A few weeks ago, my husband and I happened upon a stray kitty that was living outside his parents’ house–a little grey tabby with a few ginger spots. She was friendly, pet-like; we decided to check her for a microchip and file a found report with the county. No chip, and no takers so far. She tested negative for FIV and FeLV. We got her spayed, because she wasn’t. We then introduced her to the rest of the cats.
They get along fine. Her and the cats, I mean. The older one just ignores her, and the younger one tussles with her. We named ner Minou, and she’s the most affectionate little thing that you ever saw.
One small problem; she doesn’t seem to understand that you go in the box. It started with a stinky, solid “present” that was left on one of my books. Thinking that perhaps we’d been more lax than we should have been in the changing of the box–after all, three cats is different than two–we wrote it off. We changed the litter, put her in the clean box, and showed her where it was. We continued doing this–showing her where it was, making sure she understood.
Our house is cluttered. She may have peed in a few places before, and we might not have caught it. However, I did notice the large, three-comforter deep wet, slightly smelly spot on the bed tonight (which, thankfully, did not go through to the mattress, as I sleep with way too many blankets). Assuming that my husband has not developed both a conscious bedwetting and a compulsive lying problem, the culprit has four legs, a furry butt, and a purr to rival a motorboat.
She’s out in the (inescapable, as that’s where we kept her before the tests came back) garage tonight. We don’t know what to do with her. I’ve already bonded with her, though not as deeply as with the other cats (seeing as we’ve had them for longer; the oldest was my 13th birthday present). My husband hasn’t really yet.
We both work. My husband is hard-pressed to tolerate two normal, well-adjusted cats. Adding this one into the mix. . .well, it isn’t going to work. And, honestly, I have to agree. We’re not at home. We’re not experts at cat care. And taking in a former stray was probably too much for us to handle, though Og knows that at least here, she’s not going to get run over by a car.
We’re calling the local shelters around here. I’m thinking of offering my immortal soul to the local no-kill shelter to get her in, and hopefully into a house with no cats and a more understanding and experienced owner. She’s a good, good, sweet, loving kitty. She just doesn’t understand the rules of our house. And, to be fair, she has a space in our garage until something opens up.
I suppose I’m posting this here because I’m really really hurting right now. Even though we’ve only had her for a few weeks, I already feel like she’s. . .you know. Part of the house. The idea of her not being here is a little scary and overwhelming.
I’m also hoping against hope that someone might take her. I know that Dopers have an (in)famous love of cats. I think she’s a good cat, and I think she could possibly be litter trained in the hands of a more experienced cat owner. Despite all of this, I love her little kitten heart, and I just want what’s best for her, and for our cats. I’m in the Chicago area (well, Rockford, but I’d drive anywhere in the Chicago area, or, hell, anywhere clear up beyond Madison). I just don’t know what to do.
Yes, I know–the cardinal rule of cat threads is to include a picture. My husband and I aren’t really the picture types, though, and taking a picture of her right now would probably be too much. . .