From: wicksd@persephone.ecn.purdue.edu (Donna M Wicks)
Subject: AMC: TAN - Cat lovers 
Organization: Purdue University Engineering Computer Network
  Tha following is reprinted without permission from the Dayton
Date: Mon, 6 Apr 1992 13:15:58 GMT



Living with a strung-out stepcat is no treat
By D.L. Stewart

  My stepcat is a junkie.
  We don't know how he got the habit. All we know is he has developed 
a vicious addiction that has taken control of all our lives.
  He's hooked on cat treats.
  I'm not sure what's in these treats. According to the labels, the ones
in the blue cans are flavored with chicken, the ones in the red cans taste
like meat and the ones in the pink cans contain tuna. My guess is that all 
three are full of high-grade crack.
  There is nothing that cat will not do to get these treats. He will leap
over a can of tuna to get to them. He will break into a cage fiulled with 
rabid pit bulldogs to get to them. He will intercept a Scod missile to
get them.
  Mostly, though, he will stand in front of the cupboard where we keep his
treats and screech at the top of his furry little lungs until he makes you
so crazy you'll give him anything to shut up.
  In the beginning, the treats were for special occasions only. His birthday.
Christmas. Any time he wwent a whole day without bringing home half a chipmunk.
  Gradually his dependency increased.
  He began to demand them every morning. Whoever got up first would find him
standing in front of the cupbaord, yowling until he got a handful of treats. 
After a while, he started to yowl whenever anyone walked into the kitchen, no
matter what time of day it was.
  Eventually he had to have them whenever anyone moved in the house. If you
got up to change channels, he would sprint to the kitchen and start yowling.
We spent an entire evening imprisoned on the couch watching the Shopping
Channel because we were afraid to move.
  The scenes get particularly ugly on weekends when we try to sleep late.
  Saturday morning, for instance, I wake up with a cat sitting on my chest.
  "Get out of here," I mumble.
  The cat's mother rolls over and looks at the clock.
  "It's only 7:15," she says. "Why aren't you sleeping?"
  "Your stupid cat woke me up," I reply.
  "Just try to ignore him and go back to sleep."
  "I can't ignore him. He's got his paws around my throat."
  "Maybe you'd better get up and give him his treats," she suggests.
  I crawl out of bed, put on my robe and lurch toward the bathroom. When
it's the first thing in the morning, some things are even more urgent than
cat treats. The visit to the bathroom takes only a few seconds. But it seems
a lot longer when you are standing there with a cat wrapped around your ankle.
  As I head downstairs, the cat unwraps himself, sprints to the kitchen and
stands in front of the cupboard, yowling. I give him some treats. A few minutes
later his mother walks into the kitchen. The cats is standing in front of the 
cupboard again, yowling.
  "Why didn't you give him his treats?" she asks.
  "I did."
  "He says you didn't."
  "Who are you going to believe, me or an animal who would sell military
secrets to Saddam Hussein in exchange for a tuma-flavored snack?"
  "I've known him longer than I've known you," she says, reaching into
the cupbaord.
  It's a depressing story, but one that's becoming familiar in homes
across America.
  Cat treats are destroying our lives.


Hope you got a good laugh out of this. I know I did. Scary how true it is.
Donna W.