My cats and I have been living with my mother, her cat and her dog for about a month now and for the first three weeks, all was well.
Little Miss still has her claws and was in desperate need of a kitty condo to scratch. She didn’t like the scratching post I purchased for her but instead “loved the hell” out of my mother’s chair. So for the sake of the chair and Little Miss’s life…I purchased a kitty condo. She took to it immediately and hasn’t gone near my mother’s chair since.
Gwennie, also took to it immediately. But when she was on the top platform, my mother’s dog scared her and she injured herself jumping down. At first I was concerned because she was limping away but about an hour later, she was fine….physically. Mentally, however, she wasn’t doing so good. She spent all of her time hiding under my bed even if the dog was confined to the kitchen. Gwennie didn’t even come out at night. After about two days of this I grew concerned for my furry, fluffy child.
I crawled down on my hands and knees and lifted up the comforter so I could see Gwennie underneath the bed. “What’s the matter baby girl?”
“Oh momma,” she squeaked. “I don’t feel good. It’s awful. It’s horrible.”
“Momma, I think I need more roids.”
“More roids,” I asked?
“Yes. Momma I need more roids.”
“Okay. I’ll go get you some.” I dug through my bathroom cabinet and pulled out a small packet. Then I went back to belly-crawling on my bedroom floor.”
“Here you go baby. Here are some nice roids to make you feel better.”
Gwennie looked down at the package in my hands. “Are you teasing me?”
“Momma, I don’t need kitty juana. I need roids. What’s the matter with you? Don’t you know the difference?”
“Baby girl, I don’t understand. If it isn’t catnip you want then what are roids? Momma doesn’t understand what roids are.”
“You know,” she insisted. “Roids. She looked over at the outlet in the wall, between her cat pan and food dishes. “Roids….that juicy stuff that you plug into the wall. You let it run out and then you took it away. Why would you do that? It makes me feel all calm.”
“Oh! You mean Comfort Zone.”
“Yes. My roids. I need my roids.”
Mystery solved. My furry, fluffy friend needs more synthetic kitty pheromones. Sure enough, I had let it run out believing that she had long enough to adjust. Little Miss had already adjusted. I guess that some kitties are just fussier than others.
Off to the pet store I went to get her more Comfort Zone, A.K.A.- Roids.
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