Anybody Want a Cat?

Oh where oh where do I start?

I have this cat, and have had him for almost nine years. He's pretty cute, but don't let that fool ya. You could say he's a feral kitty, his momma and daddy were feral, and even though he's been handled and taken care of by humans since the moment he was born, there's still a little feral in him. I got him when I was a senior in college, and wanting a dog but having neither the time nor space for one, got a kitty instead. I named him Harrison, or Harry, the Cat. All the good pictures of him were taken before my first digital camera, but here's a so-so picture of him, he's still pretty cute.

Well, Harry wasn't the dream cat I was expecting. He didn't cuddle up in my lap and purr or rub up against my legs. He liked to play "hunt" and "chase." He bit and scratched. He really didn't mean for it to hurt, but it sometimes did. I stuck with him, just the same. I thought he was just being a kitten and would soon outgrow it. (yeah, snort)

When my husband and I got married, he had a wonderful, sweet, and perfect dog - Foster. He was an almost two year old mini schnauzer, and how I loved him. Foster and Harry got along well enough, and after awhile actually enjoyed chasing each other about. Well, The Husband and I loved Foster so much that we decided to adopt another mini schnauzer. We found this wonderful rescue group SchnauzerLoveRescue and found our new puppy - Miller. (yes, they are named after beer, thanks to The Husband). Here's a picture of Foster, then Miller.

Well, the new dog was an alpha male, and while he and Foster got along great, the two of them against Harry Cat were no match. Harry soon began to live in one of our upstairs bedrooms. He never came out. EVER. A few months of this and no one else wanted to go into that room, including us. To make matters worse every once in a while (more like once a day) the dogs would go upstairs to play and Harry would get scared and spray - yes spray- all over the upstairs. This was really gross, ya'll.

With all this spraying going on, I knew something had to give, but what could we do with Harry?
Well, then I became pregnant with Little Man and, as his nursery was going to be upstairs, I knew I had a LOT of cleaning to do, as well as figuring out what to do with Harry. After months of trying to find a home for him and exhausting all my options, I had to have a frank conversation with my vet. I told him I was at my wit's end, what else could I possibly do? His answer was simple, he said I should just put Harry in the backyard. He said even if he only lasted a year or two in the yard (we have raccoons and real feral cats in our neighborhood) that it was a year or two of life and at least he was given a chance. Made sense to me. So that's how Harry the Cat began his journey of living outside for the past three and a half years.

Well, sort of. And here's where we get to the point of this post (finally).

We have a dog door. For the dogs. After about two years of living outside Harry figured out how to use it (smart cat, I know). Now he's inside much of the time. I find him under the bed, snuggled in my closet, and yes, in his old room upstairs. The stinky part is, if he does manage to sneak upstairs, he stuck, because he's too scared to run past the dogs to get back downstairs. It's become a battle of wills around here. We humans don't really like him inside, and neither do the dogs. Harry, on the other hand, is determined to reassert his position as an inside cat. Today I was taking a shower, and noticed the bathroom door had been pushed open. This usually means one of the dogs has wandered in to see what I'm up to, but this time it was Harry. I saw him staring at me through the glass door of the shower. It was kind of cute. Once I got out of the shower one of the dogs did wander in, and Bam! chased Harry Cat back outside. Maybe one of these days we'll all learn to live in harmony, but I somehow doubt it.

So....anybody want a cat?