Day 3: Cat-sitting Lucifer
It’s been three days since I started cat-sitting Lucifer. He’s a ginger-white cat with a mountain lion’s face and zero tolerance for humanity. If you know anything about cats, you know that they can be buttered up into being friendly. Not Luci.
Lucifer gives no fucks and wants nothing.
In fact, the only person I have ever seen get love from Luci is his owner, Ace. And even then, after seven seconds (I’m being generous with the time), Luci will scratch Ace for petting him too long. He just wants to be left alone until he wants attention.
Luci is well taken care of. He has his cat food, water, a self-cleaning litter box, a scratch play-station, catnip — you name it, he has it. Therefore, there is no incentive to cozy up to anyone for anything. If you try too hard and you’re lucky, you get ignored. The unlucky ones get an irritated hiss that speaks to their irrelevance in the grand scheme of Luci’s plans.
How do you teach a cat with no incentive?
Luci doesn’t care. As long as he is left alone to brood in the closets, he’s okay. My cat-sitting mission is to keep him alive and maybe teach him a trick.
Why this matters!
I can’t do ANYTHING if he’s in the room.
Day one: I needed to do laundry but Luci was seated on top the washing machine. Every time I tried to inch forward to load the washer, I got a “try-me-motherfucker” hiss.
Luci is a swiper (will scratch you and watch you bleed out), so you don’t want to be too close to him when he’s agitated. The problem is, your presence is a constant source of agitation. You can’t win.
Day two: I couldn’t take a bath because Luci was in the bathroom. I tried to beg him to leave, calling his name, but he ignored me. Why do you have a name if you don’t even flinch when they call you?
I’d like to not be afraid to use household amenities because the cat was there first. How many more tasks do I have to abandon because Luci is in the room? We have to find a way to co-exist.
I’ll share update here as I find out more. Here are some cute pictures of Luci plotting my demise. And yes, that’s a scissor.
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