Kat, on the other hand, appeared sane, if a little eccentric at times. She did things like drop maimed-but-moving mice into the house via an open window and then leave. She used to sit in a tree directly over the kids while they played and yowl if they moved out of her watch zone. She would try to pull me out of the tub by my arm if she was able to bust down the bathroom door. If she could not open it, she'd mash her face under the crack and meow like she was on fire. She did other things, she'd wait until someone was asleep and either bite their feet or push her way under your hand, like a self-petting device. Or else she'd check your breathing by jamming a muzzle into your mouth.
Over the years, she's wavered in her levels off annoying. She routinely disappeared for days at a time, we'd see her on the barn roof or on top of the house, or way up in a tree. Then, she'd be back at the door, demanding entry. I have probably called for her 9,000 times and she's actually come twice.
For the past year or two, she's been nearly out of our lives. Setting up in one of the crates I keep dry bedding in out in the shed, she opted for a life of solitude. She and Muta have some kind of cat truce going on in which they will clean one another's ears and then stalk off afterward like it was the most disgusting thing ever. Other than that, she does not interact with anyone.
Starting about 6 months ago, she started coming back inside again. She has to be let out every so often as she will not use the litter box since The Spider Incident of 2006 during which, a spider got in the litter box.
Since then, I have changed her name from Lady Katherine Tallahassee Berryhill to Katherine Anne McGillicutty because she is NOT the same cat. Now, her evenings are spent sitting in front of the closed bedroom door doing fierce battle with her tail, which makes the door rattle like a crazed killer is outside and when we open it, she stares blithely off in the middle distance, as though nothing was going on. I only discovered the source of the rattling one night when Matt went to bed early and I stayed up to watch a movie with the kids.
She has a toy mouse she plays with, she has become addicted to cat treats, which we call Kitty Crack because she will climb your body to get to them. She will also carry on like she's dying if her food bowl is not filled with them. She has started needing someone to bless her food before she will touch it. It was okay for a while to bump the bowl and make it rattle, then you had to actually poke a toe in it, now nothing short of bending over to stir it with your finger will shut her up.
She wants toys hung on yarn so she can lay on her back and bat at them. She demands sacrifice of a towel from the dryer to lay upon and shed her sheddy bits. Not just a CLEAN towel, it must be warm as well. And be from a load that has fabric softener in it.
I can't tell if she's reset and become a kitten again or if she's gone over the edge and is borderline psycho. And I can't tell how she's managed to train us so specifically, the tiny dictator.