems to  be working, so I calm down a little and actually start breathing again. Maybe she’s sick, I think. Maybe she has a stomach bug, or she ate something that she shouldn’t have. She’s never gone anywhere other than her tray before; there must be something terribly wrong.

Right on cue, Rissa jumps up onto my (now uncovered) doona and pisses all over it.

I freak out all over again. I yell at Rissa to stop and shoo her off the bed. I tell the girls to go and get Mum, because seriously, I have to lock that crazy freakin’ BITCH of a cat up before she does any more damage. Quickly! I grab the cloth and started sponging again, frantically, but the puddle is deeper than it looks and my whole hand ends up submerged. My hand is in cat piss, I think to myself. Perfect.

Mum arrives, and amidst my screaming and yelling Rissa hides beneath the bed.

When I finally manage to get her out, she hisses and tries to scratch me. I’m so surprised that I drop her and she runs away from me. I call her a bitch and leave her huddled in the corner. Downstairs, I cry about my doona talk to Mum about her behaviour. We decide that she was probably upset because Shadow (Mum’s cat) attacked her on Friday night. Then I cry about my doona.

Mum suggests moving her bowl and litter tray, since Shadow probably attacked her while she was eating or using the tray. I move them into the other bathroom and try to coax Rissa out from the corner. She growls at me, so I drag her out, snarling and squirming, and carry her there. I shut the door and listen from the other side. Silence, at first. Then a quite crunch, crunch, crunch. She’s eating.

Five minutes later I open the door, and she’s back to normal.

I hope it was just some form of short-term feline post traumatic stress disorder, because if it wasn’t then I have to face the fact that my cat is just a bitch, basically, and I don’t want that to be true because she’s been a really good cat. Except for not liking people and playing with really noisy toys all night, but I think she deserves a break because she has to put up with Shadow, the uber-bitch.

I think I have another reason to hate Shadow.

P.S - Happy Mother’s Day, Mum. I don’t know how you managed to keep a straight face throughout the whole ordeal, but thank you. I’ll be your partner in poop any time.

P.P.S - Happy Mother’s Day, Nana and Aunty Vikki. I love you both.

Tonight, I returned home and remembered just how much having a kitten sucks. My room is dishevelled (more than usual, that is), my toilet paper is shredded, and one of my shoes is gone. I don’t mean missing, or even misplaced; it just disappeared. “Rissa,” I said. “Where is my shoe, you evil whore?”

I turned the room practically upside down (so now it’s completely destroyed), and I still can’t find it. I’m seriously pissed off, because the shoes I’m talking about happen to be really cute flats, and I wanted to wear them this weekend. Only now, obviously, I can’t.

I almost hung the cat teaser I bought her from the freakin’ ceiling.

Yes, I realise that there are more important things in the world than my missing shoe. I KNOW. It is a really cute shoe, though. Like, if I wrapped it in a blanket and cuddled it, people would be all, “What an adorable shoe!”  You know… if shoes were babies. Or looked like them. Whatever: it is ADORABLE.

So, I’ve had a secret for the last few days. Some people know, and are excited about it. Some people know, and totally aren’t excited about it; those people are never being told a secret in advance EVER AGAIN.

And, of course, some people don’t know and are going to be really, really mad about it. Like, disowning their niece mad about it, right after making sure said niece has no option but to bus it down to St. Kilda and whore herself out to survive.

Which is why I’m only posting about it now.

Say hello to Rissa.

I saved her from a gutter one cold, windy day last week. She is a long-haired tortoiseshell, perfectly healthy, and has already been wormed, vaccinated and vet-checked. She lives in the back end of the house, unlike my mother’s cat, and is adorably friendly until you make a sudden movement.

Be gentle, oh-so-charming uncle of mine, king of all the lands, sir.