Last weekend, hubby and I ventured out in uncertain weather to take advantage of numerous neighborhood yard sales around town. We scored a handful of great deals, including 3 runner style rugs for a paltry 50 cents each! Our best find of the day was a brand new ceiling fan for only $10, something Tim’s been wanting to put in the office for quite some time. Since he spends a great deal of time in this room and our A/C does an ineffective job at best keeping it cool, it seemed like a God-send.
Tim installed the fan on Sunday, which involved crawling into our attic space to ensure that the electrical box was properly secured. Considering his height (6’5!), the cramped configuration of the attic, and combination of heat and insulation, it was quite the feat.
A few hours later we were proudly admiring his handiwork and quite pleased with our bargain shopping and Tim’s industriousness. And that was that, life moved on… for all of about a day and a half. Tuesday, Tim came downstairs to discover that one of the cats had left a “surprise” all over my chair. The chair we just got from my mom and dad. Now soaked with cat urine. Really great, huh? Yup. And since his cat was locked outside at the time, we quickly came to the conclusion that it was my cat who was the culprit. Which was surprising, because she’s always been the sweet, easygoing one of the pair! What the!?!
We soon came to the realization that the reason for Tweak’s bizarre behavior stemmed from a deep-seated hatred and/or terror of the new ceiling fan. The office is where the kitties litter box has long resided and apparently the thought of venturing in there to do her business is a fate worse than death. I tried closing her and I in there so I could reassure her that everything would be fine, but she immediately puffed up to twice her size, began hissing, growling – no, YOWLING and making swiping motions at the ceiling fan. Right before backing up to the wall and expressing her emotions by emptying her bladder…
So…tough love is NOT the answer to calming a cats psyche. I don’t really know what is, but after using up a bottle of upholstery cleaner on the chair, and temporarily relocating the litter box to the downstairs bathroom, I’m about ready to call the damn pet psychic for some help.