Ah, Pyewacket. My sweet, cuddly, idiot baby kittyboy arsonist.
He has a lot of personality, and plenty of funny little quirks. For example, I thought he was accidentally knocking my plant off of the windowsill so he could wiggle his chubby little cat butt up there instead. I was wrong. He wanted to knock it over to spread a nice, even layer of potting soil in the bottom of the tub so he could roll around in it like a filthmonger.
Doing things to try to modify his behavior is not always entirely helpful. Like when I moved the plant out of the bathroom, so he wouldn’t be tempted to roll in it.
He’s a playful little dude, too. Not interested in toys he can bat around by himself, he loves getting me to play with him by knocking things over, pulling my phone out of my hand, wrapping his entire body around my ankle, and headbutting me in the face. I love him and would like to shorten his reign of terror, so I give in.
And then he learned he could get me to keep tossing toys for him if he brought them back.
I know, I know.
This is my fault.
It was cute at first, though (between that, the digging, and the fact that he wags his tail when he’s excited) I’ve begun to think the Humane Alliance had scammed me into adopting a weird looking, uncooperative dog.
The other day he made me play fetch with him for an hour and a half. With a crumpled-up cough drop wrapper. At four in the morning. I’m not allowed to refuse to play, because he’ll begin knocking things over and amusing himself.
I used to like being able to get some time alone. Now I find it very, very suspicious.
So, how do I teach him to play by himself? I’ve never shared a living space with anything quite this clingy. (For real, I’ve lived with toddlers that required less stimulation and supervision.) Can I get him interested in balls and other toys, or am I doomed to function as some kind of feline batting cage forever?