Kitty-Sitting

While the Iwanskis were away in Florida attending a wedding, I performed my duty as a kitty-sitter for their two cats, Autumn and Hattie.

It doesn’t involve much. About every two or three days I go to their apartment and perform my kitty-duty. Basically, it involves the following:

1. Verify that they’re alive.
2. Give them some canned food.
3. Check on water supply.
4. Pet them a little bit.
5. Scoop the litter box.

The thing is, Hattie is a scardie-cat and apparently flees and hides the moment I come in the door. I don’t know how she can tell it’s me (a stranger) rather than Iwanski or Miss Healthypants coming in the door, but obviously she can. Maybe it’s the way I insert the key or something.

At any rate, I never see Hattie at all. She hides very well.

The only way I can verify that Hattie is alive and well is by means of analyzing the amount of kitty-poo in the litter box. If there’s way too much for one cat to produce within two days, then it’s a pretty good assumption that Hattie is, indeed, alive and functioning properly.

Autumn, on the other hand, is my buddy. She gets lots of attention when I visit and, subsequently, gets to eat all the canned food I dish out. As I spoon out the canned food, I’ll announce to Hattie (wherever she is), “Okay, Hattie, if you’re going to unsociable then you get no Whitefish and Tuna in Savory Gravyyyyy!”

After that, I scoop out the litter box. Miss Healthypants says I don’t really need to, but I would think it might be nice to have a clean one if I were a cat.

Maybe not.

Their litter boxes are in a small closet near the front door. I scoop out their little productions into a plastic bag which goes down the trash chute. No big deal.

Well, when they got back from Florida, Miss Healthypants called me and very politely asked, “Ummm. Did you happen to close the closet door when you were here?”

Apparently, after I had cleaned out the litter boxes, I shut the closet door. I guess I’m just sort of used to closing closet doors and did so without thinking. So, for two days Miss Autumn and Miss Hattie had no access to their facilities.

I felt so bad for them. I got to empathizing with them. After all, how would I feel if I had been locked in an apartment with no access to a toilet? . . . .

I know! . . . It would be terrible! Especially for poor Autumn to whom I had just imparted an entire can of Whitefish and Tuna in Savory Gravy.

Poor thing.

Anyway, their pets seemed to be okay. The Iwanskis didn’t return home to exploding pussycats or anything. I’m sure I’ll never make this mistake again. When it comes to litter box maintenance, I guess it’s a live-and-learn type of endeavor for me.
That is, if I’m ever allowed to be near their cats again.