I have a pissy cat.

I used to have two cats (when we got married, it was pointed out to me that all my stuff was now “our” stuff, but the cats were still mine. Translated: I had to change the litter). Bob, named for an episode of Black Adder, was the older one. A friend of mine was a mechanic working on a car. When she popped the hood, she found Bob. Bob was small enough to fit into the palm of her hand (and she’s all of 5′ 2″ and 100 lbs when wet). She called me up, begged me to take the poor kitten, and coupled with my inability to say “no” to my female friends, I ended up with a cat. But I had to put Bob to sleep mid-last year.

My other cat, Dinsdale, named after a Monty Python sketch, I also inherited due to my inability to say “no” to my female friends. She found him at the Humane Society and insisted that such a cute cat with such an expressive personality had to have a home. And she already had four cats.

Dinsdale is jealous of me. Well, for me. When I first got married, he didn’t take kindly to someone else sharing the house. So he kept peeing on Sally’s stuff. If she had our laundry in a basket, he’d pee on her stuff. If she left clothes around the room, even next to my stuff, he’d pee on only her stuff. If he were particularly moody, he’d pee on her side of the bed. Now, if I came to her defense, he’d pee in the middle of the bed. So I quit defending her.

When each of the kids were born, he’d pee on their stuff. That almost got him kicked out the house. Luckily for him, we had to move, and our neighbors had a mouse problem. So he proved necessary.

Finally, he accepted everyone, or at least grew comfortable with the idea of there being other people in my life. Yet I hate that he relapses as his way of telling me that it’s time to change the litter. He’s taking it out on my couch. I spent today scrubbing my couches, trying to get the smell out of them. One may be past the point of saving. I’ve been told that citrus smells will keep him at bay, but I’m hesitant to spray my couches with lemon juice (I get ill thinking about the smell of residual cat piss mixed with lemonade).

Plus, I’m afraid of where he’ll start peeing next.

Comment on this bit of rantus interruptus anyway you want or at my message board.