In my last post Battle of Wills, I stated, “I don’t believe in anything other than saying NO loudly, and repeatedly putting her down. From what I’ve read, any other form of punishment is not effective.” I lied. I am bringing out the big guns, literally. The one other thing I have used in the past, but only in extreme circumstances. The squirt gun is my tool of last resort. We are not talking Super Soakers or anything more extreme than a 99 cent dollar store model. I have using it. I do not like pointing a pistol at the loves of my life, even if it is only loaded with water. There are only two behaviors that rise to the level of hydro-education. One is getting near a hot stove burner, and the other is trying to get outside. Indoor cats live on average 10-15 years, while outdoor cats live on average 2-5 years. So both are life and death issues. At about 9:15 this morning Frosti hopped up on the counter, to make her way to the stove. She encountered her first experience with the squirt gun. At first she just looked around confused, like “what the hell is going on.” Then it struck her, “I really don’t like this.” For the very first time she jumped down on her own, rather than squatting down and waiting for me to put her down on the floor. It is now 7:30 pm, and she hasn’t jumped up on the counter yet. I am not foolish enough to believe, that one time with the gun was enough to break her of the habit, but I think I am on the right track.
When I took these little bundles of joy into my home, sort of expected Chester to be the one getting into trouble all the time. Instead, my precious little angel gets into more mischief than a hundred monkeys in a banana factory. I know it is probably sexist to stereotype boys as bad and girls as good, but from what I’ve read we are hard-wired for biases, but can consciously overcome them. Well, So much for my one-lesson hope. I went into the kitchen to fix a bite of supper to find Frosti napping between the two rear burners (off of course). This time when the water works commences it didn’t take her long to react, and she damned sure wasn’t waiting for me to put her down.
I was about to start another paragraph, about what a good boy Chester is. But in an effort to keep my post pithy, I’ll spare you the fluff.