Dena Harris: Lessons in Stalking

He snorts air and pulls the covers tighter. “Uh-um.

Didn’ work lass night. Couldn’t catch ‘er.” He begins to snore.

That’s the signal the cat has been waiting for. “MROW!” she shrieks joyfully.

I carefully pry my husband off the ceiling.

What can we do? Kitty Jihad is declared and there is no escape. I’ve gotten out of bed to pet the cat but she just runs. I’ve plied her with toys to no avail. Finally I closed the bedroom door, but I’m not sure hearing muffled cat howls through painted wood is any sort of real victory.

We’re barely holding our own. And although we’re both on the verge of getting fired from our jobs—apparently it’s frowned upon to use your keyboard as a pillow— we have not backed down. The time is coming though, when someone will have to give. As I left for work this morning, I noticed the cat. She was sitting oh-so-casually near our new sofa, flexing her claws.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I said.

She stretched and gave the couch a significant glance before strolling away.

So I’m ready to surrender. I just hope she doesn’t do anything drastic before I get home from work. I’m worried though, because I might be a little late arriving.

You see, I’m going to have to stop and buy some kitty snacks.

Kitty Jihad wins again.

I was worried about the cat.

She was lethargic, dragging around the house. Oh sure, she perked up when we fed her, scampering to her food dish, but otherwise she seemed bored.

I had the perfect solution.

“We need another cat,” I told my husband.

He stared at me. “Are you insane?” he asked. “We can’t deal with the one we’ve got.”

“I know,” I said. “But I think another cat would help.

That way she would have a little friend to play with and she’d get some exercise. Plus, they can keep each other company while we’re at work.”

“Cats don’t need company,” said my husband. “They’re independent.”

He spoke in the same smug tone he uses when we discuss whether or not to leave a nightlight on for the cat.

He insists there’s no need, as cats can see in the dark. My point is that light is always a source of comfort, even if you can see fine without it. We never reached agreement on the matter and now take a passive-aggressive stance as we punch the nightlight over the stove on and off in a neverending battle of will.

“Cats do need company, ”I argued. “Why do you think she follows me around when I get home from work?

Because she’s been alone all day and she wants to be around someone, that’s why.”

“That and you constantly feed her,” my husband said.

We glare at one another.

“So are we getting another cat?” I ask.

“No,” he said.

Two weeks later I sneak into the house. I’ve just returned from the vet where we take the cat once a month to have her claws trimmed. We did a price comparison and the six dollars we pay the vet tech to do this is much cheaper than the blood transfusions required each time we attempt it ourselves.

I release the cat from her carrier and she scurries off.

I then carefully unwrap the bundle in my arms. It mews softly.

My husband enters the room.

“What’s that?” he asks, suspiciously.

“What?” I ask, looking over my shoulder.

“In your arms,” he says speaking through clenched teeth. “What is that in your arms?”

I gently place the kitten on the floor and fling myself at my husband. I decided on the drive home the pity route was my best shot at victory.

“I was at the vet and I saw this kitten in a cage. A cage!

And she is so cute and I love her and I think she would be a really good pet and the cat needs a friend and I love her and I can’t take her back to that awful cage,” I say, ending on a wail.

“No,” he said.

I grab the kitten and wield her in front of his face, raising my voice to Minnie-Mouse decibels. “Look how cute I am!” I coo, bouncing the kitten. “Look at my widdle face.

Please don’t send me back to the mean, old, ugly cage.”

The kitten sends my husband a look. Sorry man. Listen, is she always like this? Really, that cage wasn’t so bad…

My husband opens his mouth.

“Pleaseeeee” I say, shaking the kitten at him. She’s looking a little dazed.

He rolls his eyes. “Fine, we’ll see how it goes.”

I knew exactly how it would go. Carrying the purring kitten home, I had visions of our two cats as compadres for life. They would bat a ball of yarn back and forth. Snuggle together side by side in front of a warm fire grate. Give each other baths. They would be the best of friends. And they would love me all the more for bringing them together.

The cat was peeking at the kitten from behind the kitchen door.

“Come here sweetie,” I said. “Look what Mommy got for you.” I picked the kitten up and placed her in front of the cat, waiting for the love fest to begin. I was, to say the least, unprepared for what happened next.

The cat’s back rose in a boiling arch of fury as she towered over the kitten, spitting and hissing. Not to be outdone, the kitten arched her back and growled deep in her throat.

“Uh-oh,” said my husband, taking a step back.

There was a flash of claws, flying fur, yelps, growls, and then it was over. The cat ran out of the room and the kitten crawled under the couch where she stayed for the next two weeks. The cat refused to speak to me for a month.

I was miserable.

“They hate me!” I wailed to my husband.

“Yes,” he said.

I glared at him.

“You could be useful and help me fix this,” I demanded.

“What?” he said. “You read the book. Just give them some time and space and they’ll work it out on their own.”

“What does a stupid book know?” I asked.

“The author is a doctor,” said my husband.

“Big deal.”

“She won an award.”

“Shut up,” I said.

I tried my own methods of reconciliation. Wedging myself under the couch, I managed to stroke a few stray hairs on the kittens tail. I overfed the cat more than usual.

But late at night I heard rumblings in the hall from the two cats that raised goose bumps on my spine.

The cats finally came around and deemed to be in the same room with one another. The cat stared, stricken, the first time the kitten played with her jingle ball, but she made no move to take it from her. Once the kitten realized the cat was more bluff than gruff, she ignored her.

My lot wasn’t so pleasant. Since neither cat was pleased at the presence of the other, I continued to receive only lukewarm greetings from either of them. My husband’s demeanor wasn’t much better.

So it’s up to me to mend this family rift. It will take time, patience, and perseverance, but I am up to the task.

Besides, if I fail I have a back-up plan.

I saw an ad in the paper today for free puppies.

I can’t lose.

One Thursday night I came down with a bad cold.

I knew I faced a long night of tossing and turning, so I spared my husband my misery and opted to sleep in our guest bedroom. Miserably I sank beneath the sheets, making sure my two boxes of tissue were close at hand. My head was stopped up, my ears clogged, and it hurt to swallow.