Our cat, the illustrious Calvin Coolidge, the Cat, has a number of bad habits that are nevertheless quite endearing. He always follows us out into the hallway, for example, whenever we’re leaving for work, or church, or just to go out. He also likes to go out into the hallway when we’re not out there, rocketing past our feet the minute we open the door on arriving home. One of us has to pick him up and carry him back in. For his troubles, the pick-upper gets a torso covered in fine orange hairs and usually a few “just a reminder I’ve still got these” claw pokes to the chin. He never does anything out there, opting mostly just to sit and groom. I guess it’s just the allure of the forbidden.
Another charming habit was Cal’s former, umm. vomiting problem. He never picked up the idea – which at least some other cats I understand intuit – that one’s litter box can be used for throwing up hairballs, too. Instead, he chose to just throw up wherever, usually on a soft surface like the bath mat or the bed sheets that he was able to claw over to cover the small pile of stomach acid, cat hair and undigested food he’d just summoned forth. Our repeated attempts to explain that it was actually much easier for us to clean up if he vomited on the floor fell on deaf ears. Luckily, improving health plus an aggressive brushing program on our part have kept him vomit-free for a couple months.
Cal also likes to help with making the bed after we’ve done laundry. But, since he lacks opposable thumbs, all he can do to help is lie on the bed as we try to make it, or burrow under the sheets as we’ve got them on, or pounce after the small folds or bunches in the fabric that move past him as we straighten up the sheets. He was particularly helpful last weekend, and your faithful correspondent was there with his camera to capture it.
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Dwyeropolis 