Courtney, 24, Syracuse University student on the road to getting my BSW.
Go on. Ask me a question.
Expect social justice, cats, atheism, wine, feminism, coffee, knitting, baking, movies, and random outbursts of fangirling.
Baxter just tore through my apartment for like 20 minutes, launching himself off our headboard like twenty times, took a massive, smelly shit in the litterbox, and then passed out on my bed
thanks for nothing, asshole
We adopted Billie in March. We decided on her because she was old (10 years old) and sweet and quiet. She’s quite the funny little kitty; she likes laser pointers, staring at people, and drinking out of cups. And, recently, peeing on the floor.
I’ve tried everything. I’ve gotten her a new box, new litter, cleaned out her litter practically every time she poops, I’ve put tin foil down on the floor, and just now, I’ve moved her litter box to the exact place she’s scouted out as her new pee pee spot. At first, I fretted about the smell. “Well, there goes the pet deposit,” I’d say as I angrily scrubbed the spot, still warm, with vinegar. But now, I worry about more than just that.
I worry that she’s not just acting out. What if it is something more serious, something I cannot handle? What if Billie has chronic renal disease or diabetes? Those are all things that require daily treatment that I cannot possibly afford on my budget. I worried endlessly about these things when we picked out an old cat, but I was ultimately outvoted by my room mate, who fell instantly in love. I wanted a kitty that wouldn’t get old or have these sorts of problems until I was older myself, perhaps with a decent job so I could fork over the money to keep her well.
Animal companionship is something I’ve had all my life, and growing up it was a source of comfort for me. I had no pets until we got the rats a month after we moved in; that entire month, it felt like something was missing. Even after, I felt like we really needed a cat. Now I wish I had never felt that way, because all the pets I have gotten since I moved out of Ben’s parents house have been stressful.
My room mates and even occasionally my boyfriend are dismissive and aloof about the whole situation. As I previously stated, I was hesitant about getting an older cat. I wanted a cat who was three, maybe four years old at the oldest, preferably female to do my best to avoid any urinary blockages (I’ve had to deal with the stress of that twice). It was my ROOM MATE that decided it was a good idea. His name is on the papers for the cat, but he has not forked over a dime for her food, litter, litterbox, etc. He keeps claiming that he has no money, but he makes more money and puts in more hours than I do. I know Ben and I will be the ones to pay for it, and it really sucks, because we are about to go on our first trip together and now we probably won’t be able to.