Dear C. Potato,
I can see you’re determined to have your way with this couch, and that is unfortunate for your human if she thinks she’s going to win this battle with you. There is no creature on earth that is more persistent than a cat. Trust me, that perch on the couch is all yours. But you know that already. You’re going to keep jumping up on it until your human gives up and lets you be. It’s a process, and there’s really no way to shorten the time frame. When it comes to getting something we really want, we cats will outlast an opposing human any day, but humans are really slow to understand that. So just keep on doing what you’re doing, and eventually the nagging will stop.

Don’t let this inevitability lure you into complacency, however. Along the way, your human will probably pull out a few surprises, but there are “work-arounds” that you may find helpful. What she does depends on why she wants to keep you off the couch. Maybe she doesn’t want you to shed all over it (and yes, that is a lame reason to keep you off the couch — any sane being knows that cat fur enhances any surface it touches). If that’s the case, she might toss a throw or a cover over your perch. This actually could be a good thing. The cover may be just as comfy as the bare couch was, and it’s also an indication that you’ve won the battle, with the condition of lying on the cover instead of the couch. A throw might even be useful — I know of a cat who would burrow under one for extra warmth on cold days. On the other hand, if your human is concerned that you will sharpen your claws on the couch, she may use this disgusting stuff called “Sticky Paws,” which is basically a clear, two-sided tape that feels gross under our paws. Don’t step on it! At least not until you’ve rubbed up against it a bunch of times and covered up the stickiness with your fur. See, Sticky Paws has similar qualities as that lint roller thing that humans use to get cat fur off their clothing, and fur sticks to it just as nicely. Even better, once you’ve covered the Sticky Paws tape with fur it will smell like you and let the world know the couch is yours.

Fortunately, the couch cover and the Sticky Paws situations don’t involve direct confrontations with your human. But the in-person clashes — her yelling, that dreaded spray bottle, etc. — are easily enough navigated. Just do most of your couch sitting when your human isn’t home. But do let her catch you frequently enough to make her realize that the couch is your territory, and she will eventually give up the fight. I only wish all cat problems were so simple.

Now that I’m feeling so much better, I’ve taken charge of the house again. My first duty was to make sure that the dog remains outside, in the back, where she belongs.

I also decide when my human can exercise… and when she can’t.

I’ve even trained her to give me my food on top of the cat tree, far away from the other two food-stealing cats.

Unfortunately, Binga refuses to acknowledge my superiority and now she’s always on the cat tree in case I might have dropped something tasty.

Binga thinks she can go anywhere and do anything. Shortly after this picture was taken, she was forcibly removed from this box, which only goes to show how mistaken she is.

I usually have my human under control, but she doesn’t always realize where she is in the chain of command here. Like I’ll be napping and minding my own business and she’ll decide to mess with me by sticking one of those gawdawful toys in my cat bed.

 

She thinks there is even more humor in numbers. She has no idea how annoying she is!

She redeemed herself, however, when she started doing her annual “tax” thing. This time, she did it in the upstairs apartment — she said there was more room to spread out all the papers. I did my part by marking the accordion file and claiming it as mine.

 

Then we discovered my brush! I haven’t seen it since the old place. I made my human take frequent breaks so she could brush me.

When I got bored I hung out in one of the upstairs bedrooms and sunbathed.

For months there’s been this thing sitting, rolled up, in the living room. None of us cats were sure what it was. We all tried lying on it at one point or another. Boodie thought it was okay, but to me it seemed rather useless.

Finally we discovered what it was — it’s a big sticky mat for a rug. We found that out when some guy showed up with one.

We all thought the new rug was fascinating. Boodie immediately flopped down on a corner of the black patch to take a bath.

After sniffing the rug for a while, I decided I liked the plastic wrapping it came in better. It’s an excellent surface for relaxing.

 

»April 2007

So now I’m strong enough to hang out on the cat tree again. It’s about time I took it over — the other cats have been hogging it while I’ve been indisposed.

 

Just when I was thinking that things were getting back to normal, my human decides to have guests over. She blamed it on her boyfriend, since he’s the one who knows them, but it’s still her fault because she agreed to it. I did not like these guests. They stayed in the upstairs apartment, which is my turf, that my human and I share on occasional afternoons when she’s doing what she calls her “research.” Instead these people took it over! I had to sneak up there now and again to make sure they weren’t messing things up too much.

A couple of them hung out on the back patio, puffing on these things and blowing smoke. I’d never seen anything like it! Boodie was fascinated.

The week these people were around, the humans had Valentine’s Day. My human got her boyfriend really lame gifts this year — Valentine’s boxers and some weird, red cube that lit up and flashed. I hated them, but my human didn’t care. “They’re not for you,” she said.

 

As usual, her boyfriend got her flowers and a bear.

I loved the roses. My human thought I loved them a little too much.

The last day the guests were here, the humans had a barbecue. As usual, I hid. I had been hiding most of the week, unlike Binga who spent the whole time making friends with them (that’s why you don’t see her in any photos this month — she was too busy being social with the humans). Some of these guests had never seen me at all. I preferred it that way, but my human decided to drag me out. I felt like a celebrity being put on display (which is really what I was). I was not interested in socializing with these lower life forms.

 

The humans thought I was scared but I wasn’t. I just wanted to hang out on my own terms. Without a bunch of gaping admirers.

Finally the guests left. The moment they were gone I insisted on going upstairs to make sure it was true.

Sure enough, all the bedding was folded, ready to be packed away. (Of course, my human never bothers packing away anything. I’m sure those things will be sitting around for a few weeks, at least.

 

I was relieved that the visit was over! I hope the humans don’t have any more guests for a good, long time!

»March 2007

Dear Perturbed,
Your humans sound like they are well meaning but definitely, as you said yourself, clueless. Unfortunately a lot of humans are that way—they get these wimpy little carpeted poles and expect us to confine our scratching to them. If they had one ounce of sense they would realize these poles are useless for anyone but the smallest kitten (and even kittens get bored of those things pretty quickly). Since humans don’t do the claw-sharpening thing, they don’t understand what the requirements for a really good scratching surface are. Since scratching involves stretching (in fact, stretching is one of the main reasons why we love a good scratch), an appropriate surface has texture and gives you something to really dig your claws into. That’s why we love textures like sisal, corrugated cardboard and burlap. I’ve heard of some cats who really score – their humans actually bring home cat trees made of wood for them to scratch! That carpeted stuff is really blows—our claws just can’t grab on all that well and we have to work extra hard just to get a good scratch in. No wonder we hunt down better surfaces, like couches, box springs and the like.

In your particular instance, the solution to your problem depends on how much you want to please your humans. (Yes, some cats, believe it or not, are human pleasers. I don’t know any personally, but they do exist. Mostly in alternate universes.) About the only way you’ll make that silly pole work is to knock it over on its side. It’ll probably be a little more stable that way, and you’ll be able to stretch out along its length and scratch. Obviously this isn’t an optimal solution—ideally your humans would get a clue and get you a big, sturdy sisal scratching post, or better yet, a cat tree with sisal. Even one of those cheap corrugated cardboard scratchers is better than a flimsy pole. If you are not a human-pleasing kind of cat (and, frankly, from the tone of your question, this sounds more likely), then your best bet is to 1) claw the couch when they’re not around or asleep, and 2) only claw places they can’t see really well, like the back, or a side that’s near a wall. I know this probably puts a crimp in your scratching style, but so does having a human grab you and put your paws on a flimsy pole. I know none of this is ideal, but it’s about all I can suggest. I can’t wave a magic wand over your humans to make them get a clue. I’m a cat, not a fairy godmother.

This cat tree just rules. I climb up it in leaps and bounds.

  

Sometimes I bound up it only to find that Boodie has taken up the top perch.

 

She’s up there all the time and it really isn’t fair. I mean, she’s huge so she takes up the whole perch. There’s no room for either me or Binga when she’s up there. It’s getting really annoying. Binga has been pretty laid back about it up until now, but just wait… I can tell her patience is going to run out soon.

We were so intrigued with our Christmas cat tree that we almost didn’t notice that our humans had packed up and left town for the holidays. I was wondering what that big gray thing was that Binga kept sitting in.

My human got Binga out and put a bunch of clothes and stuff in it. I was bummed — she got it filled and zipped up before I even got a chance to hang out in it.

We didn’t really miss the humans all that much. Some girl fed us and she seemed pretty nice. She said I was soft and friendly. Well, you’d be friendly to a stranger too if you knew she was your only easy food source! My human was worried that us cats would create havoc while she and her boyfriend were gone, but all we did was knock all her mail and monthly statements onto her desk. (Actually it was Binga’s work — she was looking for a toy and thought it was hidden there.) And her desk is such a mess that she didn’t even notice at first.

I thought my human might bring us back something special from her trip. She went to Maryland and I hear they’ve got cool crab stuff. But all she had when she walked in the door was a really stupid plush fairy cat that she bought at the airport.

I think the thing is evil. Binga tried to destroy it before it gave the whole house bad vibes. Unfortunately my human took it away from her.

 

It’s always cold downstairs in the winter, so the humans decided to build a fire in the fireplace. That was fascinating! I’d never seen anything like it before.

 

Judging from Binga’s nonchalant attitude, she’s seen this fireplace thing a few times.

Dumb Boodie wanted to climb in the fireplace and play with the flames. I guess that’s why the humans have a screen — to keep out Boodie the Walking Fire Hazard.

The stupidest thing my human did this month was try to dress me up. After the Christmas hat debacle, she wasn’t going to attempt anything too fancy, but she has a cat collar with a fake rose on it.

She wears this herself as a choker sometimes, but she wanted to put it on me. The funny thing is it fits us both — she has a scrawny neck for a human, so it fits her on the last hole. I have a scrawny neck for a cat so it fits me (loosely) on the very first hole.

Frankly I didn’t like it. I am pretty enough and gaudy adornments do not enhance my appearance. My human thinks I look cute in this picture. I was actually trying to nail her with a left hook.

»February 2004

I’ve discovered a new game in the afternoons when I’m bored — playing with Binga’s tail. She hardly ever says anything when I do this — she must not mind very much.

 

The month had barely started when my human’s car died. The transmission exploded, and she had to have it towed across town. Then she had to buy another car. This bummed me out — not because the car died. I hate the car. I figured that it meant no cat tree for us this year. When my human came back from the car place (she got her car from Enterprise Car Sales), she returned with what she thought would be fun toys for us.

 

Fun toys — ha! They were dumb toys. Really lame. The car couldn’t hold my interest for even a split second. I didn’t bother with the ball — my human couldn’t even blow it up properly.

Christmas gifts eventually began arriving for my human and her boyfriend. We were fascinated by one big box and couldn’t wait for them to open it. It turned out to be a big basket of fruit.

 

This was also lame — no sausages or meat of any kind. I blame this on my human’s boyfriend — he’s a vegetarian and it was from his older brother and his wife.

It was shaping up to be the worst Christmas ever! My human came home with stupid pet hats that she expected us cats to wear. She grabbed Binga and tied the Santa hat on her. I sniffed at it, but she couldn’t get it on me — I’m too fast.

 

Boodie put her paw down — right on the hat. She wasn’t going to wear it either.

There was also a reindeer hat. Again, the only one of us that had to suffer through wearing it was Binga. Me and Boodie ran away.

Embarrassed and humiliated by the whole ritual, Binga proceeded to take her aggressions out on the Santa hat.

The humans had their Christmas a couple of days early. Just like we expected, there was nothing for us.

We were beginning to think that we were out of luck, and that our only festive toy would be the little Santa that my human gave Binga two years ago, before I was even here.

Then a miracle happened. A couple of days later my human came struggling through the back door with something amazing.

A 5-foot tall cat tree! Granted, she did a lousy wrap job with the ribbons, but it’s what’s underneath the wrapping that counts.

Frankly, the thing was so big it was kind of intimidating. Both Boodie and I were kind of suspicious of it. The only one who took to it right away was Binga. In fact she took to it so much she wouldn’t let us get near it!

Boodie decided she wanted to play on it and Binga chased her away, up the stairs into the hallway. She body slammed her and made her hiss.

 

I watched all this in horror. Binga had gone insane and our Christmas was ruined!

 

Finally, my human did something really smart for once. She locked Binga in the kitchen and put me on the cat tree all by myself. I got to check it out, break it in — and I rubbed my face over every inch of it so that it smelled like me.

When she finally let Binga out of the kitchen, she walked over and sniffed the cat tree from top to bottom. She realized that it was meant for all of us and stopped acting like a possessive freak. Now we can all take turns being Queen of the Cat Tree.

»January 2004

That Pet Orphans Fund event was weeks and weeks ago and Binga’s still fascinated by the balloon my human brought home. It’s been hanging from a door hinge and gradually losing air. Binga watches it by the hour, hoping it’ll get low enough to catch. I think she’s going to have a long wait.

But enough about her—I have an announcement to make! I’m a first place winner in the photo contest held by CatsUSA. It’s in the 2004 issue—the magazine (which is put out by the same people who do Cat Fancy)
comes out just once a year. My dumb human got the prize money in the mail and at first she didn’t even know what it was for. She was ready to send it back as a mistake until she realized it was for the photo of me she sent in last April. I knew it would win—it’s a great action shot of me. And besides, I’m an absolutely fabulous looking cat, as you know.

Everybody insists that my human buy a cat tree with the prize money. So maybe I’ll finally get one now! My human still doesn’t see the value of having one. She pointed out, “Why do you need an expensive cat tree? Look, Binga can make a plaything out of cardboard box!” I don’t think she looks terribly thrilled, do you? Oh yeah, and in addition to the money, I get a year’s worth of cat food. What if I don’t like it? My human said, “That’s okay—then I’ll just give it to the cat rescue organization down the street.”

We’ve had workers coming around a lot. That’s fun—it gives me new resting places.

These guys came in and ripped up all the tile over the upstairs bathtub. Boodie has been guarding the bathroom while the work has been going on. But she won’t let the workers touch her.

Binga has not been happy about the bathroom being torn up—she hasn’t been able to roll around in the tub for the better part of the month. The workers left a gaping hole in the bathroom for a couple of days. My human and her boyfriend taped plastic all over it. The bathroom door doesn’t shut firmly and they were concerned that one of us would shove our way in and start exploring inside the walls. Spoilsports!

 

I hate closed doors. All cats hate closed doors. I really hate it when my human goes in the bathroom and shuts the door. One day I fixed her—I took one of my toys and flung it against the door until she opened it.

 

Lately I’ve been hanging out on one of the upstairs balusters. I know it doesn’t look all that comfortable, but it’s easy to just walk over the banister and look out the window at the balcony.

 

One day my human heard a high-pitched, little barking noise. She looked out the balcony window and this is what she saw:

I was downstairs and missed it. Darn!

»November 2003