A Battle of Wills

For some time now my cat Little Kitty (aka Maximus Decimus Meridius) and I have been engaged in a battle of wills. Since moving into my little duplex about a year ago, Little Kitty has not been allowed to go outside. I told Little Kitty when we initially moved that I would wait about a month for him to adjust to the new location, and then I would let him go outside to play. Unfortunately, after being moved in to the new place for only a week, I found poor Dexter (the neighbor's beautiful long haired orange cat, who looked disturbingly like Little Kitty himself) run over in the middle of 28th street.

So, after picking Dexter up and moving him out of the street, many tears, a call to the neighbor to break the terrible news, more tears (belonging both to me and to Dexter's dad), and several glasses of wine, I informed Little Kitty that he would not be allowed to go outside. I thought at first he might be okay with this news. He was very lovey and sweet, making sure to shower me with lots of attention. But after about a month, he became increasingly cantankerous. He began to hiss at me when I would pet him, and glare at me when I spoke to him. He would meow on occasion during the day while scratching at the front door, for me to let him out. After dark, the meows would turn to yowls and the most piteous cries (usually after I had just managed to drift off to sleep).

After about three months, the hisses and glares stopped. Little Kitty became more affectionate with me, began to enjoy his food more (instead of crunching it down between glares and growls directed at me that were clearly meant to say 'The back yard is teeming with tasty birds and bugs and you keep me in here forcing me to eat this dry cereal, you TYRANT!'), and he stopped picking on the other cats. He even stopped his nighttime yowling. He seemed to be slowly adjusting to the inside way of life.

Then one day in May, my friend (I won't mention names) Hilary and I went for a drive out to discovery park and had a little picnic. When we arrived back at my place, I reminded her to be careful when using the front door, as the cats were not allowed outside anymore, but that Little Kitty would most likely try and make a break for it. "Oh sure, no problem," she says. "I'll just be inside after I smoke." About ten minutes later, while returning from the kitchen, I notice that Hilary is standing in my front doorway holding her cigarette outside (screen door propped wide open) and her other hand (the one with the cell phone) is holding the front door open. She is asking something about taking her across town. In the meantime, Little Kitty is sneaking to the door, and before I can grab him, he races outside and starts heading across the street.

I swear at her and yell for her to pay attention (she's looking around her, confused, as if she's not sure who I am cursing at), while at the same time trying to keep my other cats from escaping (they think I'm SUCH a warden) and then race out the door and grab Little Kitty just seconds before he runs right out in front of a car. I bring him back inside to safety. So - no harm, no foul, right? Wrong.

The cycle begins again. Little Kitty hisses, glares, and cries piteously, day and night. This goes on for about another three months. He begins, again, to relax and accept his captivity. That is, until late August, when he finds a weak spot in the panel on the side of my window A/C unit, and busts out again. I have no one to blame but myself this time, however. I should have known that chasing him around with a running vacuum cleaner was not a good idea. Again, I manage to run outside, catch him, and bring him home safely.

So the cycle has begun again, and it is escalating. I believe Little Kitty has vowed to life free or die. Or more appropriately, he has vowed to live free or drive me insane with his piteous meows, which are now around the clock. His favorite time is about 2-4 a.m., when he will sit on the little throw rug next to my bed and unleash his cries at full volume. It was this morning at 4 a.m. that I realized, after a year of this, that I am not as strong willed as I once believed. Little Kitty has finally worn me down.

Tonight after work I will be going to the pet store and purchasing a harness and leash for Little Kitty. So if any of you see a blond haired woman with dark circles and bags under her eyes (looking like something the cat dragged in, pun intended) walking her cat around the north end, please do not laugh. In order to preserve my sanity, I have been forced to compromise with a cat. My only consolation is that I am sure that most people in my position would have relented about ten months ago.