Short Blog on How Territorial I Am

When Roommate 1 (mentioned in previous blogs) had two kittens in our apartment, they spent the first two weeks peeing on everything. Her bed, her floor, our kitchen floor, the stuffed animals I had on the couch, the couch itself, Roommate 1 while she slept on the couch as the kittens peed on the couch, and our shoes. Somehow, they always had enough pee to also leave large, damp spots in their litter boxes, and I wondered at how big their bladders could be, in such tiny bodies.

I can proudly say that now I get it.

Possibility #1) The kittens were mad at Roommate 1 for naming them after lovers from her favorite movie, Stardust. Even though they were found as strays, clearly the cats were brother and sister. If my mom had done that to me and my little brother, I would have peed on more than just my bed a couple times and the floor in my kindergarten classroom. I would have peed on her. And my brother. Because my brother was a brat. I was a brat too, but I was an older brat, so it was okay.

Possibility #2) This was a territorial thing (which is the correct answer because this is what the vet told us, and kittens don't watch Stardust.) The cats were new, but being cats, they wanted to own the apartment we humans paid rent for, so they peed on it. They peed all over it, and I saw regular yellow streams of our deposit seeping into the carpeting.

I now know this was a territorial thing because I had a similar experience myself. Last weekend, my boyfriend's roommate was finally (finally!!) away for the week with his girlfriend, and my boyfriend and I got some much needed alone time. Eventually, I had to use the bathroom, and when I was peeing I noticed the roommate's bathroom things were still there.

Probably because he has the same supplies at his girlfriend's place, I reasoned as I washed my hands, not giving it another thought. That is, until I dried off my hands and realized I suddenly needed to go to the bathroom again.

How could that be!? I thought, but then I glanced at the roommate's toothbrush and cologne bottle again. And I thought about how much fun it would be to pee on both of those right then.

Now, I'm not going to tell you whether or not I peed on my boyfriend's roommate's things—that is not what this blog post is about. This post was just meant to show you how territorial cats, and humans, can be.

The rest I will leave to your imagination.

When I Had 2 Roommates

I am a recent college graduate, I live with my parents, and I often think of just last year, when I had a student apartment with two other senior girls. Three single gals (well, actually I haven't been single in the past three years, but sometimes I forget and momentarily think I am single, then realize that no, I am not single like them) painting the town red (but our town is already red because of all the shootings that happen here.)

What was it like being three single gals, living it up in an apartment in Illinois, two and a half hours from the only cool place in Illinois? (No diss to my man Abe, I'm sure Springfield was cool in the day of horse-n-buggies and two-feet tall top hats.)

Here is one of those priceless scenes of three wild and crazy gals I remember to this day, one year later:

Me: So, I go into the bathroom, minding my own business, doing my thing, you know—I won't go into the details, YOU ALL KNOW WHAT WE DO IN THE POTTY, DON'T LIE, GIRLS!—but I was there, on the toilet, and I hear a knocking on the door.

Roommate 1: Will you be out soon?

And I was like: Um, yeah. What did she think? That I was leisurely reading and doing my homework in the bathroom, two feet from the kitty litter boxes she never cleans out? Yeah, the best place to spend my spare time.

Roommate 1: Good, because I need to hang up my laundry to dry.

Me: Still using the bathroom and dumbfounded—Why don't you just use the dryer? 

Roommate 1: Said in disgust— They're my delicates! I can't put them in the dryer, they will be ruined.

This was one of the times I noticed the difference between me and Roommate 1—I didn't have delicates. I had $5 Wal-Mart packs of Hanes underwear and five-year-old training bras that I never grew out of. (On a side note, that is why I hate the term "training bra," because what were they training me for? To girls like me, they are just regular bras that fit much better than those I can find at the fancier local Target or Kohls.)

And I put these $5 three-packs of flower-speckled undies and training bras in the dryer. And then eventually they turn from off-white to gray. And my boyfriend deals, clearly because we never had the same type of sex life as Roommate 1.