Stand & Deliver - Part 3 of Litterbox Blues

I have been basking in admiration from the coverage in Saturday's Edmonton Journal. While I have mentioned it before, I want to reiterate how noteworthy I am in my local area; of  course, other cats know this but on the off-chance that one of their purrsons might read this, it is best to set my cards straight on the table. I will keep my larger aspirations to myself for the moment and concentrate on some of the e-mails that have resulted from the publicity. Smooshie, for example, wrote:

I am seven-year-old, female tabby -- black and white with a morsel of brown --  and a cute, loving face. In the words of my purrsons, I am (like yourself) attractive. My most significant beauty features are my big ears which are to die for. People melt when they see them! I am well-treated by kind and loving people who dote on my every need. However there is a habit of mine that is making them nervous.

It seems to have started with my homeopathic treatment for feline hyperesthesia syndrome. So here is what happens. When I use my litterbox, all my paws are inside the box (of course); but when I void, the liquid goes outside it causing my purrsons distress. They got me a new, larger litterbox and while that is working, it isn't working all the time. Herself remarked that my adorable rear end seems to be a bit high in the air when I spew forth. Last time I was doing my business, she gently pushed it down a bit and solved the problem -- all the liquid landed in the box. Should I have her accompany me to the box everytime I need to use it, or is there another way to avoid causing them distress?

My Big Backyard. Indoors or Out: Part 1

I've been exhausted from my appearance in the Edmonton Journal. Calls from old friends and e-mails from new admirers means that my holiday card list will be expanding. But enough about my fame! As the weather changes from that terrible snowstorm to a bearable fall to rainy weather and now back to the possibility of snow just in time for Halloween, I want to deal with the issue of going outdoors.

Biting the Hand That Feeds You

I was settling in for a snooze when I received a telepathic message from Mouser, a mackerel tabby of some repute. His story was enough to put me off my nap.

"Well Greyce," he said, "this has been going on for some time. I settle into my favourite spot on the sofa beside Himself. He starts to pet me ever so gently at first and I respond with a deep, rumbling purr. He continues and all would be well if he knew when to stop. But instead he keeps going, and going, and going until I can't take it anymore! I've tried to tell him to stop, using my best cat etiquette; but nothing gets his attention until I give him a nip or two. Then he shouts at me and pushes me off the sofa. And I was there first! Can you figure this out?"

Dining by Your Toilet - Part 2 of Litterbox Blues

The snow continues to fall and I am ready to curl up in a ball and hibernate for the rest of the winter. This is SO not October! The only things that keep me going are the desperate mewsings of my fellow felines. Take McManx, for example.

McManx as you probably gathered is a Manx (no points there for guessing correctly), a cat whose end is not followed by a tail. He is happily ensconced in an apartment overlooking the river valley with a screened, walk-out porch. Now if that apartment was in any other city, right now he'd be enjoying the fall colours and the scurrying of mice as they gather things for the winter. But being Edmonton, he'd freeze his tail off (if he had one) by venturing out there. So much for the weather report and on to his problem.

Oh Wise One (he wrote -- I'm a sucker for flattery), my living quarters are on the small side but I'm afraid it doesn't excuse my person from the action he has taken to save space. My litterbox which in better weather was stationed on the balcony, is now in the storage room. I can access it through a cat door. No problem except it is also the location of my food and water dishes. Now they are all side by side! I'm faced with a dilemma: Do I continue to use the box for its intended purposes, bury my waste as usual and then move on; or do I wine and dine from the dishes provided and find a toilet elsewhere?

Size Matters - Part 1 of Litterbox Blues

I meant to make this entry sooner but I've been recovering from the shock of seeing snow on the ground this early in October. Those soppy, cold flakes are murder on the paw pads.

I raised the topic of litterbox issues amongst my colleagues and now have case after case of litterbox blues.
For example, Harold wrote: I am an adult male with fabulous long fur. When I stretch to full size, I am quite magnificent. Being magnificent is not difficult because I am Maine Coon. Stretching, also, is not difficult but that is another matter entirely. I wanted to report my frustration in dealing with my devoted though somewhat dimwitted human.

We have been together almost all of my ten years and, naturally, she adores me. But she continues to think of me as a kitten. I'm getting fed up with being called her "itty bitty kitty" for I can assure you at at 9 kg (almost 20 pounds American) I am a force to be reckoned with. But I could stomach the indignity of such a moniker, IF she would do something about the size of my litterbox.

I have to use the same litterbox I had when I first joined the household. And it was made for a kitten! Now when I park my presence in it, there is barely room for me to plant all my paws in the litter  and then my rear hangs over the end. Still I mostly manage to keep the liquid in the box; the problem is with the solids.

You'd think the packages I leave just outside the box would be a clear enough message to her about the nature of the problem. But she just doesn't get it. Instead she put a rubber mat around the box to catch my deposits. I cannot bury my waste! Please help.