Lessons In Stalking: Adjusting to Life With Cats Read Online Free Page A

another. Our eyes narrowed to slits. We both knew exactly what the other wanted. Without a word we went racing in opposite directions—me for the broom, the cat directly for the pile of shells.
    It was no contest. By the time I arrived with the broom, she was in the middle of what appeared to be a free-for-all hockey shoot-out where, instead of a black puck, the cat was lobbing Mueller’s ® shells. She went down the line like a professional, nailing shot after shot.
    ZAP! There went one into the dining room.
    ZING! There went one under the stove (Add it to the list of things she’s batted under there never to be retrieved).
    POW! She was bouncing them off the fridge. She turned towards me, armed and ready, and I knew I must regain control.
    “Hold it!” I command. “These are not toys! This is food your father and I require for our daily survival.” I dangle one of her pom-pom balls in front of me. “Here, sweetie. Do you want to play with this?”
    BAM! The cat wings a shell past my left ear.
    That’s it. No more Mrs. Nice Guy. I scoop up a yowling cat and deposit her in the bathroom, door closed. I go back and sweep up all the pasta now scattered throughout the house that I can find. It’s really hard to reach the ones that went all the way under the couch.
    Once finished, I let a very miffed cat out of her cell. She sniffs the floor where the pasta had been and turns toward me. I watch her consider her options. She decides to play the cuteness card.
    Perfectly round eyes of innocence follow my every move. I was just having fun. Is that so wrong? After all, I never even get to leave the house.
    I cross my arms over my chest. Seeing I am not to be moved, she heaves a theatrical sigh, drops her tail, and meanders away.
    Later that afternoon, I start giggling. She did look pretty cute, happily whapping the beejeezus out of those shells.
    I could have saved a heck of a lot of money, not to mention floor space, on cat toys if I’d known earlier the entertainment value of a fresh pasta shell.
    My husband arrives home a couple of hours later.
    “What’s that racket?” he asks. Indeed, there are suspicious sounds coming from behind the closed kitchen door.
    “That’s just the cat,” I say. “She’s playing.”
    “With what, firecrackers?” he asks.
    “Um, I’m not sure. Listen, are you hungry? I was thinking we could eat out tonight.”
    He doesn’t look excited. “But it’s Tuesday. Pasta night.”
    I smile and listen to the ruckus in the kitchen as the cat gets off another hip shot. No pasta tonight.
    I’m pretty sure we’re out.

-8-
    The Great Cat Butt Wiping Adventure

    The cat smelled bad.
    She no longer had the sweet, soft, fresh smell of wellgroomed kitty fur. Now she smelled like ammonia. Or, in layman’s terms, pee.
    I mention the aroma to my husband.
    “Are you cleaning the litter box?” I ask him. “Daily?”
    “Why am I always the one who gets blamed?” he asks.
    “Why am I responsible for the cat smelling like pee?”
    “Maybe she’s sick,” I say, cutting him off. “Let’s keep an eye on her.”
    Worried, I hop on the Internet to do some research.
    Opening Google™, I enter my query: CATS SMELL URINE.
    Five million sites on how to remove the smell of cat urine from carpets, furniture, suitcases, and clothing fill the screen.
    I try again.
    CATS SMELL FUR AMMONIA
    CATS STINK URINE DISEASE
    CATS SMELLY PEE DISEASE
    Nothing, although I now know fifty different ways to remove urine stains from cashmere. I give it one last try.
    CATS ICKY YUCK SMELL PROBABLY CAUSED BY HUSBANDS
    NON-SANITARY METHODS FOR FECES AND URINE
    CLUMP DISPOSAL
    Bingo. A site for Feline Lower Urinary Tract Disease (FLUTD) appears. FLUTD, I read, takes on many different forms and stages. The most serious is when tiny crystals appear in a cat’s urine. Death is possible.
    I race downstairs where my husband is watching TV.
    “Have you seen any signs of crystals?” I shriek.
    “Huh?” he says.
    “Fluted!