There’s a war of the sexes going on at my house. My kitty, Sneezy, just “became of age.” You know … she’s in season . . . in heat. The poor kid is a horny teen-ager who wants to get laid, and she’s being quite vocal about it - twenty-four hours a day. She runs from window to window, door to door, trying to get outside to take care of her little “needs.” I don't let her go outside because she hasn’t been spayed. I’ll be damned if she’s going to make me drop her babies off at the shelter and stare at me with flat eyes of resentment the rest of her life. No way.
Being as quick as lightening, she has escaped a few times. I have to go out and chase her around and around the bushes, across the porch, away from the street, and crawl under the car, just to have her dart out the other side. She likes that game even better than Hide and Seek the Mousie. Just when I think I can reach and grab her, she sticks her tongue out, springs six feet into the air, and vanishes. It usually takes about half an hour of tempting her with toys and tuna to finally catch her. When I spank her little butt, she puts her legs into overdrive, scoots around the corner, slides down the hall, jumps up on Misty’s bed and pouts for … count ‘em … one, two, three seconds, until she’s off to find new ways to terrorize me.
Poor Catfish can’t even enjoy a decent meal without her sniffing at his butt. He gives her a tired look of disdain. Undeterred, she crawls halfway under him, searching for something to satisfy, then looks up at me as if to tell me he’s defective. She wails even louder and scoots away on her elbows, her butt in the air, flaunting her feminine wiles with an air of superiority. She still has all her parts.
My husband insists I lock her in Misty’s room (farthest from the TV) during the evening, and in the front part of the house at night, but I won’t do it. I remind him of how it feels to be without, how it can feel that way again, and threaten to lock him in our room alone the next time he has needs. This does not set well with him. “Then make her shut up,” he says. “Fine, the next time you come crawling, I’ll tell you to shut up, how’s that?” I shoot back. The expression on his face is one of total fear. Me 2, Husband 0.
This is Sneezy’s first uh … time. Her little hormones are raging and all she understands is that she wants a boyfriend. She doesn’t know why it’s happening, but she’s very clear on what to do about it. I used to know a guy who stuck a pencil up – well, you get the idea. It worked, too, but I just can’t bring myself to accommodate her on that front. Do they make little battery-powered sex kitten toys? Maybe I’ll write a letter to Santa for her.
