My Cat Might Need Therapy

I recently went on a girlfriend getaway weekend in the mountains, a much-needed trip for me and an exciting time to catch up with great friends. Nothing was getting in the way of me going on this trip - not a deadline at work, lack of money, flu-like symptoms, leaking roof, it all could wait for my return after three days of serene beauty and crisp mountain air. As the date approached my husband began voicing his concern about the thing that troubled him the most about my weekend away- the “problem” of the cat. I was avoiding this topic altogether. The “problem” to which he was referring was the cat’s extreme dependence upon my presence in the house to make sure he is fed, takes frequent trips outside, receives his daily ample petting and attention, and is talked to frequently. My husband would prefer to do none of these things while I’m away and only ensure the cat is still alive upon my return. I continually assured him “the cat will be fine” because the cat wasn’t going to keep me from going on this trip either. His electronic food bowl contained five days of food, his electronic water fountain was filled to the brim, and as long as the door was opened for him once or twice a day he could roam freely as his needs desired.

What actually happened during my time away was quite different. The food bowl turned on schedule, the cat drank as needed, he wandered around the house looking for me and cried, but when the door was opened to go outside it was never opened to come back inside. Yep, the cat spent almost the entire weekend outside. It was a camping weekend for the cat. A time to explore the great outdoors. Trips inside were limited to eating only and when the crying commenced the door opened and the cat, wanting nothing to do with my husband, ran outside in protest as if to say, “you’re not my Mom, I don’t know what you’ve done with her, clearly you’ve killed her and locked her in the basement, and I don’t like you forever, goodbye.” Like a cat.

Upon my return I anticipated a cat excited to see me, running into my arms anxiously awaiting our embrace and kisses, and I would soothe his angst and we would get on with life. It didn’t go like that. I walked into the house and the cat stared at me. With his ears at half-staff he looked hung over and disheveled. He appeared as if he’d been through some sort of trauma and wasn’t himself. It was like his body was taken over by an alternative life form that wasn’t cat-like in any way. He didn’t meow or cry, he didn’t rub up against my leg, and an embrace certainly didn’t seem to be on his mind. His cold stare told me he was not a happy cat. I called him. He reluctantly came to me, winding around the furniture on his way to me and then sat down a foot in front of me and stared straight into my soul. This definitely was not my cat. “What happened to my cat?!” I shrieked to my husband. “He’s not himself. What did you do to him?” My husband stared at me. His stare and the cat’s stare were disturbingly similar. I now felt eerily afraid as if there had been a traumatic event that left them both battered and bruised. They both looked at me like teenage boys keeping their bedroom brawl a secret from their Mom. “Anyone want to tell me what happened?” I responded. “The cat is crazy” my husband finally responds with a look of disgust at the cat. This was his answer to everything abnormal the cat ever did, so saying it now wasn’t all that reassuring. I pressed on, determined to nurse the cat back to his normal self after what appeared to be a ‘not so friendly’ weekend without Mom.

Over the course of the next few days the cat cried almost non-stop. Nothing reassured him- pets, playing, catnip, more food, I tried everything. He just ran for the back door and stared outside and screamed “let me out” (in cat speak of course, translated to English here for you, the reader). He gazed outside at the trees and the sounds and wouldn’t make eye contact with any humans on the inside. Reluctantly I continued to give him what he wanted, and let him outside. I took it personally though. He hated me, I just knew it. I could never leave him again. He was angry I went away, my husband didn’t pet him the right way, and I know he didn’t talk to him enough or at all. I was angry. I would have to take the cat with me on every trip in the future, I was determined this was the best solution. He couldn’t be left alone with my husband who obviously didn’t care about his well-being.

As the crying continued through day seven and eight, I couldn’t take it anymore so I began to search the internet for answers – “why does my cat cry” is a popular search. As I poured through several articles I eliminated the reasons loneliness, injury, and hunger as he was obviously none of those. As days nine and ten approached with no change I continued to read more articles and finally diagnosed my cat’s problems. I quickly informed my husband as he came home from work that evening. I knew he would be relieved at my investigations into the cat’s psychological problems and keeping him informed to alleviate his concerns was important to me. “The cat wants to go outside”, I said. My husband turned and said “this is your great detective work? Wow, well done. I wouldn’t have guessed that from his frantic scratching at the door and ear splitting screaming.” “You aren’t understanding me” I replied. I now had his full attention as his body turned completely towards me in complete disbelief (I know, I totally had him here). “The cat always wants to BE outside. But we keep him inside on a rigid schedule daily of only going outside for one hour in the morning after his breakfast and three hours in the evening after his dinner, and coming inside at night to sleep with us. You let him outside the first time he cried and LEFT HIM THERE so you didn’t have to deal with him. His schedule is now all mixed up and he would rather just be left outside. But he needs to be with his people. We need to get him back on his schedule. He’s an indoor cat who thinks he’s an outdoor cat now. You messed him all up. But don’t worry, just a few more days of sticking to our guns and we’ll have him whipped back into shape.” My husband stared at me and blinked a few times, turned around and went back to filling his drink glass with ice and vodka. I knew all of this cat psychology was a bit much for him and he needed to sit and have a drink. I left him alone with his thoughts so he could process it all, figuring this was best.

The cat is now on day fourteen and getting back to almost normal life. He played with his pet mouse yesterday, considerable progress and shows definite signs of a healthy cat according to pethelpful.com. He spends his days inside now, his nights sleeping at the foot of our bed and his crying has almost subsided. He smiles more and cries less. I feel confident that I’ve nurtured him back from the brink of near suicide. What would he do without me?!