There is a cat. There are ten kilograms in the cat. There is a bed. The bed has a high soft backrest with a width of 10-15 centimeters. And there are cat owners who sleep on this bed. At night, the cat jumps onto the headboard and walks on it. The cat has a night promenade.
But, since the cat in the past life was a cow, and transferred some features to the current incarnation, on the fourth or fifth walk he loses his balance and flops down. If I’m lucky, the cat falls nearby. If I’m not lucky, ten kilograms of a cat land on my head, and for some reason it’s always an ass.
Question: how to wean a cat from this habit?
Have been tried:
— adhesive tapes laid out on the headboard. (As a result, midnight they tore them away from the mad cat, they did not leave him without a scalp).
— unloved aroma of ylang-ylang. (The cat didn’t give a damn about the fact that his fragrance was unloved).
— tangerine peel in large quantities (the Cat squeamishly knocked the pelts on my head, in the process fell behind them myself).
What else can be done?
I already slept with a spray bottle under my pillow. The cat runs away, then returns.
Two days ago, I posted a cry of the soul on the Internet. Got a lot of feedback. Two went into action immediately. As promised, I report. I love simple and easy to implement ideas. Therefore, proposals to nail a shelf to the bed, to the cat, to his head, so that it was convenient for him to fall on it, were postponed for later.
To begin with, I took six balloons from a child, puffed them up and squeezed them with little pimples between the wall and the bed. It was very beautiful. My husband and I admired them and went to bed.
A shot fell in the middle of the night. In awake, I decided that my husband shot the cat (although the only weapon in our house is a water gun). When the lights were turned on, the cat was sitting on the floor surrounded by scraps of a blue ball and squinted displeasedly. They gave him a kick, moved the balls and went to bed again.
It was our strategic mistake, showing how little we know about cats. He exploded the second and third balls twenty minutes later and rode away, laughing mockingly. My husband persistently asked me to remove everything and finish it with experiments today.
While I was hiding the balls in the closet, the cat crept up to the largest one and tapped it with his paw. In the net result: minus four balls, minus two hours of sleep, minus eight meters of nerve fibers for two adults. Plus entertainment for the cat.
Then a backup option went into business. The entire headboard was laid in foil in several layers to rustle louder. I assured my husband that now he can sleep peacefully: the cat will definitely not stick on the foil — it will be afraid. In general, it almost happened. The cat came in a couple of hours when we fell asleep. Jumped from the closet to the foil. The foil rustled, the cat was terribly afraid, soared into the air and fell on her husband
The result: minus ten meters of foil, minus forty drops of motherwort for two adults. Plus entertainment for the cat.
After the foil and balls did not work, I began to think the other way: how to keep the cat out of the bedroom at night. The first was the cat repeller. Unfortunately, the cat did not understand that this is a repeller. But then my husband understood, who frowned, sniffed, and finally asked to ventilate the room. So now I have a husband repeller, who needs it — I can give it back.
About the same stupidity was a basin of water. We set it with the expectation that the cat will splash and forget about the bed (he loves water). The calculation was half true: the cat splashed, but did not forget about the bed. At night he rode up to us, shaking with wet paws.
It seemed to me asleep that he had twenty-two of them. For ten he stepped on my face, the rest ran over the blanket and sheet. Finally, he loudly kissed her husband in the nose, poking him in the wet face, with which water was dripping. After that, the husband said that to hell with him, with the interior, he agrees to the shelf.
He brought a varnished board with a side in the evening, fiddled for two hours, scolded an innocent bed, and finally added. I wanted to say that it’s better to have a cat fall on us than this crap (no one would get out alive from under it). But she looked at her husband’s face and decided to keep silent. Okay, I think we’ll sleep one night — and then I’ll remove it from sin.
In addition, a child came running before bed and threw his toys at her. I waved my hand and did not swear, because I thought about which of the relatives would raise a child if we were buried under a shelf. (I must say that I was worried in vain: as it turned out, my husband pinned her conscience).
At night, a cat came to the shelf. Impressively walked to the middle of the shelf and touched one of the toys with his paw. It turned out to be an interactive hamster. The hamster turned on at the touch of a cat’s paw. Yelled invitingly and ran to the cat, shining with love.
I would gladly talk about what happened next. But I won’t lie: we have not seen this. In general, the cat was not seen until morning. The hamster ran to the edge of the shelf and committed suicide like a lemming, jumping from a cliff into a basin of water.
Result: we removed the shelf. A guard hamster now sits on the headboard. The cat does not enter the room. And if he happens to see a hamster through an ajar door, he swells in size and backs away in horror.