Cat Scratch Fever

For the past few years of my life, whether it be from family or co-workers, I for some reason have had a target on my back as the go to person to ask for pet sitting jobs. I'm freaking canine Mary Poppins apparently. I had a racket running for a while, don't know how this happened, people must just assume I don't have anything better to do. And they're right. Doing a favor for someone every once in a while and making some easy cash is great. But I have learned through these experiences just how rediculous people are about their pets. I've had hour long explanations on how to care for a pet for one weekend, so caught up in doing things their way they forget it's just an animal. Feed it. Pet it. Let it sh*t. Not too hard. Many treat their pets better than their fellow man. Pet sitting can be easy money - but from experience, some are just not worth the trouble.

Cats: Easy money. My cat rates were essentially $20-$25/visit, 3-4 day vacation max. One person had me stop by their house once a day over four days to feed their cat. A cat. $100 bucks?? This was money in the bank. What do cats need? Attention? They don’t get lonely. Cats hate people, and were probably glad their owners took off. I found it so ridiculous in general they were paying me to do this. The second day I went to this persons house (co-worker), the cat had eaten less than half its food. Really, why was I there? So I drank some of their beer, put out two bowls of food, didn't come back the next day, came back the fourth day put the second bowl away, washed my hands and done. When my family left town growing up, we didn’t hire anyone to look after our cat. Come on! Out of town for seven days – put out seven bowls of food, seven bowls of water and leave. If it makes it, great, if not, we'll buy a new cat. What cat can't make it for a week? Hell, we could have gone to Europe - slashed a Sam's Club bag of dry cat food open, left the lid of the toilet up and taken off. She would have loved it. My cat growing up, Mitzy, lived to be 26 years old. Didn't check officially, but pretty sure close to the oldest cat in the state at the time. We fed it nothing but dry Sam's Club cat food. Out lived my buddy and neighbors cat growing up by 12 years -who was fed Pounce kitty treats (kitty crack), low fat gourmet cat food. For what? His cat got cancer twice and lost an ear when it went through two cat chemothrapy secessions that basically could have sent a Romainian child through college. I called it VanCat - not to their family's liking- but seriously, it's a cat. Rediculous. Anyways, Mitzy could legitimately buy liquor in people years. Our cat was four years older than my younger sister - when she was 21. I used to tell her “Catherine, I like you. Your cool and all, and I'm not trying to be mean here, but you have to understand that I am closer to Mitzy than I am to you. I’ve known her longer than you. We've had more time to bond, more common experiences. We lived through Reagonomics together." She didn’t think that was too funny. Here is one of my favorite stories about Mitzy. Once when I was 13, my older brother gave me a good pummeling one day. I was smaller, but could talk sh*t with the best of them and pissed him off. Being the youngest of three boys, lets just say - I may forgive, but I never forget. I respect a person who can hold a good grudge. Younger but smarter - I let my brother go on his way that day - his time would come. Well that evening, my brother decided to take a bath. Mid bath, vulnerable, guard down, thinking all is swell, I pick up my cat Mitzy, walk into the bathroom, open the shower curtain and tossed the cat on my brother and casually walked back out. I knew our cat hated water, and wasn’t de-cawed yet, and grabbed onto his chest like she was hanging upside down from a tree branch. Splashing, hissing, and a loud scream from my brother. Sweet vengeance. My older brothers have coined the day I used our cat as a weapon “The Day Monty Fought Back.”

Dogs: Dogs are significantly more of a responsibility as they require attention, multiple feedings daily (Homer: “This is the type of dog you have to feed every day”) and usually over night stays. Generally $40/day for a dog – this including an all inclusive wrist band to your refrigerator, cupboards, and liquor cabinet. I can also have friends over at your house on the weekends. Seems like a lot, however, most people were usually ecstatic about this just to have someone say yes short notice.
Dog sitting for my sister is usually a joy. They have a nice house, a super nice Collie, a big TV, comfortable clean guest bedroom, terrific food. I live in comfort. Having a shrimp, lobster and gouda omelet with a G&T for breakfast on Saturday morning kicks ass.
Yes, my sister laid out an itinerary for me with her dog. Which had specific times listed for different daily activities. Checked in on me too. Seriously. Incase I forgot – this was a dog, right? This thing has more structure than most 15 year olds. Her children are going to be robots. However, holding poker night at her house was excellent.

My worst experience was watching the house of a single mother co-worker. She is a good friend of mine, and I couldn’t say no. She has two dogs, a little yippper, a St. Bernard (?) and a lizard. This was during the work week so I had to stay overnight at her house in order to feed the dogs twice a day, and was a pain in the ass to the highest degree. Here are the circumstances of my stay.
#1. I get over there knowing she had a guest bedroom downstairs. Turns out this is where she lets the dogs sleep now. It smelled like urine and stinky dog musk. Completely horrible. So, I find out that I have to sleep either in her kids 4 ft long race car bed, or as she has set up - in her bed - which was so so weird. Freshly washed and everything, but I knew this girl and some sheets you can’t completely wash clean if you get my drift. Curious George should have never checked the night stand.

#2. The living room carpet had just been cleaned – the furniture was stacked and covered, and the only working TV was in her little kids play room, in which there was only a bean bag chair to sit on.

#3. No liquor. It was a work week, or else I would have sat in that bean bag chair and drank her wine all evening.

#4. I opened her fridge to make some dinner. All she has in there are fruit cups, yogurt, mozzarella string cheese, milk and OJ. Obviously she eats at work, her kid at pre-school, and had not been to the store in a while. So I open up the freezer and see a wide variety of frozen food packages, burgers, hot dogs. Looks promising. Until I looked closer and realized that they were 100% soy products. Soy burgers, soy hot dogs. Soy pizza. Soy ice.. It was sick. I left her a voice mail about that one.

So here’s the scene. I watched a movie in a child sized bean bag chair each evening, in a toy room with a lizard next to me. This room was next to the kitchen where a yipper and a St. Bernard sat behind a door in the kitchen that leads downstairs, barking and scratching at the door all evening until I went to bed. I would then try to fall asleep, laying on top of her comforter with a blanket until the ghosts of her former suitors left me alone. Finally, on the third and final morning, I was so ready to not come back. I get up, get ready for work, check all my bases, make sure I hadn’t left anything behind.

I go downstairs to my car in the garage, and see when I get to the bottom of the stairs, the night before the St. Bernard had sh*t on the floor and trampled it around the spare bedroom all evening. Oh my god it was a crime scene. I wasn’t going to clean it up in work clothes, cleaning it in general was above and beyond my feeding your dogs duty, but I couldn’t just leave a room full of sh*t behind. So I grabbed a spatula from her kitchen and shoveled and flicked all the poo from the floor onto her hallway rug. Once I got it all, I rolled the rug up in to a big doo burrito, put a note on it - Caution: There’s Sh*t in Here - and went to work.

I don’t know if there is a moral in these stories. Maybe make sure your bases are covered if you pet sit. Or just don’t pet sit. My days are done. People are fanatical about their animals and sleeping in a co-workers bed is super weird.