Compassion Lesson #10,272: Be Kind to Old Biddy Kitty

Early this morning (way too early), I awoke to the yowls of our cat who occasionally decides that we need to rise before dawn for no apparent reason. Since she's as old as Methusala now, I feel compelled to check on her when she yowls in case she's in the throes of death, which is the only reason any cat should be incessantly yowling at me before dawn. That, and she's completely deaf now, so shushing her does nothing to quiet her, and it doesn't seem sporting to to use a spray bottle to squirt water at an elderly, deaf cat. 

I try to think of these morning yowling sprees as developing my compassion. So I poke my head over the side of the bed. She’s there on the floor yowling up at me. I reach over and pet her. She can’t jump up onto the bed anymore, but she’s definitely not dying. Sigh.

I get up to check the food bowl. Food in bowl. Check. I check the water bowl. Water in bowl. Check. But I know how she gets about less-than-fresh water, so I refresh the water bowl and discover that the kitchen sink has sprung a leak overnight. I mop up the water and turn off the supply lines.

Cat is still yowling.

Just as I’m convinced that she’s having one of her senior moments, I see her scoot into the bathroom where her litter box is, still yowling, so I check the litter. There, in her otherwise pristine litter box, rests a tiny turd.

Surely, this is not why she’s awakened me in the wee hours of the morning. Seriously? Resigned, I scoop the tiny poop.

And miraculously, the yowling ceases.

Not a senior moment, but an urgent complaint. Apparently, she’s decided that her litter box is not clean enough for her crap (I'm sure that there's a metaphorical life lesson in there somewhere, but I'm too tired to find it at the moment).

After I've removed the offending waste, I gently, compassionately plop her ancient prissy paws in the box, and proceed downstairs to make some coffee with water from the bathroom sink...

Art credit: Cat and Bat by Silent Mylo Studio