I have a bossy cat.
There, I said it.
The first step is admitting the problem.
The second step is a choice. It can be digging one’s heels in and refusing to be bossed around by a four-legged fur ball. It can be an adventure in feline behavior modification (see Cat Whisperer). Or it can be good old-fashioned whining.
Katie isn’t a bad cat. She’s even quite affectionate from time to time. But mostly, she’s just bossy and very vocal. I mean she meows—a lot.
Some of the time she emits a soft little mew. Other times she lets out an ear-splitting MEOW. In her defense, she usually only caterwauls when I’ve neglected her for more time than she’s willing to be ignored.
You see, one of the things I like most about cats is that they’re very self sufficient. As long as their box is cleaned regularly and their food is where it’s supposed to be when it’s supposed to be, they’re pretty happy critters.
First of all, she has to be in whatever room I’m in. She follows me everywhere and it’s really annoying. She has learned to not get underfoot (after having her tail stepped on a few times) but wherever I am, there she is. When I go outside, she sits in the window and watches. When I go into the kitchen, she sits in there and watches. When I go to the bathroom, she sits in there and watches. If I shut her out, she sits outside the bathroom door meowing louder and louder until I let her in.
Yes, she’s in here with me right now, watching as I type. It’s kind of creepy.
Back to the caterwauling …
There are three primary reasons why Katie screeches at me …
- When her food dish is empty
- When her box needs attention
- When she wants to play and I’m not taking the hint.
Her ‘food hint’ is to walk back and forth from the kitchen, meowing louder and louder until I go replenish her dish. Now, let’s be clear. It’s not that she’s hungry even. She just doesn’t like for her dish to be empty.
Her ‘potty hint’ is to pace back and forth right in front of me. You guessed it, meowing louder and louder until I get up and tend to her box.
Her ‘playing hint’ is to drag around whatever she wants me to dangle at her as she follows me all over the house. If I’m planted in my favorite reading chair, she sits on the end of the couch, a mere three feet away, with said dangler hanging out of her mouth—staring at me.
I find it very hard to enjoy reading, even a really good book, with a cat staring at me.
She doesn’t blink.