King's Monster

So I'm going to try not to become one of those people who only recount stories of their pets. Probably not best to start off with a pet story, then, but here goes.

My cat is the devil. The Devil. I suppose it doesn't help that I named him Cujo. He was an accident. I thought I was rescuing him from the life of a poorly cared for barn cat. I honestly did not want a cat, but I can't just throw him back out on the streets, especially since I live in the "city" (as much of one as there is around here).

So I've spent much of my time cat proofing. I took the little metal plate out of my door frame of my bedroom so that it latches and the cat can't get in to eat Popper, the degu. I've tape towels to the wall to prevent scratching. I've stacked books higher and higher on shelves to keep him from jumping on them. He's torn up my blinds. He recently discovered my refridgerator. This requires getting up on my stove first (for a cat, he's not much of a jumper). I've learned that if I don't yell at him for being bad, he gives up getting on the table because (he thinks) it doesn't make me mad. But I can't let him jump on my TV or attack my blinds or jump on my stove. I don't want cat hair in my food (forget that he could burn his paws, he'd learn soon enough).

I used to keep little toys from cereal boxes or gumball machines or stolen from my sisters on the top of the fridge. Cujo finally saw them after I'd moved or gotten rid of ever little thing around the place. So he'd go up on the refridgerator and knock them down, one by one. Plop. Plop. Ting! So I put them (not the cat) in a cupboard. He'd then get up there and cry because his toys were gone. So then I took a BIG Kinko's box and duct taped it to the top of the refridgerator. Then I opened the lid and taped that standing on top of the box, so that there's very little between the ceiling and the lid. Of course I no longer have access to one cupboard, and this box looks ridiculous but....