ANDRE BEGIN

Despite taking my role as a humble servant to Ivy the Cat very seriously, there are days that it seems that my efforts are still not enough.

The food is served promptly at our regularly scheduled times. The litter boxes are scooped regularly. There is an abundance of horizontal, vertical and diagonal scratching posts to channel any excess energy. Leash walks around our country property are available and dispensed on-demand. Also, most importantly, we try not to interrupt her during nap time.

Yet, despite living the life of a royal, with all the comforts she could want, all of her staff’s hard work can be erased in a split second.

It is the moment her favorite blanket is pulled from the dryer after a much-needed washing.

Given the look of judgment and pure disdain on her face, you’d think I’d changed her food, thrown out her favourite toy and moved her litter box.

Our home is decorated with throws on pretty much any horizontal surface. Not only is it functional to prevent accidents on treasured furnishings, but it offers her an added layer of comfort, such as on a cold leather sofa, in February, in Canada.

We take it in stride because it’s a small price to pay to keep the cat happy and the furniture intact. After all, it’s easier to toss a throw blanket in the washing machine rather than a whole sofa or a wing chair.

I accept that one of the reasons why a blanket becomes a favourite is not only the comfort factor, but over time it gathers pheromones from her scent, indicating it is a safe place. When I wash one of those blankets, in essence, I erase much of that.

We witnessed her strong reaction recently when I washed the comforter I put on my lap when we would watch TV. She would have no part in it. It took much coaxing to get her to come up and join me, just to get an initial installment of her scent in the blanket for it to restore its status as a favourite.

The reality is that despite her protests, we can’t NOT wash her blankets. I assume there would come a point where they’d smell a little too musky for my own sensitive olfactory system. Plus so much cat hair gets embedded into the blanket that by the time it is retrieved from the dryer, the lint trap contains enough cat hair to knit a toddler version of Ivy.

But there is a limit to what she will tolerate. There was the time when I brought her to her cat hotel for a few days while we were doing home renovations. During that time, I threw all of her throws in the washing machine, unaware of the glare I would be facing upon her return when none of her blankets had the same familiar scents she had come to know and love. Her discombobulation was unmistakable. It was like a decade-long track record as a good parent was erased in one moment of thoughtlessness on my part. I learned my lesson pretty quickly that thou shalt not wash all of Ivy’s blankets at the same time.

It could be worse though. For a cat with such discerning tastes and boundaries, I am pleased that she has not insisted on premium fabrics with high thread counts for her blankets. We know that she can be just as happy with any blanket, new or old, as she can with a fabric grocery bag that fell on the kitchen floor.

It is a definite balancing act trying to ensure that her favorite blankets do not become a flashing neon sign for guests’ noses that we actually own a cat, while at the same time not disrupting her sense of security and consistency to which she seems to gravitate and thrive.

But at the end of the day, when Ivy is peacefully snoring away, enjoying the comfort of one of her favourite blankets, it is the greatest feeling to know that I am offering this beautiful rescue cat the safe, secure and loving household she deserves.

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Sincere thanks for reading!
Have a great day,
André