The Last Straw

When you have a pet with a major behavioral problem, you eventually either resign yourself to living with it, or else you reach a point where you know it can't go on. I reached that point a few weeks ago. I was expecting company and decided to strip the sofa of all the double stick tape and pinned on tinfoil that were supposed to keep Dewey from scratching. The tape left behind a sticky residue that wouldn't rub off, and even worse, underneath were dozens of scratch marks and pulled threads. All the way around the edge the lining was shredded and hanging. I sat there looking at the sofa I'd had for six months. Just like the one before it, this couch was ruined. I looked at the rug and noticed all the little pulls from where the cat had been scratching. Just like the last rug. And that was when I realized that no matter what I did this cat was going to continue to destroy the things I own. All my rigged up defenses, the ridiculous nightly ritual of spraying the sofa with pet repellant and covering it with a layer of plastic bags or tinfoil, the myriad cat scratchers and Soft Paws and sticky tape and spray bottles ... I'd tried everything, and nothing had worked. For nine years, this cat ruined thousands and thousands of dollars worth of furniture. For nine years, I tried to train him to stop scratching, and I failed.

*
The vet said declawing a cat this heavy and this old was out of the question. I asked what else I could do. He said "Not much," and gave me the number of a cat psychologist. Thanks a lot, hippie.

The no-kills were all full, so I posted a couple of ads on Craigslist. My tactic was brutal honesty, because why lie and get him into a home only to have someone get rid of him once the scratching starts. I wrote funny ads that played up his personality, but also made it clear that this was a cat with issues. A couple of people expressed interest, but in the end, no one came for him.

So on Saturday, I surrendered him at the Anti-Cruelty Society.

It was a hard decision, because I've always believed that you don't just toss pets aside when you get tired of them or they become inconvenient. But this was something more. When an animal has such a negative impact on your quality of life .... I mean, I have to wait ten years for him to die before I can have nice things? I want to love the place I come home to now. I don't think that's so much to ask.

At the shelter, I was totally honest about his destructive tendencies. It's up to them, I guess, whether that makes him adoptable or not. They were kind but I still felt like an asshole, surrounded by other people's unwanted animals, leaving my own behind. I stuffed a check into the donation box but it did little to assuage my stinging conscience. I fled the building in tears.

*
The past couple of days have been quiet. Slowly, I've been reclaiming my house. I pulled off all the double stick tape and scrubbed the entire apartment until it sparkled. Olivia's best friend - who is allergic - will finally be able to come over now, and just in time for a birthday slumber party. Without a doubt, my home is a happier place to be than it was last week, or last month, or last year.

I still really hate the neighbors upstairs though.