I have created a monster!
When we got our kitty cats, there were two. Mitzi was five and Max was three. Their story was that their first parent got Max as a kitten, so Max was the alpha cat. The only cat. He and his new mama were bonding beautifully.
Shortly thereafter, the shelter called her about another Maine coon they had been given. Mitzi is beautiful, and it was probably hard to say no to them about her. But Mitzi was a two year old and is quite the diva. Max went from alpha cat to being bullied by the diva.
After a couple of years of being at our house, our grandchildren fell in love with Mitzi so we rehomed her, again, to go live with them. Seriously, Max had signs of PTSD after Mitzi left! Feeling a bit sorry for him, and because he is a male with higher chances of UTIs, I started giving him a little wet food every night. I thought I was being nice; he thought it was his chance to start harassing me Every Single Night. Meow! Meow! MEOW!!!
Having him “remind” me every night that it was time for his wet food (he has dry food out all the time) was bad enough. This past week, I couldn’t get the food I usually get, so got a variety pack. He’s always gotten chicken or tuna/salmon. Always. (I guess it’s because I don’t think of farm cats on their haunches, getting ready to spring on one of the moo cows out in the pasture.) There were beef-flavored cans of food in the pack, though, so I gave him beef. For four days, since he gets one/fourth of a can a night.
Last night, when I gave him a different flavor (albeit it was turkey and cheese and made ME want to hurl), he simply couldn’t eat it. It wasn’t a matter of turning up his nose; he smelled it, then looked at me as if I were punishing him. I told him I understood, so threw it away, opening a can of chicken.
Kitty cat sniffed, nibbled, looked at me with sadness, but ate the chicken. He Wants Beef! Right now, though, I have 18 cans of chicken. He’s getting chicken.
I know I talk about how this cat harasses us, but Max is a treasure to us. He follows Hubbs around so much we call him our CatDog. He lays on my side of the bed every night, making a warm spot for my feet. He plays with plastic lids, will run through the house like a banshee, and hides whenever the grandbabies come around. The house would be empty without him.
MDT/Diana Bowden Moore
PS: Mitzi LOVES being at the grandchildren’s! She gets all the attention she thinks she deserves.
