My roommate's cat wants to kill me.
Both of my new roommates are pretty chill. I bonded with one over the fact that I came home and she was watching "Someone Like You" (win) and I bonded with the other when she asked me, "Do we have any beer in this house? Can I drink it? I'll buy more tomorrow."
Also, because one of the two is from Poland, we decided that living together offered the perfect opportunity for us each to practice our rusty German skills. This began as a challenge to only speak German whilst in the house, and is playing out in a sort of Germish way: "Hey, konnen wir dieses channel change?" and "I'm going for a laufe."
But conflict within New House deals entirely with the felines who must now share it. This is problematic because:
1. My roommate's cat is the devil
2. My cats are overly friendly and dumb
(Well, one of my cats is overfriendly and dumb. The other, Fiona, is what my boyfriend refers to as "the small troubled one." She is the one that got stuck in a dryer for five minutes when she was a kitten and as a result is now a fully-grown adult cat weighing five pounds and afraid of anything that is bigger than she is, which is pretty much everything.)
My roommate's cat; we shall call her Satan; is a hissing, spitting mess of a cat. My first weekend there, my dumb and friendly cat, Sushi, was innocently sniffing around when Satan came FROM OUT OF NOWHERE and not only tore up my cat's ear, but chased both of us upstairs and sat outside my door, howling and scratching, for a good ten minutes. I called my roommate in a panic to ask her to come and remove the thing from my doorway so that I could have proper egress to and from my room. I was locked inside in terror until she came home and assured me that Satan was safely put away in her room.
So now Sushi has a jacked-up ear and a host of irrational fears.
Which means I now have two troubled cats.
After a lot of Internet research and strategizing, my roommate and I came up with a six-week plan of action that involves separation, letting the cats out at alternate times, rewarding with attention and treats, and a host of other Cat Whisperer-type things that will hopefully ease the transition.
It's a transition for all of us. I am used to dumb, overly friendly cats who want nothing more in the world than to be ascloseaspossible to you, and who don't actually use teeth and claws when playing. A few weeks ago I came home to find Satan sitting at the top of the stairs, eyeballing me, and in an attempt to ascend the stairs to my room, the cat began a warning display of growling and hissing.
I chose to stay downstairs for awhile. If Satan wants the landing - Satan gets the landing.
I'm going to have to stop kowtowing to a ten-pound ball of fur.
(But it's armed with razor blades and hate!)
In other news, Lee is coming over to resuscitate my closet this weekend. This is excellent news. I had a dream the other night that I was late for an event and couldn't find the dress I was supposed to wear. I was drowning in piles of clothes and shoes, unable to locate said dress, and panicking. This is no good.
In other news, tonight Lee, Hot Curry, and the boyfriend and I are all going to the first event of the Forgotten Cocktail Club. Because who doesn't jones for a singapore sling now and then?