Molly the housesitter(red-eye reduction didn't help)
Copyright 2007 Lydia Hinshaw
SWEETWATER, TN -- She seemed like such a sweet cat. Then we got to know her better.
Molly and her human are housesitting for Prince Charming and me while we head to Alaska for another summer of paychecks and adventures. For five days before we left, Molly stayed with us while her human went on a business trip.
Cats being cats, we didn't expect a whole lot of love to bloom among Molly and our two. We also couldn't have predicted that meeting our felines would be just one in a whole series of traumatic experiences that would transform Molly, a calico with a delightfully interesting face, into a raging miniature tiger.
Molly had been traveling for several days before she arrived at our house. She'd spent hours riding under the front seat of her human's car, and she'd been a houseguest elsewhere, with some non-cat-people.
Her initial reaction to our house was good. She looked the livingroom over and seemed pleased. Then she spotted the Queen and the Princess, who spotted her at about the same time, and all three cats went into Category 5 hissy fits.
Without further ado, we moved Molly to our spacious Florida room, fixed her up with the usual cat conveniences, and sat around talking to her human as she explored what would be her own territory, off-limits to the resident malcontents.
Molly quickly decided she liked the top of the stairs best. There's a small landing outside the door to my home office, which is above the Florida room. There even happened to be a cardboard box on the landing, and cats love boxes.
Things seemed to be going well.
On her first morning with us, Molly managed to tip the box over. It tumbled off the edge of the landing and all the way down the steps. We don't know whether she rode the box down or just got spooked by the noise.
By the time I got there, she was downstairs, on the far end of the room, wedged into the narrow space between a vinyl window and its screen, clearly ready to flee this horrible place.
She was terrified and responded aggressively when I tried to help her. I dug out my heavy work gloves, which I'd already packed for Alaska, and was able to free her without bloodshed.
Molly did not appreciate being rescued. She installed herself at the top of the stairs, where she hissed, screeched and lashed out with her claws whenever either of us came near. We had to come near. We needed access to my office to reset our balky internet connection, and to prepare for our trip.
Still, our relationship with Molly might have been salvageable if not for the chainsaws and the thunderstorm, twin plagues which visited on her second day with us.
An oak tree had fallen in our back yard several days before Molly's arrival, and we'd hired a tree service to cut it up and carry it off. It was a big tree. The removal took six hours, and was done not long before the thunder and lightning started.
We felt Molly's pain through all this, and we wanted to moved her to a quieter, calmer room, except that she wouldn't let us near her. Forcibly removing her from the landing would be more upsetting to her than the noise.
We thought it best to leave her alone as much as possible and give her time to calm down. I took her a dish of water and a large brown paper bag.
For a couple of days, she hid out in her bag and peered at me suspiciously each time I passed by. I felt hopeful. There was evidence each morning that she'd come downstairs during the night to eat and use her litter box, although she wouldn't touch the kitty treats I tossed up the steps to her.
This morning, I violated whatever uneasy truce we'd had by trying to enter my home office before daylight, making final checks before we left. Molly was furious. And so I began my trip with three bloody scratches across one kneecap, and no worries at all about any burglar getting into my office.
Molly's human is due back Monday. I'm hoping Molly won't blame him for all of this, that she'll happily hop into his lap the second he sits down.
I'm also thinking I should have left him a first-aid kit.
Molly and her human are housesitting for Prince Charming and me while we head to Alaska for another summer of paychecks and adventures. For five days before we left, Molly stayed with us while her human went on a business trip.
Cats being cats, we didn't expect a whole lot of love to bloom among Molly and our two. We also couldn't have predicted that meeting our felines would be just one in a whole series of traumatic experiences that would transform Molly, a calico with a delightfully interesting face, into a raging miniature tiger.
Molly had been traveling for several days before she arrived at our house. She'd spent hours riding under the front seat of her human's car, and she'd been a houseguest elsewhere, with some non-cat-people.
Her initial reaction to our house was good. She looked the livingroom over and seemed pleased. Then she spotted the Queen and the Princess, who spotted her at about the same time, and all three cats went into Category 5 hissy fits.
Without further ado, we moved Molly to our spacious Florida room, fixed her up with the usual cat conveniences, and sat around talking to her human as she explored what would be her own territory, off-limits to the resident malcontents.
Molly quickly decided she liked the top of the stairs best. There's a small landing outside the door to my home office, which is above the Florida room. There even happened to be a cardboard box on the landing, and cats love boxes.
Things seemed to be going well.
On her first morning with us, Molly managed to tip the box over. It tumbled off the edge of the landing and all the way down the steps. We don't know whether she rode the box down or just got spooked by the noise.
By the time I got there, she was downstairs, on the far end of the room, wedged into the narrow space between a vinyl window and its screen, clearly ready to flee this horrible place.
She was terrified and responded aggressively when I tried to help her. I dug out my heavy work gloves, which I'd already packed for Alaska, and was able to free her without bloodshed.
Molly did not appreciate being rescued. She installed herself at the top of the stairs, where she hissed, screeched and lashed out with her claws whenever either of us came near. We had to come near. We needed access to my office to reset our balky internet connection, and to prepare for our trip.
Still, our relationship with Molly might have been salvageable if not for the chainsaws and the thunderstorm, twin plagues which visited on her second day with us.
An oak tree had fallen in our back yard several days before Molly's arrival, and we'd hired a tree service to cut it up and carry it off. It was a big tree. The removal took six hours, and was done not long before the thunder and lightning started.
We felt Molly's pain through all this, and we wanted to moved her to a quieter, calmer room, except that she wouldn't let us near her. Forcibly removing her from the landing would be more upsetting to her than the noise.
We thought it best to leave her alone as much as possible and give her time to calm down. I took her a dish of water and a large brown paper bag.
For a couple of days, she hid out in her bag and peered at me suspiciously each time I passed by. I felt hopeful. There was evidence each morning that she'd come downstairs during the night to eat and use her litter box, although she wouldn't touch the kitty treats I tossed up the steps to her.
This morning, I violated whatever uneasy truce we'd had by trying to enter my home office before daylight, making final checks before we left. Molly was furious. And so I began my trip with three bloody scratches across one kneecap, and no worries at all about any burglar getting into my office.
Molly's human is due back Monday. I'm hoping Molly won't blame him for all of this, that she'll happily hop into his lap the second he sits down.
I'm also thinking I should have left him a first-aid kit.
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