I've mentioned before that my cat, Dottie, is a bit- how shall I put this?- off-kilter. She's unique. She marches to the beat of her own drummer. Ok. Let's cut the shit. She's a spaz.
Of course, her spaziness has nothing to do with pets becoming like their owners.
I've gotten used to, if not still occasionally annoyed by, Dottie's need to scratch the sides of the litter box incessantly for a minimum of 20 strokes per side (that includes back and front) before exiting, running around the apartment for a victory lap then returning for 12 strokes on just the left and right sides. Her major spazouts are now relegated to her morning Indie 500 game played with her brother. She'll run up the side of the chair, cling there perilously, her head darting left and right while her tail flicks madly and her eyes, big saucers, scan the room for her big bully brother. When she spots him she leaps like Spiderman to another piece of furniture, on contact digging her claws in and making her mark. Besides the ruining of furniture, it's pretty cute. And the fellating her brother stopped after they were both fixed. Phew! That one was a bit. . . uncomfortable.
But what I don't find cute or amusing or endearing is Dottie's obsession with eating clothes. At first, I thought it was just my throw blankets that weren't safe. The ones with dangling bits on the edge where particularly at risk. Scarves with fringe? Forget it. Pack those away. But sweaters? Dresses? In the past month Dottie has eaten holes in two of my sweaters. Holes. Noticeable holes. WTF?!
(Hmm, maybe she was trying to help me rekindle an old fashion trend? We ARE in Seattle afterall.)
Are my panties even safe?!
Maybe she just wants me to clean my room?