icanhazcheeseburger.com
Let me preface this post with this statement: I am twenty-eight and of standard childbearing age.
~~Wavy Dream Sequence Here~~
Two years ago, in an attempt to reconcile my love of cats and my rash-producing allergy to them, I adopted a hairless cat.
My boyfriend's aunt, a small animal veterinarian and director of her local animal rescue, had a Sphynx cat surrendered to her shelter, and I couldn't resist. He could be delivered to my home the next day. Finally, I could have feline companionship without face hives. Sold! Rather, adopted!
Hairless cats are not hypoallergenic, in fact they contain the exact same allergens as a haired cat, but their reduced surface area and wash-and-go skin help keep allergens to a minimum in the home. No shedding, no need for so many lint rollers and air filters, no more hives. Without even seeing a picture, I rushed out to get dishes, litter, litter pans and scoops, catnip, and toys of all shapes and crinkliness.
Wrinkled and creased, with massive ears, a pointed chin, giant green eyes, and more and more wrinkles, Roswell appeared in my boyfriend's arm. I loved him already. Within minutes, Roswell displayed his gregarious personality: purring, chirping, bounding in circles throughout a room, crawling into laps, rubbing his face in people's hair. He made it easy to love him. Sure, he would require weekly baths, but the Sphynx cats on YouTube loved baths. Not a problem.
Har. Har.
Turns out, he hates baths. Also, it never occurred to me that the empty, raisin-like sack where his testicles once were needed gentle scrubbing as well. This produces very low grumbles in his throat that gradually increase in decibels and viciousness until all living things flee from the room (except the one forced to bathe him–me).
It didn't take us long to learn that a lack of eyelashes means eye gunk that needs cleaning, and faces full of canned cat food require daily washing. No hair in his ears means earwax, and no hair means skin oils that build up on your furniture.
Sphynx cats can have poor or no teeth and require soft food. With their high metabolism, they require larger amounts of food more frequently than the standard shorthair cats. Because canned food spoils out in the open air, I need to leave out small amounts of it several times a day, making sure to clean the bowls after every use. Without doing so, I learned, Roswell's stomach would become upset and he would vomit. He, too, benefits from teeth cleaning. Also, he poops like he was born only to produce poop. (My poop-scooping arm can vanquish any other cat owner's poop-scooping arm.)
Sphynx are also known as "Velcro kitties" and flourish only when they have continual human companionship. Leave them alone for hours on end and they exhibit signs of depression and anxiety (weight loss, odd behaviors, aggression, loss of appetite, etc.). In Roswell's case, it was yowling that could be heard from the top floor of our rental house to the neighbor's next door.
Even in a heated home, Sphynx cats are vulnerable to the cold. Roswell has his own blankets, his own heating pad, and his own pedestal (yes, pedestal) in front of the fireplace. If Roswell gets up in the middle of the night and can't get under a blanket to warm himself, he will crawl onto my chest and make a mewling sound like a newborn baby. This will continue until I have gotten up, followed him to wherever he would like to sleep and recovered him, tucking in the sides to prevent drafts. Other times, Roswell simply commandeers my pillow: crawling up to the side of my head and throwing his body weight against me until I inch away, leaving him alone with the pillow.
In addition to this, he was front-declawed. Where a clawed cat can climb and burn off energy, Roswell can only rumble around on the ground floor, leaving him with excessive amounts of energy. Boredom caused him to find the highest vantage point he could jump to (without the assistance of claws) and yowl until he was given whatever he wanted: food, catnip, pets, the fireplace, another blanket, attention, etc. At times, I still don't know what he wants and can only beg him to be quiet.
So when people ask me when I plan on having children, I usually answer, "Oh, I have a cat." They look at me as if I didn't understand their question. I am, after all, twenty-eight and should be all about the babies. In truth, despite it all, I am. Mine just has four legs.
The post Satan’s Little Baby appeared first on How to Get Rid of Things™.
No comments:
Post a Comment