Trouble With a T

On a sunny morning I had finished watering the potted plants framing the dining area windows to notice T, a plump gray tabby, sitting at the opposite end of the kitchen watching me. Odd because his breakfast had been served and he never passed up a meal. As I approached the sink, T lowered to a crouch, eyes locked on my feet. After placing the watering can in the sink, I turned toward T and his feeding station in the bathroom to check if there was a problem. Instantly he went into attack mode taking a swipe at my legs. Yikes! I took a quick peek noting the dent he left in his kibble before retreating to the dining area and trying again from the other side of the kitchen island. T moved to crouch in the bathroom doorway. Uh oh.

Photos of T have been lost. Found this handsome substitute.

The center of T’s condo is a hallway that begins between the end of the kitchen island and the bathroom, angling toward the front door. T had my care routine committed to memory giving me hope I could leave in peace. That didn’t happen. He came after me growling, spitting, hissing — a feline fury. I backed down the hallway holding up the carpet runner for protection. T came at me all the way to the front door. I had no idea why the cat was so upset.

My first thought was a medical problem. But ruled it out because I had been caring for him for days and all was normal. If it’s not medical, it’s behavioral and that includes my behavior. What am I doing that has T so worked up he wants to drive me away? The next morning T was crouched near the front door waiting for me. On making eye contact he flattened his ears and hissed. The cat who lives to eat was warning me off. I left and came back later in the hope he had given up his vigil. The strategy worked but I still had to defend myself all the way back to the front door. From a safe distance I marveled at T’s behavior — a dramatic, spectacular display of po’d cat.

A LIGHT BLINKS ON

The next morning my stomach was still in knots anticipating another confrontation. I had brought along an umbrella to use as a shield but didn’t need it. After finishing up in the bathroom I turned down the hall toward the door. T watched my feet but didn’t follow. And that’s when I figured it out: I was spending more time in the kitchen/dining area than T could tolerate. But how much time was too much?

When I thought about it, most of my visit was spent with T in the bathroom. I always used the kitchen sink and, before I left, stood in the hallway while composing the daily journal. T would sit in the bathroom doorway watching me until I left. The only exception to my pattern — our pattern — was watering plants. Which reminds me of a hot summer day years before when I decided to water the plants on the balcony before feeding T. After filling the watering can, I headed toward the dining area while T walked along the edge of the counter, hissing and swiping at my bare arm. I assumed T was displeased with me for delaying his meal and never put plant chores ahead of him again. However, to our increasing distress, the plants kept growing along with their need for more water requiring more trips back and forth to the kitchen sink. I brought the umbrella along for T-fense only on plant watering days.

Another thing about T: Long before we met, he wore an e-collar to remind him the living room and dining area were off limits. T seemed to accept the restrictions it imposed. And why I believe the real problem was his owners’ habit of closing the doors to the guest bedroom and master suite before leaving town. Not sure if the closed doors were about me or T or both. But those barriers reduced his patch to a hallway, bathroom, and kitchen. All things considered, T was a saint.