Wednesday, February 3, 2010

Toonses and a case of faked disapproval ...

Last night we transported Toonses across town to our new digs. This is exactly as glamorous as it sounds, especially if your idea of glamour is having a 30 pound fuzz pot evacuate his bladder all over the front seat of your car. (Thankfully my car already reeks, so one more stench is just a drop of water in a very toxic ocean.)

This was a 2-person job: one to hold the spread eagle feline doing his best impersonation of a cartoon cat on life 8 who leaps from a tall building, one person to zip the travel tent over Toonsers' catfro.

He crooned Barry White's greatest grunts for the entire 16 minute drive. But I could tell his heart wasn't in it. I could see his little rodent mug through a screen in the tent, and he looked ... bored? Like he knew he was supposed to be all "I hate cars! Change sucks! I want to watch figure skating!" And so he tried to vocally muster his standard level of disdain, meanwhile metaphorically looking at his watch and yawning.

I was stunned at my own ability to tune out his bitching, contrived as it was, and decided maybe I could have been a high school teacher after all.

Back at the house I gave him an abbreviated tour. Straight to the spot in the laundry room where he will delicately lay his precious turds. Fun fact: Toonses is extremely regular. A few of you could learn a thing or two from him.

Toonses took immediate offense to the basement. I'm guessing that is where a few dogs used to live, and our little diva likes to feel special. He clawed at the walls and my running pants, he growled. It was all noted. But when push came to shove, there was some telltale clumpage in his litterbox this morning. So he must like the basement more than he likes crossing his legs and waddling toward a kidney infection. Or, for that matter, potty training himself.

Toonses skulked the perimeter of the house, tested each step for it's nap potential, and settled for awhile in our big phat closet. In the apartment, we never let Toons into the bedroom. And whenever he snuck in, we let him know he was an asshole by taking away his favorite feather boa. But the trauma, half assed as it was, of the move earned him a bit of leniency last night. I let him hang out wherever he was happy.

When I went to bed he was splayed out like a bear skin rug in the hallway. He barged through the bedroom door a few minutes later and ran an 800 meter back and forth along the base of the wall. Eventually I fell asleep, but woke again at 6 a.m. to him skittering around the room, his back claws clicking on the hard wood floors. He sounded like a Gremlin. Or a typing pool. Or an impatient cosmotologist, tapping a table with hot pink tips.

I considered shoving Toonses back into his travel tent and taking him back to the apartment.

A few hours later Chuck came home and found all the bedroom doors and the linen closet open. The way he described it, it sounded like the After School Special: Junkie Cat.


Kristabella said...

It's better that he peed in the front seat of the car than all over the new house, like mine did.

My cats took like 6 months to get to that level of comfort in their new condo. Kudos to Toonses.

nanners said...

you'd think his nighttime exercise would help him drop a couple of pounds. i'll never understand his fatness.