Like a child, Gizmo can be a handful for a sitter, I’m told. Apparently during my two week vacation she pulled out all the stops, from diarrhea to coughing up a sausage-sized hair ball, as well as falling back on some of her old antics, like crying to get what she wants.

Also, while I’m away—allegedly now—she not only requires breakfast at 5 am, but turns her nose up at one entrée (and appetizer) after another. There is some evidence to support the sitter’s claim. Mainly, there was enough cat food in the house to last a month. Now there’s only four cans left.

What’s next? Does she need a menu?

After spending time with my cousin’s very well behaved 100-lb. black German Shepherd during my trip—a top dog and obedience school graduate—I was beginning to wonder how I could have created such a little monster.

Still, I missed her terribly. When I walked in the door after 14 hours in airports and on airplanes, she was asleep on the couch. She open her sleepy eyes halfway, and let out a little cry when she saw me. Then, stretched her neck for a scratch under the chin. She looked like a little angel.

Suddenly, I don’t believe a word the cat sitter says. My cat is an angel.

Denial? No, not actually. At least if your worldview is shaped in part on the philosophical ramblings of George Constanza: “It’s not a lie if you believe it.”

It’s good to be home. That is, her home.

While I’m not exactly sure where scientists get all their money to conduct “important” studies, one such study found cat owners are smarter than dog owners: www.dailymail.co.uk.  (Sorry Holbein.)

In two short words made famous by Donald Trump, Gizmo fires her stylist. And why not? The Donald has fired for less—though obviously not his hairdresser.

What this time? This cut makes her butt look fat.

In seriousness, the other day my cousin asked why I get my cat’s hair cut. For one, she starts scratching as her coat grows in, creating sores. Also, she does not like to be brushed and Persians have a hard time managing their coats by themselves.

Every time she does go in for a groom though, it’s like taking home a tiny little stranger. She looks so different, and so much smaller, it takes some getting used to. Sometimes it’s even hard not to laugh.

Fashion forward as always, this time she looks like she’s wearing showgirl-style costume, plumes on her hips. Her hair is shaved up so high on the back of her neck, her flat face resembles a plate. Big and round in front, a sliver from the side.

Another time, she looked like a rocker with a mullet and rat tail. And another, as outdated as Queen Elizabeth I.

But a few days after every haircut something strange starts to happen. She starts looking like herself again. Is it just me getting used to it? Or, perhaps my father’s theory is correct: the difference between a good and bad haircut is about three days.

The last stages of toilet have been a breeze. With only two rings left to punch out on the CitiKitty toilet training seat, I’ve been in no hurry to rush Gizmo.

She’s been aiming for the center hole, so there’s been no messy litter to scoop, no seat to clean. Life is easy.

That all changed yesterday, when I saw her squatting in an open cabinet in her master bath. A cabinet filled with white fluffy towels of all things.

“Gizmo!” I said in shock. She seemed shocked too.

She leapt from the cabinet, got tangled in my legs, looked up at me like I had just intentionally kicked her, then ran away and hid.

I followed her, telling her I didn’t kick her, still she was cowering. What next? Of course, I gave her a treat to let her know everything was A-OK.

Basically, she peed in a cabinet and got a reward. Ooops. Read more »

Toilet training Gizmo has been a long process. But then again she had a long way to go. In four months, she’s gone from occasionally using the litter box (preferring the bathtub, sink, bathroom rug, and even a dustpan) to using the toilet flawlessly.

Yesterday, she made another big step. I punched out the third ring of the CitiKitty training seat. Now there’s a 5′ x 7′ oval hole in the center of the catseat exposing the water in the toilet bowl below. A 2-inch wide round rim of flushable litter circles the toilet.

According to CitiKitty’s training manual, the toilet-training process ordinarily takes around four weeks. This is at the rate of one ring per week. (Removing rings widens the hole in the litter box-style training seat.) Read more »