Battling the towering infur no

By Sheryl-Lee Kerr

IN my ongoing quest to train my cat to be a properly mannered

feline, I have acquired a cat tower.

For those who don’t know of such things, its sole purpose is to stop

everything you own, love and recognise from being shredded while, in turn, encouraging your sulky, clawed house mate to shred the tower instead.

A further benefit is that it’s multi-levelled, thereby removing

clumps of moulted fur from your floor and spreading them over this

wood-and-carpet creation until it looks like a hairy, abstract objet d’art

from a corporate foyer in Manhattan.

That’s the theory, anyway.

I came upon this idea while at my mother’s house in Perth last

month. There’s something about seeing a good, black leather couch turned

into a pincushion by a doe-eyed grey kitten with up-market tastes in claw

enhancement. To picture this horror: think of the stabbing shower scene in Psycho but with a feline, and you get ... a wet cat.

Okay, bad example.

Anyway, the training with my own cat, Frog a haughty, lazy,

throw-rug of a beast does not go well.

For starters, she has some crazy idea that I serve her.

See, Frog has, for some years now, deigned to allow me to put a roof

over her head and to provide my more treasured possessions as personal

shredding equipment. In return, she lets me feed her and dote on her.

In all, it’s a fairly inequitable arrangement and that’s just the

way Frog likes it.

Don’t get me wrong; I know she likes me. She at least removes my arm

at the shoulder bloodlessly when, uninvited, I foolishly pat her. (Others

have not been so lucky.)

Now, with the cat tower, it has become a battle of wills. On a

regular basis, catnip gets scattered over it and Frog gets popped up there,

petted and cajoled in the vain hope she might, I don’t know, like it.

Frog, instead, crouches sullenly, waiting. Then when my petting arm

stills from fatigue, she effects a single springboard bounce, off my head,

into the armchair beyond.

I am not defeated yet. I’ve just settled into perching at the bottom

of the cat tower, lulling her into a false sense of security while she

sprawls smugly on that armchair.

The idea is that she’ll soon get the idea from me that cat towers

are fun woohoo.

Won’t be long.

Aaaany day now ...