I almost killed the cat today and would have, without remorse, if not for the inevitable glares of disapproval and Andrea's likely emotional wreckage. I present to you a completely biased tale after which you can decide if my emotions were just.
There are few perfect moments during my day that allow an activity other than holding, changing, or feeding Oliver. Generally, those occasions are used to address my needs, such as eating and pooping* (probably too much info, but this is destroying my poop schedule). However, at around 10 AM, one of those moments arose. Swiftly, I took action. We're going on a walk! Ollie, myself, and Shasta** (who was outside at the time).
I went to the garage to put Ollie in the stroller and hit the garage door button and up it went (as it does) and in came Roxy, the cat that almost died. She scurried past as I was strapping Ollie into the stroller. My instinct were right: no signs of a struggle or fussing. I got his "Wubbanub" from the car (a pacifier with a stuffed elephant attached), for added peace security and grabbed the portable garage door device I keep with my bike. All this time, Roxy is inspecting the newly installed cat door that goes into the house. Standing just outside of the garage, I hit the appropriate button and Roxy bolts, spooked by the sound (which is ridiculous because the who mechanism is surprisingly quiet). In no time she is standing outside with myself, the boy, and Shasta. This is a problem because she will follow us on the entire walk. Not only would this limit where we could go (no crossing the busy street), but she has been known to take detours into unknown territory and lose site of the walkers leading to a game of Hide and Seek I wasn't prepared to play with a ticking time-bomb of tears and wailing in the stroller.
Collecting her was easier than expected and I raised the garage door about three feet, tossed her inside, and closed it right away only to have her scamper out Indiana Jones-style (though she lost her hat). This annoyed me because now she knew my intentions and planned on making catching her far more difficult. I went after her, Shasta in tow, but Ollie in the driveway, but she kept running away. I figured that if I scared her away far enough, she might now follow. But she did. I was going to have to catch her.
Fortunately, she became bold when she thought she was going on a walk with us and she passed right by me. Moving faster than than Roxy ever dreamed possible, I swooped down and grabbed her. My only option was to put her in the house through the front door which was locked. With Shasta's leash in one hand, Roxy in the other, and the boy in his stroller on the sidewalk, I tried to make my way back to the house and get my keys from my pocket. Simultaneously, Shasta and Roxy rebelled. Shasta didn't want to return to the house and planted, an action the led to her collar pulling off over her head. Roxy did he version of the death roll that alligators are so famous for and squirmed her way out of my grasp. Now both of my pets were loose.
At least dogs listen. Wrangling Roxy was even worse. Not only had I tried to get her inside, but I'd added stress to her life. She wasn't about to trust me. I put Shasta's leash on the around the fence and followed Roxy into the neighbors yard while in the back of my mind I pictured someone sneaking up and taking off with Ollie (who I moved from the sidewalk back to the driveway). For some reason, Roxy though she could hide beside a bush and not INside and once again, with ungodly speed, I caught her. Two hands wrapped around Roxy. No amount of struggling or clawing would keep me from getting her in the house. Or so I thought.
Turns out, cats are insane. She didn't swipe at me much, but her freakout was enough that I couldn't get my keys from my pockets and unlock the door without dropping her. In an instant, though, I had her pinned to the ground... You know how in horror movies when people can't seem to remember how to use keys during times of great stress? How absurd it all seems? Well, it's true. For the life of me, I could not contend with opening a door and holding a pissed off cat down at the same time. I can only hope no one walked by or was watching from their window to see this bizarre seen unfolding.
At last, success! I literally bowled Roxy across the floor as far from the door as possible so she had no chance of getting back out. By this point, I was hot, sweaty, and pissed. It was ten minutes from when I put Ollie in the stroller and wouldn't you know it, three houses into the walk and he starts to cry. I try to power through it, but no Wubbanub would sate him. Shasta stopped for what I assumed was to sniff some garbage and I pulled her past leaving her no recourse but to walk and poop (sorry Shasta!) and for the first time since I was about 13, I didn't clean up the dog poop because Ollie was in tantrum mode. Instead, I picked him up and walked him back to the house, all the while thinking about how I want to kill Roxy for ruining my perfect moment.
We returned home and I wanted Roxy OUT of the house. I didn't want to see her because who knows what I'd do if I did. She was understandably freaked out and propped the door open so he exit would be as simple as possible. But instead of heading out the door, she retreated into the house. This action infuriated me and no amount of herding led her to the door. In fact, she hid amongst our mixing bowls in a cupboard to foolishly made too much noise. She ran to Ollie's room and I followed her in and shut the door. Trapped. She tried hiding behind the Pack 'n' Play, but I moved it. She tried leaping past me, but the door was shut. I grabbed her, squeezed her hard (seriously, I can't believe he ribs are intact after all the struggling) and I threw her into the yard (again, hope the neighbors weren't watching this crazy new guy toss his cat).
Roxy didn't come inside the rest of the day until Andrea and I returned from her parents', but I saw her around the yard, so I knew she didn't run away. After all of that, the first thing she did when we both got inside was sit on my lap. There's literally nothing I can do to make her leave me alone. I hate cats.
*Interestingly, the very same needs Ollie needs me to address. So basically my day consists of finding a way to put food in one end and dealing with it coming out the other.
** I can't stress enough how badly I feel about the lack of walks Shasta gets to go on these days. She was used to one a day at the old place. Now she's lucky for two a week.
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