Pavlov strikes back

We have a cat. Or, rather, we don’t have a cat. But there is a cat. She lives somewhere in the neighbourhood, and seems to think that we’re her second home. This is a happy arrangement for all concerned: we have all the fun of owning a cat, without all of the annoying feeding and litter-box-changing and licence-obtaining – except for one of the flatmates, who for some reason loathes cats.


Now, we’ve imposed a few rules on Leo when she comes into the house. No wandering into the room of the person who doesn’t like cats. No shedding on the couch. And absolutely no clawing the stairs. Clawing the stairs is the most heinous of crimes, and it was decided that the penalty for clawing the stairs would be instant ejection from the house.
If I was Dave Barry, which I am not, I’d have to preface the next paragraph with “I am not making this up”.
Last week, Leo came in and hung around for a few hours, as she does. When she’d had enough – I am not making this up – she started clawing the stairs, then ran to the front door and waited for us to kick her out.
I don’t think she’s going to be allowed back in any time soon.

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One Response to Pavlov strikes back

  1. c@_h8er says:

    It’s not that I *hate* cats, exactly. They can be quite pleasant creatures, and faithful companions. Although, one has to question the ‘faithfullness’ of Leo here, what with all that wandering from house to house and all. Anyway, it is my biology that seems to reject the poor animals, and this rejection is quite unpleasant for me, albeit psychologically damaging for the cat. Actually, dogs that live inside are just as bad.
    However, being the pseudooptimist that I am, I decided to lease out my lovely warm lap for a short period of time, to the aforementioned feline. Now no jokes about ‘patting the cat’ please, but in the _literal_ sense, I proceded to do so. A while later, after my eyes became weary from nearly 9 solid hours of playing Metal Gear Solid II, I began to rub them thoroughly. BIG MISTAKE! I got cat germs in my eyes and that was the end of my 20/20 vision (at least temporarily), and thus the end of Leo’s stay in the house for that day.
    Moral of the story is, firstly, don’t let animals live inside, and secondly (a recent revalation for me), accept your allergies, as stereotypically geekifying as they may be. It’s far less painful and stressful to drug yourself up on antihistamine in anticipation of a visit ‘up the farm’ than to think (pseudooptimistically) ‘Maybe it will be alright this time…’
    p.s. I say pseudooptimistically because it is the kind of optimism that really shouldn’t exist, especially when it gets proven wrong EVERY TIME and you just don’t learn.

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