Cats. Cats Who Fight...

I never intended to have three cats. I really never intended to have two cats. But when our cat somehow escaped off the balcony of our genteel ghetto second-floor apartment and didn't show up for two weeks, I was ready to change the story for my ten-year-old son who is far more tender-hearted than I am. So off we went to the Humane Society with his piano teacher, who is a cat and rat fanatic. We came home with a pair that had been brought in together, and the next day my son left for camp. All was well. I was slightly stressed but everything seemed to be going smoothly. Two days later I get a call that my cat had been brought to a local pet hospital.

Don't get me wrong. I love my cat. Cats. But at the moment we're in that touchy adjustment phase, and in a very small apartment, a little cat urine goes a long ways. Especially when Blueballa, my older cat, decides she's going to play goalkeeper for the litterbox. Yes, I have two now, but it took me a while and money is tight, even tighter than space! This is not what I needed. More stress. No, I have no intention of getting rid of any of the cats, but right now, I really wish they would just get along and stop peeing except in the fucking litterbox!