One night Jerry and I were having dinner with one of his graduate students, who had just moved with his wife to a house they'd bought. The move had been a nightmare. Everything went wrong, truck late, things broken, and then, in the midst of it all, their much-loved, elderly cat died.
"Oh, no!" I said. "What did you do?" I'd heard about this cat for years.
"We put him in the freezer," the wife said. "We couldn't deal with it."
Jerry lit up. He finds all cats smug, manipulative, and pretty much useless. Ever since that dinner, he's suggested throwing bothersome neighborhood cats in the freezer; also, elderly ones that cost a lot of money in vet bills, or really just about any cat that happens on to his radar.
Yesterday over breakfast, I read in the SF Chronicle about a cat coach named Marilyn Krieger, who charges $250 per house call to advise owners on cat behavior issues. ("Laughing all the way to the bank," Jerry snorted.) A reporter followed Ms. Krieger on a house call to consult on a cat named Harvey who was "doing his business" under the dining table rather than in a $300 self-flushing cat box.
It turns out that not only is it poor form to put a cat box next to a feed bowl, but the owners had just moved in together, each bringing two cats. There was resentment. Harvey did not like being a step-cat.
Ms. Krieger's solution? A program that involved re-introducing the cats, using clickers and rewards, rubbing cats with old socks treated with cat scent, and--I kid you not--the owners moving to separate beds. And for some time.
"What?" said Jerry, cereal spoon motionless. "Why?"
"So the cat won't think the owners are playing favorites," I read.
"The people can't like each other better than a cat?
I knew what was coming.
"Throw it in the freezer!" he said. "Right away!"
He resumed eating his cereal, shaking his head. And, reader, I have to admit, I was shaking mine.
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