I broke the cat.

It was a hot and lovely weekend here in Boston, and unlike my sun-fearing albino husband, I had my heart set on being outside as much as possible. This meant lots of entering and exiting the house, which meant lots of small animals following me to the door and pouting when I did not take them with me.

One of the cats, Lenny, was exceptionally insistent. He’d never seemed to care much for the outside world before (not like our other cat, who once broke free and for a couple weeks prowled the mean streets of Boston as the ruthless leader of a cat gang–but that’s a whole other blog post), and generally speaking, Lenny is super laid-back. You can throw a pillow at him and all he’ll do is watch disinterestedly as it sails toward his head, then continue not to care as it bounces off his many rolls of fat.

Recently, though, Lenny has been sitting at the door, oh-so-cutely standing up and pushing his paws against it like he thinks he’s people. So I decided to take pity on the poor guy and bring him outside. I dug out the dog’s tiny old collar from when he was a puppy, fashioned it upon Lenny with a minimum of scratches and/or blood loss, and walked him in the yard. It was a success. There was much sniffing and investigating and munching on plants, and Lenny had fun too.

2013-06-03 18.09.31“Soon, all this will be mine.”

But now–HE IS BROKEN. He wants to be outside all the time. All the time. How do I know this? Because he has started announcing to the neighborhood that his terrible, heartless owners are keeping him hostage. He sits at the window and yowls in what I’m sure, to him, is a heartwrenching monologue detailing the utter injustice of it all. No exaggeration: he meows every three seconds, like the feline version of Homer Simpson’s Everything’s Okay Alarm. Just started screaming his little heart out and has not stopped since. He’s screaming right now.

So there it is: I’ve resigned myself to a life of not only having to walk the damn dog, but walking the damn cat as well. Oh, don’t worry: I’m well aware of how stupid this is. I think it’s hilarious and weird when people walk their cats (my mother included). I thought this was going to be a one-time thing. But now–OH MY GOD HE’S YELLING AGAIN I HAVE TO GO.

Moral of the story: don’t walk your cat. Or, walk your cat, but be prepared to invest in some earplugs.



  1. Oh it’s not stupid. I have the same problem. My little one yowls all day long at the back door. If she’s not and you get up to walk to the kitchen (near the door) she gets up, bolts for the door jumps on her “soap box” the trash bin and starts yowling in earnest. Just be careful, she now thinks that anytime that door is opened she entitled to run to explore. Not so fun when you’re in a long bed shirt and bra-less, chasing after your cat at 7am while the neighbors are loading their kids in the car for school.

  2. We always just let the cats outside. Of course, Lenny’s probably a bit too old for that now (there’s a learning curve associated with surviving as an outside cat).

  3. Simple solution … just paint your ceiling blue, replace your carpet with sod, and invest in lots of plants and an indoor lawn mower. And let a few sparrows fly around your kitchen, too … I’m sure Lenny would appreciate that.

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