The very first night the Wheezyriders stayed in my house, Billy found a roll of thread (and it wasn’t on the floor, so he must have done some shelf-hopping), and batted it noisily around the floor until I woke up and gave him pats. Billy is no dummy.
Since then, he’s always managed to find some obnoxious behavior in which to get his point across. If crying and pawing my arm doesn’t work, maybe he’ll jump up on this high shelf and knock some stuff down until I pay attention. If staring into my eyes doesn’t communicate his need, maaaaybe he’ll use the bedpost for scratchies until I figure out there’s a problem. And last night, as I sat in the basement, doing my sudoku puzzle and trying to relax, maaaaaybe he’ll just play in the litter box for a while.
We have two litter boxes (which the vet says isn’t enough but she wants my cat to have eye cancer so she can remove his eye and therefore we do not like or listen to her). The boxes are in the back of the basement behind folding doors and live amongst the washer and the hot water heater (and Captain is A-OK with that!). So as I sat in the comfy chair in the finished part of the basement, I saw Bill sitting on the floor staring at me. Then I heard him behind the folding doors, digging in the litter. Then I saw him standing in the doorway staring at me. Then I… heard him digging in the second box. Then, again, staring at mommy. Then, again, digging in box.
“Soooo,” I said, “You’d like me to clean the boxes? Is that what you’re getting at?”
Apparently so because once the boxes were clean and passed his inspection, he dropped a big ole mess into his favorite box and went back upstairs.