Emotional Psych-Out

I am an ogre. I am an ogre. I am an ogre.

This is the refrain that now runs through my head every time I look at my cat Ernest. Clearly, his plan of psychological warfare is working. Let me explain…

As you all know, Ernest has been something of a spineless, wimpy rabbit around me since he first came into my care a little over a week ago. Every time I enter the room, he goes into hiding. Every time I get too close to him, his breathing changes to a hoarse and rasping snort. Clearly, my very presence is trying his sanity and, potentially, his continued physical well-being. Signs of improvement have been seen, however. On Friday night Ernest flopped down on the floor in my living room on his side rather than posing in his usually belly-down crouch. (The belly down crouch is usually paired with a look of skepticism and deep distrust in my general direction.) He even went so far as to bathe in front of me. Progress, indeed. Then on Saturday, Ernest allowed me to give him a bath. (I say allow, but I’m not sure how much allowing there is when you’re talking about an 8 pound cat versus a 130 pound human.) In any case, he behaved very well. We got through the bath without a hitch and then I spent an hour blowing him dry (not a task I would really recommend as fur goes everywhere and cats really don’t like it). After he was fully dry, I spent an additional thirty minutes brushing him and scratching his head, which he seemed to truly enjoy before he ran off and hid from me. The next morning, there was more cause for celebration. Ernest came out of hiding while I was on my couch downstairs and walked (no slinking) around the living room, seemingly completely comfortable with my presence. After all this good behavior I was starting to feel pretty good about myself. Clearly, Ernest liked me. We were friends. Nay! We were best friends!

Then, the bomb dropped. Thinking we had made decided progress and were now on friendly terms, I walked up to Ernest, sat down next to him, put out my hand, and leaned in to scratch his head.

Ernest. Flipped. Out.

Gone was any hint of the passive, sweet kitty I had seen over the past two days. All that was left was a terrified little rabbit confronting a giant, horrendous ogre (me). Ernest looked up at my hand, past my hand to my face, leapt up into the air, twisted around like a pretzel, flung out his claws, scratched my hand (inadvertently, I think), and then scrambled away, darting from hiding place to hiding place in an effort to confuse the evil monster chasing him. This all happened in about 8 seconds.

I sat in stunned silence, unable to comprehend what had just occurred. I decided to give Ernest some time to calm down and not search for him immediately. An hour later though, with no sign of the little guy, I got up and went in search…and there he was, hiding behind the toilet in the downstairs bathroom. As soon as he saw me his breathing turned raspy and he cowered away as if I had just kicked him. I couldn’t believe it. How did we go from best friends to this in just 8 hours? Clearly, he just needed a break. I would try again in the morning.

This morning I woke up expecting to see Ernest out and about, back to where we had been Sunday morning. Instead, after walking downstairs and going in search once again, I found Ernest hiding beneath a side table next to a chair in my living room. Hiding. From me. Again. I couldn’t believe it. What was going on? Then I looked into his eyes and the answer floated into my brain (from Ernest, I am sure): You are an ogre. Go away, monster. I swear, that is what I heard. I left for class, determined to make up once I returned. Upon my return, however, Ernest decided my presence was so difficult he had to go back to hiding behind the toilet. Looking out at me, I heard once again: You are an ogre. Go away, monster. To my knowledge, he’s still behind the toilet, too scared of the monstrous beast living upstairs to come out into the open (or to even play with the new cat condo I just bought for him – yup, I’m so awful I bought him his own house).

What can we learn from this insane behavior? Ernest is waging a diabolical form of psychological warfare: Step 1: Be scared around the human; Step 2: Slowly warm up to the human so it starts to feel good; Step 3: Flip out around the human; Step 4: Use cat ESP to insert negative self-impressions into the human’s brain; Step 5: Take over the world. Clearly, Ernest is an evil genius. Emotionally psyching me out so he can take over the world. Clever kitty. But I will prevail. Stay tuned, dear readers, because I’m about to turn the tables on dear little Ernest.

[Echoing in my head: I am an ogre. I am an ogre. I am an ogre…]