Storming the Kitchen Refrigerator
There is a love-hate relationship growing within my apartment between my cat and the refrigerator. The tension is beginning to mount between the two opposing parties so that the very air in my kitchen carries the thick mingled stenches of fear and aggression that might also have wafted over the battle fields of Classical times like the burning incense to Ares himself.
Each time I fetch a single juice drink-box or grab another breakfast bar, the refrigerator gapes open temporarily to my cat like a bright, inviting portal into an entirely different realm of existence. Whenever this opportunity presents itself (which at the current rate of expansion of my waistline – is about every 2 ½ minutes, or at until the Kraft processed cheese singles last), my cat instantly try’s to bumrush the foodstuffs inside from across the kitchen, and practically stuffs himself into the vegetable crisper.
To him, the inside of the refrigerator represents the last bastion of unmarked territory in the entire apartment. The items contained inside are virgin territory for having been marked by a single furious kitty-face rubbing that would heat a frozen Swanson’s TV dinner. Making it even more maddening for him no doubt is that the fridge holds all the REALLY good stuff in the apartment, the stuff he REALLY wants to rub with his kitty face*, and he can’t even get to it!
It must be driving him fucking batty judging by the way he storms the fridge like a medieval crusader on a seiged Infidel’s castle each time I open the fridge door and then furiously doling out the kitty-face rubdowns on anything within reach; hot dogs, onions, potatoes, jars of raspberry jam, Cheese Whiz, or even last nights leftover casserole du jour...nothing is too stale, too out of date, or just too plain fucking nasty to be left unmarked!
Unfortunately for him his window of opportunity, this delicious gateway to Rubdown Shangri-la, only lasts for a few seconds before the door inevitably comes swinging shut behind him with the quick inertia of a Venus Flytrap instinctually snapping shut on it’s prey.
I think the refrigerator may actually be stalking my cat! Is that even possible? Sometimes I notice that the fridge door will sometimes linger open, closing more slowly than normal, luring my cat into a false sense of security while he wedges himself deeper into it’s shelves in order to mark forgotten packages of meat, miscellaneous condiment packets, and wilted produce, before suddenly it speeds up and slams shut to trap his furry ass inside!
It does in fact look at times like the refrigerator door is purposely baiting his poor naive furry ass. If I’m not careful, one of these days I’m likely to open the fridge door to find a frozen kittycycle stuck to the butter dish, after he was lured and trapped inside while I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich one afternoon before leaving for work.
It’s a tragedy waiting to happen. I wonder if “Carnivorous Refrigerators” are covered under regular pet insurance?
* I imagine that this must be the case for my cat, since if ever I were given the same choice of anything in my fridge and the exposed rim of my toilet bowl; I’d take the expired yogurt culture too!
Each time I fetch a single juice drink-box or grab another breakfast bar, the refrigerator gapes open temporarily to my cat like a bright, inviting portal into an entirely different realm of existence. Whenever this opportunity presents itself (which at the current rate of expansion of my waistline – is about every 2 ½ minutes, or at until the Kraft processed cheese singles last), my cat instantly try’s to bumrush the foodstuffs inside from across the kitchen, and practically stuffs himself into the vegetable crisper.
To him, the inside of the refrigerator represents the last bastion of unmarked territory in the entire apartment. The items contained inside are virgin territory for having been marked by a single furious kitty-face rubbing that would heat a frozen Swanson’s TV dinner. Making it even more maddening for him no doubt is that the fridge holds all the REALLY good stuff in the apartment, the stuff he REALLY wants to rub with his kitty face*, and he can’t even get to it!
It must be driving him fucking batty judging by the way he storms the fridge like a medieval crusader on a seiged Infidel’s castle each time I open the fridge door and then furiously doling out the kitty-face rubdowns on anything within reach; hot dogs, onions, potatoes, jars of raspberry jam, Cheese Whiz, or even last nights leftover casserole du jour...nothing is too stale, too out of date, or just too plain fucking nasty to be left unmarked!
Unfortunately for him his window of opportunity, this delicious gateway to Rubdown Shangri-la, only lasts for a few seconds before the door inevitably comes swinging shut behind him with the quick inertia of a Venus Flytrap instinctually snapping shut on it’s prey.
I think the refrigerator may actually be stalking my cat! Is that even possible? Sometimes I notice that the fridge door will sometimes linger open, closing more slowly than normal, luring my cat into a false sense of security while he wedges himself deeper into it’s shelves in order to mark forgotten packages of meat, miscellaneous condiment packets, and wilted produce, before suddenly it speeds up and slams shut to trap his furry ass inside!
It does in fact look at times like the refrigerator door is purposely baiting his poor naive furry ass. If I’m not careful, one of these days I’m likely to open the fridge door to find a frozen kittycycle stuck to the butter dish, after he was lured and trapped inside while I made a peanut butter and jelly sandwich one afternoon before leaving for work.
It’s a tragedy waiting to happen. I wonder if “Carnivorous Refrigerators” are covered under regular pet insurance?
* I imagine that this must be the case for my cat, since if ever I were given the same choice of anything in my fridge and the exposed rim of my toilet bowl; I’d take the expired yogurt culture too!
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