Presently have no cats, but during my childhood we got a whole bunch of them for the best part of the 1990's decade. Up to three at the same time. And since I was a mischievous brat and my elder sister was hardly better... imagine a trio of Bart, Lisa and Snowball(s) except more wicked.
My mother was growing vegetables in her garden to help with my dad lone salary, ok ? well, every single time she plowed the soil to plant vegetable, one of the cats invariably came shitting into the fresh soil. There were cases where the thing smelled so horribly, she had to retreat - baffled.
And then were birth control pills - for cats. The horrible things.
At some point we had three generation of female cats (did I said - pussies ? no, I didn't). My mom used to hide the pill into some meat for the cats to swallow it.
The oldest cat was the smartest and usually ate the food and spat the pill.
The two younger were dumb and ate the pill - only for the pills to drove them crazy, I swear - like goddam meth or cocaine, they turned
addicts.
The middle-aged mom cat turned cold turkey and chased my mom until she got her pill. She attacked, meowed night and day, jumped from the balcony... pure madness.
Another weird side effect was the mother and daughter cats turning
incestuous lesbians in the shape of a 69. And my mom is a (moderately and realistic) old school conservative catholic stuck in General De Gaulle late era of the 1960's. You guess she was a bit shocked to see the cats acting like this.
Myself and my sister were ROTFLMAO when we heard my mom ranting "Oh gosh no, the cat have turned lesbian again, goddam pills !"
And then were the endless pranks my sister and I played on the cats. We never, ever hurt them physically - because we loved them. The real damage was at the psychological level. I can say I ruined a cat mental health - we ended in a weird love-hate relationship. My elder sister had a theory that the cat was kind of masochistic, kind of.
We were feeding the cats with our food scraps. While the family was dinning in the kitchen, the cats sat on the window outside, patiently waiting we finished. When we got up with the food scrap in the plate, the cats ran to the house rear door. If they weren't already there (and they usually won the race) we called them banging a fork on the plate -
ding ding ding. This was Pavovlian conditioning cranked past 11. To the point that - if you ding ding a plate anytime, anywhere, the cats ran at you waiting for the food.
We also did that for the hens and the rooster, and I swear it worked fine - despite their minuscule brains (ever watched
Chicken run ?)
Ever seen that pied piper with all the rats in tow ? I did the same with the cats once, just ding ding a fork on a plate. They followed me, so I walked around the house three times - before feeding them the food scraps. I could have walked a hundred miles just ding ding ding the plate, the idiots would have followed me waiting for the food in the plate.
The good old days...
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