That Darn Cat

This post requires one important piece of sharing, so here it comes. I do not like to be alone. This comes as no surprise to readers, so let me expound. Not only do I not like to be alone metaphorically, romantically, or blog-arily but in any sense, including the physical variety. I find being alone noxious, difficult, terrifying, and, mostly, boring.

Due to my need for company, I have a rule I normally live by: I do not housesit. If you are not home, why should I be there? I don't like being alone in my own home, let alone surrounded by foreign things purchased by other people at a time not involving me. But I also have a weakness (which, according to MSN, has been my relationship downfall): I am a pleaser. So, if a friend approaches me directly and asks something, such as, "Will you watch my house? You're the only person I trust with my cat"...I am stuck. I am forced by my own personality to agree despite my better judgment and gut feeling.

Hence the reason I am writing this post. I have been housesitting because I supposedly understand the needs of felines. And the feline I'm housesitting is messing with my head. So, I'm alone in a strange house with a cat that would like nothing more than to see me crying for my mommy. You think I kid. I do not. This cat is devious.

Leche is a mutt-persian with a tail longer than her whole body. Maybe that plays mind games on her, leaving her a wicked & perverse bit of nature. Leche used to be feral, meaning she would play outside all day. Then she met my friend and chose to live in her house and on her bed. Cats do this kind of thing - I had one that was equally evil who loved me and I miss him every day. So, when my friend left on her vacation, she entrusted Leche to me.

Leche immediately ran under the bed for 3 days. I coaxed. I prodded. I enticed her with toys of every variety. No go. Leche would hide under the bed. After 3 days with no sign of food consumption or urination, I was forced to my knees.

"Please, Leche, please," I requested of the cat. "I just need you to eat. I'm not going to do anything mean to you. You can come out, eat, have a good play. I'm safe, I promise. And if you don't come out tonight, then I'm going to call the vet and we're going to put you in a cat hostel where you will really hate your life."

The threat worked. Leche emerged a few hours later from beneath the bed. She wound around my legs, slept on the bed with me, and purred as though she had found true love.

It was all a hoax.

A hoax, I tell you, to convince me to let her outside. And I fell. Like a big, dumb fool, I fell. Leche rubbed against my hand and then led me to the door. I opened the door, feeling that Leche and I had come to an understanding and she would return now that she knew what a kind, compassionate cat owner I could be.

That night, Leche was waiting at the door. She was licking her paws as she reclined. I stepped up to the door. As the door opened, Leche walked down the stairs. I called for her. She looked at me. I stepped toward her. She danced out of reach. I took another step. She slipped under a nearby box. I turned back towards the door. Suddenly, Leche was back under foot, winding in and out and purring. I moved toward the door. Leche moved away from the door. I moved toward Leche. Leche moved under the tire of my car. I went toward the door. Leche wound around my feet. I opened the door. Leche moved away from the door. This went on for 10 minutes.

The cat wants to drive me crazy, I thought. I cursed at her. She ran behind a tree. So, I brought her food to the porch. She came to the porch but was not to be confused by the inching towards the door trick. Every time my hand reached for the bowl, Leche scampered out across the yard. I gave up and went inside.

A few hours later, I needed something from the garage. I went to the garage and Leche wound herself around my feet the entire way, chattering and purring. If I bent near her, she skipped out of reach. I went inside and called the neighbor. He came over and declared it a lost cause - Leche was not coming inside.

And she did not. For 2 more days! That damn cat stayed outside in freezing weather and no food. She knew i was there. She sat right outside the door, taunting me. I was furious! She was devious and PROUD of herself!

Then she disappeared altogether. Now my cat had done this to my sister while i was on vacation, so I know the pain of coming home to a lost pet. You can imagine that I was frantic. The cat was gone. She did not come. I found myself on my knees again, praying for the most annoying and wretched beast of a feline the world has ever known! But I needed a housesitting miracle.

This morning Leche was back on the porch step. I opened the door and she sauntered right inside and started to eat. I was terrified. If I moved toward her or the door, she would probably go outside and be lost again. But God had sent my miracle. I had to take advantage of it! So, I tried to move fast (I'm a fat girl - my fast is about 3/4 your slow speed). Leche tensed too late! I had her scruffed! She looked up at me, miffed that I had ruined her breakfast. I shut the door in exultation.

And you know what that cat was doing in my hand when she should have been sulking in her scruffed position? She was gloating! She was licking her paws as though being scruffed were as relaxing as a day at Glen Ivy. I dropped her on the floor and she looked at me as though to say, "This was always my plan." I barely kept from kicking her.

As I got ready for work, Leche played at my feet. She followed me to the door. I laughed, "You cannot possibly think me that dumb." Leche paused, considering, then moved towards the door.

"Really, cat, I'm not that dumb. If you die, you die inside. I'm going to do my part here." Leche looked at me again and then sauntered away to hop up on the couch.

I got in my car and my car could not go. The tire was deflated. The tire where Leche had spent most of the last 3 days. I may not be able to prove Leche's involvement but I'm not going to underestimate her. That cat may not be evil, but she sure ain't good.

And that's yet another good reason I should never housesit.