“C’mon, Mr. Moss. Please come down and eat.” Some guy stood below my perch and begged me to give up my spot. I’d been up here all day, growling low in my throat if anyone dared draw close. But it was nearly closing time now, and I’d heard Bay talking to this guy—a volunteer—about how she didn’t think I’d eaten even once since I arrived yesterday.
That much was true. I hadn’t eaten since I had breakfast as a human before my court date yesterday.
Had it only been yesterday? Geez. It felt like it’d already been at least a year. I wished, then I’d be closer to being out of this wretched place for good.
“If you come down,” he whispered conspiratorially. “I’ll give you some tuna.”
My ears twitched at that news. Tuna from the can wasn’t gourmet, but it was edible, even by human standards. I looked at him, and his head snapped up in surprise.
“Did you understand the word tuna?”
“Of course I understood the word tuna, you doddering oaf,” I muttered as I stood and stretched. My muscles had gone all stiff since I’d been crouched in the same position since the others had taken their breakfast.
Moving slowly while shooting Mr. Tuna a heated glare, I climbed down to his buddy.
“There’s a good kitty.” Mr. Tuna picked me up carefully, then scratched my head as he walked toward the same back room where I’d had my bath yesterday. “We’ll feed you in here away from the others or they’ll all want tuna, too.”
Well, I guess I could get used to this if I had to. Tuna every day would get boring quickly, but at least it was better than that grotesque brown mush.
My instincts took over as soon as the volunteer set me down and opened the can. I pranced around impatiently while Mr. Tuna poured the food out into a dish, then gobbled up every bit of it and even licked the inside of the little bowl clean. I’d been so focused on eating I hadn’t even noticed that he’d put a bowl of water out just for me. I dove into it gratefully, knowing full well that once it hit my bladder and I had to use the box again, I’d regret this. But I couldn’t not drink it. It was fresh, in a clean bowl, and refreshingly cool.
Honey and manna from heaven, I tell you.
When I’d drunk my fill and was ready to roll over and unbutton my non-existent pants, Mr. Tuna scooped me up and set me down in the middle of the big room. I followed him over to Bay.
“He ate fine. I think the other cats are the problem.” Turned out Mr. Tuna was smarter than he looked.
Bay sighed and looked down at me, sympathy reflecting in her wide eyes. “Mr. Moss, you can’t be fed alone every day. Plus, we don’t have the budget to keep a kitty in tuna all the time. You’re going to have to eat with the others.”
She then turned back to the volunteer and shrugged. “We can skip a day of feeding. It won’t hurt him. See if he gets hungry enough to eat with the others.”
Mr. Tuna nodded and opened his mouth to say something. I wanted to know what it was, but, of course, the food and water hit my digestive system hard just then and I had the urgent, unavoidable need to use the bathroom.
Oh, no. Not again.
The worst part was that night had now settled in, meaning the boxes had been used all day again. Crud. I should’ve gone while everyone else was eating this morning.
I glanced toward the tower of litter boxes, slowly resigning myself to my fate. But then the stars aligned in one perfect moment of serendipity, and a woman walked out of the human bathroom, forgetting to close the door behind her. Not one to waste a golden opportunity, I darted inside. It was dark, but it only took my eyes a moment to adjust. At least that was one good thing about being a cat.
Oh, sweet heaven, she hadn't closed the toilet lid, either. I jumped up, perched myself carefully, then did my business. The plop plop of my defecation hitting water instead of sand sent tingles of pleasure through me.
With a sigh, I jumped down. Too bad I couldn’t wipe. But I could go out there and rub my butt on the carpet… right where the humans would walk and spread it all over the place. Heh, heh, that would do nicely for my revenge.
I turned to go out and enact my evil plan to find Bay and Mr. Tuna staring at me from the open front door. I’d been so excited to use the restroom in privacy and without dirty litter that I hadn’t noticed when they’d followed me inside.
“So, he uses the toilet,” Bay whispered while continuing to stare at me, mouth agape. “Well, that’s cool.”
Mr. Tuna nodded. “Very cool. Um, should we leave the door open for him from now on?”
Bay shrugged. “Other cats will get in here, if we do.” She paused to think about it for a second. “But, I guess, other than them drinking out of the toilet, I don’t see what it could hurt.”
Oh, as if they could get any grosser. Now they were going to be drinking toilet water, too? Disgusting. Wait, that wasn’t what mattered, though. Slowly I was regaining my dignity and teaching the humans what I needed from them to survive in this place.
“Maybe Mr. Moss will teach one of the others to use the toilet. Imagine how nice it would be if they all did.” Bay sounded like she was wishing on a star. I jerked my tail up high and walked slowly past her. The other cats would never learn how to do this.
“Oh, he got pee all over the seat,” Mr. Tuna said. “Gross.”
Gross? Me? Wiping pee off of a seat was way better than changing litter. Rather than chastising me, he should be grateful.
The ever-cheerful Bay chuckled. “It’s okay. We’ll put up a sign warning the adoptees that they should check the toilet seat before they sit. We’ll let Mr. Moss have his bathroom.”
Darn right they would. At least we’d established that I would be using a real bathroom. Now I just had to convince them to feed me tuna every day.
I turned to see if my top-perch was available when an especially fat cat wandered by. I gagged and jerked back. He stunk to high heavens.
As he turned away from me, I figured out why.
He had a turd hanging out of his butt, dangling by a long clump of hair.
I gagged again and launched myself into the air, going as high as I could. The gray cat from before had claimed my top perch, but the one below him was available.
Anything was better than sitting near turd-butt down there.
Of course, that’s when it hit me. No matter how well I trained the humans to meet my demands, I’d never be able to teach the other cats how to act civilized. I could make my prison somewhat more palatable, but it would never be a home.