My less-than-masculine-male cat, Gracie, has a bizarre personality. One minute he is soft and easy-going and very willing to be affectionate, the next he is biting me on the butt.
He prefers to do this when I am not expecting it. Like when I am busy at the sink either doing dishes or cooking. Or when I’m walking by. Or when I’m sitting in my rocking chair in the family room, sewing.
And occasionally when I’m on the toilet.
You want to talk disconcerting. Imagine THAT.
And he is totally stealth. We’re talking ninja-like quiet attacks. He goes all Navy Seal on me, complete with night vision goggles.
WHY? Why would a cat do this?
Is he hungry? Is he starved for affection? Is he asking to go outside? Is he angry?
He’s been trained. By none other than My Captain.
When Gracie was a kitten, My Captain would play with him in such a way that Gracie learned to jump up and nip at his playmate. They did this often enough that Gracie thought this was normal behavior.
And he started biting the rest of us. Without warning. At any point in the day. No place or time is sacred or safe.
My Captain thinks it’s funny. But I am here to tell you it HURTS. And I have a BUNCH of wee little puncture marks on my behind. HOW in the world will I explain THOSE scars the next time I have a doctor around there? He’ll think I’m a freak.
And can you hear me? “Oh, those? Those are from my cat.”