I am, by nature, a cat person. Cats cuddle, cats warm the lap, cats purr...but cats also don't need to go out at 4AM, and can be left alone for a few days as long as the litter box has been cleaned ahead of time, and there's enough water in the dish...or an open toilet. In that regard, cats can be quite like dogs.
I have been owned by, or lived with others who have been owned by, eleven cats in my thirty-two years on the planet. They have been all shapes and sizes, all colors and genders. Except calico...I have never owned a calico.
When I bought my condo, I brought Cleo, nee Winnie, with me. Cleo was a tuxedo-looking, Siamese speaking, under-the-covers-cuddle-bug who would come when I whistled. But only the first five notes of Beethoven's Fifth. Because...no one really figured out why.
After a few months in the Condo, we got Aisha Clanclan of the Ctarl-Ctarl Empire. She is all-black: black fur, black nose, black whiskers, dark eyes. Aisha came with what most shelter cats come with, a cold, a shabby coat, and a very strong desire to eat ALL THE FOOD! Little did we know that the residual cold was actually a corneal sequestrum, which is just a fun way of saying "The cat's eyeball might explode." Good thing she came with insurance. (Shortly after the surgery, Aisha developed red patches in her fur, and later some white spots.)
Cleo left us after a briefly-diagnosed battle with stomach cancer, but not before peeing in various places around the condo, including but not limited to: the corner of the living room, on top of the kitchen cabinets, and under the vanity sink.
A few months later, Mr. Darcy entered our world. He is my first "Garfield" cat: an orange and white tabby, who is growing increasingly more chubby the longer he stays inside. He was rescued from the streets, and has decided indoor life is much nicer.
And then...the peeing started again. We couldn't figure out who it was. I'd thought I caught one (Aisha) but we weren't really sure.
We have tried: medicine, pheromones, new litter, new litter boxes, floor scrubbing...the smell is still here, and the peeing is still happening. It's not like the cats ignore the litter boxes. If that was the issue, I could probably deal with it.
So, I try to discover what it is I have done to irritate Bast, while I clean up pee at 5:30 almost every morning, someone having pissed in the corner downstairs in the two hours since my boyfriend came to bed. I will have to replace part of my less-than-two-year-old wood floors, and some of the sheet rock downstairs for good measure. When I bring Aisha to the vet soon (because she might have a heart murmur...really???), and we start the whole detective process all over again.
I will not say this experience has soured me on cats, but it does certainly try my patience with my felines. Until it's bedtime, and Mr. Darcy decides to put himself on my pillow and curl up around my head, just to make sure the nightmares don't get in.