We have a rogue graffiti artist in the house. A stealthy soul who sneaks around and when no one’s looking, makes his mark. Many artists are misunderstood in their own lifetimes, and that is definitely the case with this one. I have no appreciation for his style. That said, I must admit that some graffiti is actually really cool – avant garde artistic statements of freedom, placed for the whole world to share. Or vandalism, either way. But that’s graffiti in the big wide outside world, not in my house. And it’s even less cool when the artist is my cat and his medium is pee.
I first noticed his work when I was taking a stroll through the living room last Saturday. Our new leather ottoman looked a bit…stripy…on the side. On closer examination, I saw that there were five marks along its side, about six inches from the ground – like someone tapped a spray paint can nozzle five times in a row…while lying on his/her stomach. I wondered what it could possibly be.
I didn’t wonder very long.
Thinking it was some cleaner I had used, forgotten to wipe up and had dried there, I swiped it with a paper towel, and the horrible truth dawned on me. Cleaner indeed! Oh no, it was something much worse. The anathema of every cat owner with awesome furnishings and hardwood floors – kitty pee. On. My. New. Furniture!! I’d been tagged.
Shocked and appalled, I ran for MY chosen mediums – the cleaner, the disinfectant and the “Kitty No Go” odor neutralizer. The Art War was on as I cleaned everything up, covering over what was now obviously his artistic endeavors as he observed from a high bookshelf. I ranted and raved and called him some truly horrible names. I threatened and glowered, and told him what he was doing was totally unacceptable – but to no avail. He sat there on the bookshelf as Zen as a kitty-Buddha – the very picture of smug calmness; a little smile curving his kitty-lips and twitching his whiskers.
As I walked into the dining room, having vented my spleen, I realized why. He was no tag and run artist and the ottoman wasn’t his only installation. Hells, no! He was a prolific Great Master and that was only one room in a monstrous exhibition. We’re talking Kitty Louvre proportions, folks. My dining room walls bore testament to his earlier works. Knowing now what to look for, I realized the walls were heavy with his efforts. I repeated my earlier efforts, curses and pleas and soon that room too, was denuded.
With a liberal sense of unease, I started examining each room. The bathroom – yes, that would be his “Yellow” period. The den – ah, yes, his Impressionist phase. He even specialized in tapestries at one point, I found, and spent another hour washing the living room curtains. Completely unwilling to be curator to this art museum of horrors, also known as my HOUSE, I eradicated every trace. He followed me from room to room, calmly watching the destruction of hours – more like minutes – of his work. Finally, I was done.
His art Mew-seum closed, we went our separate ways, glowering at each other. I congratulated myself repeatedly for stopping such a menace and my day went on. He was to have the last laugh, however. If you’re not aware – and I sincerely hope you’re not – if kitty pee is left on a surface such as hardwood floors and not found in a short amount of time, they can become discolored. I might have destroyed his temporary art installation, but my floors bear testament to his Jackson Pollock phase for all time. Cat Bastard.
