Pet Nasty War – Cat Cocktails

Again this morning I find myself out of action due to a significant nosebleed.  The cats are doing this to me by furring up my bed.  It is the dander equivalent of the Finns lobbing Molotov cocktails at Soviet tanks.   Now I shall have to find a countermeasure to stop the furring or at the very least lessen the deleterious effects on my fighting strength.  I see this tactical tit-for-tat as what it is, namely an attempt by the weaker power to deprive the stronger power of the strategic initiative.  One need look no further than the U.S. wars in Iraq and Afghanistan to see this principle applied: the most conventionally powerful military in history is locked in a cycle of explosives vs. armor oneupmanship with disorganized goat herders.   My military resources are so far superior to those of my enemy that I can sweep her from the battlefield with little more than programmatic application of those resources.  However, she has realized that I need time and space to strike a clean blow and she can deprive me of those things by pestering and harrying my movements.  If I am staging a massed attack such as I must in order to effect significant change in the house (painting walls, removing/laying floors, shifting furniture) I need blocks of time.  A delay from 8:00 to 9:00 can make a difference.

They are on the bed right now, both of them.  Lulu must have persuaded Marisa to support her furring initiative.  I moved the litter box to the closet in the master bedroom, expecting that they would resist, and I was unprepared for acceptance.  You want us in this room? they said.  Then into this room we shall go.  Again I see a parallel to the U.S. invasion of Iraq.  Saddam’s army would fight or they would surrender, the American planners believed.  In the former event we would annihilate them, and in the latter we would disarm them and dictate the terms of their social and political reintegration, as we did with our vanquished foes after World War II.  Instead, the Iraqis didn’t fight or surrender.  The soldiers kept their weapons and went home, spontaneously dissolving the army and creating the conditions for tribal civil war.  So the U.S. had to set the bed on fire in order to win.

Wait, that’s not right.

Pet Nasty War – The Office Door Is Closed

Lulu has accepted the new box, and Marisa knows it’s there, but still they do their black work on the office floor.  I am weak and they know it.  I haven’t been able to walk since last week, although today has been better owing to a third round of colchicine on Saturday.  For that I have paid with the medicinal shredding of my intestines to the point that I’m basically an upside-down ketchup bottle with hair.  They have spied that out as well, skulking around after me as is their wont.  But perhaps their spies are too good.  If they have followed my movements they will have expected me to be out of action for another day.  I haven’t slept and I can’t eat.  I can’t possibly be manufacturing blood at the pace I’m losing it.  The subsiding of the gout has subsided for today.  I can’t tear up the office carpet, or empty the desk, or cover the bookshelves.  But I can bag up the old litter box and put it in the trash, put a new air freshener in the office, and shut the door.  And so I have done.  The war begins in earnest not with battle but with blockade.  Your move, ladies.

Apple Floor Cat Attack

They’re not sure yet.

Pet Nasty War – The Door Is In Play

Meticulous planning and precise execution required today.  Coming to the conclusion that I am not a terribly precise fellow.  Door frame washed, dried, sanded, washed again, dried again, then cat gashes filled with wood filler.  Filler allowed to dry, then sanded again, then painted (1st coat).  First coat now drying.  Nature allied with cat, humidity coming in about 95%.  Running up against it a bit as far as securing the victory today.  I can’t close the door because Lulu is hiding in the bushes and she will climb the door as soon as she’s got even the slightest excuse–she’s done it before, and then tracked paint all through the house.  The plastic corner guards must go up tonight or all of today’s efforts will come to naught.  I sense I am about to have my Rawlinson moment, only I’m not sure whether it’s to be the Somme or Amiens.

Pet Nasty War – Situation Critical

Lulu scratched the paint of the front door windowsill by slashing up the fern.  I painted that very carefully.  I am making this my highest priority.

Pet Nasty War – Just So Ya Know

Yesterday I was sitting in the kitchen with Lulu, me in my chair and Lulu on the cat perch.  She looked over at me and extended her arm and her claws like this:

She held this pose for at least two minutes, claws extended and separated.   You can kind of see it in this picture, but you had to be there to get the full message.  Lulu has typically taken great pains to prevent me from documenting her long history of provocation and intimidation.  I guess we’re doing this for real.  Book evac in the office/litter room begins today.  I will not be moved.

Basement War – Day 3

Very little to report.  No sign of the enemy above or below.  I painted the front door frame that Lulu is always climbing and has ripped to shreds, and I told Jenny to leave the door open so it could dry, and so she closed it, And because the door was closed Lulu climbed the door frame and got paint all over her paws, and it was hilarious, and I told Jenny to leave Lulu outside so she wouldn’t track paint in the house, and so Jenny let Lulu in the house.  And that was not so hilarious, except that really it was.  It turns out I hate Lulu a little bit.

Tomorrow I will attack, like Falkenhayn at Verdun.  Okay, that didn’t work out, but this will.

Behind The Lines – Dispatch #1

Lulu spent the night in the basement, and she has not reported any sign of scorpions.  Have had to pause in the debriefing so that she can lick herself for awhile.