My girlfriend has a secret weapon in the never-ending battle with our cats. It’s not catnip, it’s not a special toy, and it’s not a harsh verbal projection that hits a specific frequency in their hearing range causing them pain. It’s a simple spray bottle.
As of late, the amount of plastic spray bottles in our apartment has begun to rival the number of drinking glasses available. It’s not that we have decided to take up collecting them as an offbeat hobby, or are anticipating a world shortage, but rather we have been drafted as soldiers in a war against our cats.
Lately, in addition to doing anything in their power to open closed doors, one of the cats has also made it very clear that she despises the Venetian window blinds. She likes to paw them out of the way so that she can see out the outside world and it makes a large racket similar to that of a drunk two year old wielding a chainsaw in a hen house. As with most bad feline habits, her disdain is usually at its worst while we are trying to sleep. It’s gotten to the point where as soon as the cat starts to fuss with the window, my girlfriend, regardless of how deep into her slumber she is, will sit up, grab the spray bottle and unleash on the cat as if she were firing an AK-47. This sends the beast into a rampage and she darts into the living room, destroying anything in her path.
A few mornings ago I awoke for an early shift at work and noticed more light than usual pouring in through the window. I pulled back the curtain and was greeted by a set of maimed blinds. The slats were bent and broken so I went about meagerly attempting to fix them. Unbeknownst to me, the sound I generated while trying to situate them created a noise eerily similar to that of the cat trying to paw its way to freedom. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a shape rise up from the bed and before I knew it, a barrage of spray bottle fire was raining down upon me.
In between ducking for cover and experiencing Vietnam-esque flashbacks of water gun fights with my father, I realized how viable a weapon the spray bottle truly was and as I rampaged through my home destroying anything in my path I knew how the cat felt. There’s something enlightening about an ice-cold spear striking you repeatedly that really makes you consider all the things you’ve done wrong in your life.
I found myself hiding out under the coffee table until things calmed down. The cat was also taking shelter there and as we made eye contact she glared at me as if to say “Yeah, that pretty much sucks, huh?” I returned to the bedroom in hopes of seeking an apology from the girlfriend but found her fast asleep, likely unaware of the events which had just occurred.