BRINGING THE WAR HOME

         I have been on the Internet searching for the memoirs of Walter Ulbricht, the master architect of the Berlin Wall. I don't think anyone but old ‘Bricks and Mortar’ Walter can help me keep my furniture intact. I have put up, if you will excuse the expression, 'Jerry-built' barriers around the sofa and Morgan's old chair, but still my freedom loving feline finds her way to use her claws on them.

         I first noticed three weeks ago that the side of the chair nearest the pathway to the dining area was getting a bit disheveled. Threads hung loose in the golden print; the warp was fast deserting the weave. The chair suffered the indignity of being the closest object to the nine square feet of space in front of the bookcase that holds the cookbooks. In front of that bookcase is the bowl that holds the cat's dry food and a paper plate that serves as the repository for her yogurt.

         The cat apparently feels, with some justification, that I do not appear in the radius of her feeding area often enough. Because I only eat three meals a day, my time spent in that vicinity is limited. When I do invade the kitchen, she becomes instantly noticeable, sitting in front of the refrigerator door. At almost thirteen pounds, she takes up quite a bit of space. She wants more of her dry food that fills a measuring cup in the big white monster.

         I will add to her horde of Friskies Gourmet in the bowl. Then Mr. Soft Touch will take pity on her and put out a teaspoon of yogurt. Lemon and strawberry-banana are particular favorites, and in the blended Swiss style. Don't even bother to spoon any type with pieces of fruit. The fruit will sit there until either the dog takes an interest or the paper plate goes in the garbage.

         For some reason dry cat food defies the laws of gravity. Put some in a bowl and the cat will eat the morsels in the center. According to Newton and others, the particles on the side should now slide to the center replenishing the supply. It doesn't work that way. Heaven forbid the cat eats any from the side, or pushes the food into the center with her paws.

         So I must be summoned to give her more food. She cannot open either the refrigerator or the large round can that holds the opened box of dry food that is used to fill the measuring cup. The cat has a perfectly fine voice, but use it she does not. Far better to walk over to the chair, place her claws on it and take a piece of its hide. If I yell at her the dog comes running, setting off a flurry of action that gets women and children out of harms' way.

         It was when I first noticed that the inside of the chair was beginning to show through that I began to adopt the Berlin Wall approach. My house is full of oil paintings. My wife's favorite surface for paint was Masonite@. I have it in many different sizes and shapes, but I am a simple believer of taking the one that is on top of the pile. I placed it flush against the side of the chair, blocking her access. Take that, kitty!

         She shifted her focus to the new love seat in the art room. She made sure she attacked it when I was nearby in my bedroom, so I would be sure to hear her. With more fabric to protect, I had to get out three paintings, one on the side and two on the front. The chair was lucky; its front was protected by an ottoman under which she stores her stuffed toys and an occasional dead mouse.

         Two days ago I realized she had opened another front on the end of the couch nearest the chair. I had to wedge one of Morgan's largest paintings between the end table and the sofa. Looking at my construction, I began to realize I am walling myself in. To give the room a more cosmopolitan flavor, I draped my newspaper over the top edge of the painting. Perhaps I need a sign calling my living room 'Cafe KitKat."

         I doubt that it would do any good for I put the surface of the painting against the furniture. I am sure either the cat or dog will begin a graffiti writing campaign on the unpainted surface that faces out.

'FREE THE FRISKIES, FASCIST PIG'

         She has already eaten holes in the curtains. She was doing that when my wife was alive. She knew how to get her attention. The curtains were my wife's pride and joy, but she had to tie them back to hide the holes that looked like the work of giant moths. The cat showed her displeasure by leaping on the screens in back of them and pulling them loose from their moorings, bending them in the process.

         So now I am trying to find how Herr Ulbricht did it. I am willing to put the cat in one part of the house and slide food and water through the wall, and send a keeper in to clean her litter. All other advice has failed or is totally unacceptable.

         * USE SCRATCHING POSTS. That thing you just tripped over is one. There is another. Maybe the dog will use them; the cat sure won't.
         * HAVE HER DECLAWED. This is the vet's solution. Besides earning him a fee, I think he is suggesting it for self-protection. The last time I took her for shots, rather than drag her out of her carrier, they took the carrier apart while she sat in the bottom half, spitting at them.
         * ADOPT A KITTEN. Ah, the flower children are heard. Didn't we start this way with a certain terrorist? And what happens when both of them form an alliance.
         * PLASTIC SLIPCOVERS. Aaaaaaaaagggggghhhhhhhhhhh.
         * LIVE AND LET LIVE. Right! And when she runs out of furniture to shred, what is next? Sleeping humans?

         I do think there is a better solution than ceding part of the house to her and that is to find prey to occupy her time. Right now she is too damn successful at catching them, leaving her too much time on her paws. I'll put out a casting call. Mickey, Mighty or Jerry, have your agent call me. I'm negotiable and you can have all cartoon rights.

Valatie September 29, 2001