Cat people

I devote a lot of my time to looking for cat pee. Shaz, our first cat, and Fozzy, our third cat, are in a constant battle of dominance over the domicile. Fozzy has problems with urinary tract infections, but he also likes to mark his turf. Shaz likes to tell Fozzy he shouldn’t pee where she pees. I don’t know how they managed not to completely piss stain the tiny apartment we last lived in. Maybe because they were too busy destroying the Venetian blinds. But I’m always looking for where one of them pees to show they’re not happy with where the other one was walking or sitting or peeing. I think a lot of it has to do with them refuses to share litter boxes. I spend a lot of brain power trying to figure it out. Not because there’s much I can do about it; maybe some kind of Doc Brown setup to chide them on non-litter box peeing and then an automated treat system to reward them for litter box usage. I’m saying Doc Brown just because Pee-Wee didn’t have any pets (did he?). I don’t know when I realized I had become a cat person. It’s when you realize you don’t have any control. They aren’t locked in with you, you’re locked in with them. I don’t know if it happens with two cats or if you need three. It doesn’t happen with one. Your home doesn’t become a special building at a zoo with a single cat. Living with three cats makes me feel like I’m living in the Tati version of a tragedy. Of course, Fozzy just snuggled up against me and I wouldn’t give it up for anything. My other theory is Toxoplasma oocysts causes Stockholm Syndrome.

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