Megapositive: a funny story about the training of seals and their owners

Cats are independent and proud creatures, dictating their will to which is like fighting the elements. Writer Elena Mikhalkova shared a touching story about her restless cat Matvey, thanks to which you can find the answer to the burning question: do cats give in to suggestion? We will immediately issue a spoiler — it turns out, yes! But finding leverage can be oh so difficult.

There is a cat. The cat has ten kilograms.

There is a bed. The bed has a high padded backrest 10-15 centimeters wide. And there are owners of the cat who sleep on this bed.

At night, the cat jumps on the headboard of the bed and walks on it. The cat has a night promenade. But since the cat was a cow in a previous life and has transferred some features to the current incarnation, on the fourth or fifth walk he loses his balance and bumps down.

If I'm lucky, the cat falls next to me. If I'm unlucky, ten kilograms of a cat land on my head, and for some reason always with its ass.

Question: how to wean a cat from this habit?

Have been tried: — sticky tapes laid out on the headboard. (As a result, they tore them off half the night from a crazy cat, they almost left him without a scalp.) — the scent of ylang-ylang, unloved by the cat. (The cat didn't care that he didn't like the flavor.) — tangerine peel in large quantities. (The cat squeamishly knocked the skins on my head, in the process fell for them himself.)

What else can be done? I was already asleep with a sprinkler under my pillow. The cat runs away, then returns.

A photo of a cat to realize the scale of the problem is attached.

Two days ago I posted a cry of the soul in the community: http://ru-cats.livejournal.com/19218540.html

I received a lot of feedback. Two went into action immediately. As promised, I am reporting.

I like simple and easily implemented ideas. Therefore, proposals to nail a shelf to the bed, to the cat, to his head, so that it would be convenient for him to fall on it, were postponed for later.

To begin with, I took six balloons from the child, inflated them and squeezed them with pimples between the wall and the bed. It turned out very nicely. My husband and I admired them and went to bed.

In the middle of the night, a shot rang out. Half asleep, I decided that my husband had shot the cat (although the only weapon in our house is a water pistol). When the light was turned on, the cat was sitting on the floor surrounded by pieces of a blue ball and squinting discontentedly. They gave him a kick, moved the balls and went back to bed. It was our strategic mistake, proving how little we know about cats.

He blew up the second and third balloons about twenty minutes later and galloped off, laughing mockingly. My husband insistently asked me to clean everything up and finish the experiments for today. While I was hiding the balloons in the closet, the cat crept up to the biggest 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 action. The entire headboard of the bed was lined with foil in several layers to make the rustling louder. I assured my husband that now he can sleep peacefully: the cat will definitely not stick his nose into the foil - he will be afraid.

In general, it almost happened. The cat came in a couple of hours later when we fell asleep. Jumped from the cabinet to the foil. The foil rustled, the cat was terribly frightened, soared into the air and fell on her husband.

In the net result: minus ten meters of foil, minus forty drops of motherwort for two adults. Plus entertainment for the cat.

That's how he looked at us in the morning while we were trying to make breakfast with shaking hands.

So, I had a problem that I came to the community with.

After the foil and balls didn't work, I started thinking the other way: how to keep the cat out of the bedroom at night.

The first cat repeller was used. Unfortunately, the cat didn't realize that it was a repeller. But the husband understood, who frowned, sniffed and finally asked to ventilate the room. So now I have a husband repeller, I can give it to anyone who needs it.

A basin of water turned out to be about the same stupidity. We set it up with the expectation that the cat will splash and forget about the bed (he loves water).

The calculation was half justified: the cat splashed, but did not forget about the bed. At night he rode up to us, shaking his wet paws. It seemed to me, half asleep, that he had twenty-two of them. He stepped on my face with ten of them, and ran over the blanket and sheet with the rest. Finally, he kissed his husband loudly on the nose, poking him with a wet muzzle, from which water dripped.

After that, the husband said that to hell with him, with the interior, he agrees to the shelf.

I brought a lacquered board with a sideboard in the evening, messed around for two hours, scolded the innocent bed and finally attached it. I wanted to say that it would be better for a cat to fall on us than this thing (no one would get out from under it alive). But she looked at her husband's face and decided to keep silent. Okay, I think we'll sleep for one night — and then I'll take it off from sin.

In addition, before going to bed, a child came running and threw his toys on her. I waved my hand and did not swear, because I was wondering which of the relatives would raise the child if we were buried under the shelf.

(I must say that I was worried in vain: as it turned out, her husband nailed her on the conscience).

A cat came to the shelf at night. He walked impressively to the middle of the shelf and touched one of the toys with his paw. It turned out to be an interactive hamster "zhu-zhu pets".

At the touch of the cat's paw, the hamster turned on. He invitingly exclaimed: "Abuzuyuyuy-zy!" and ran at the cat, glowing with love.

I would be happy to tell you what happened next. But I won't lie: we didn't see it. And in general, the cat was not seen again until the morning. The hamster ran to the edge of the shelf and killed himself like a lemming, jumping from a cliff into a basin of water.

Result: we removed the shelf.

A guard hamster is now sitting on the headboard of the bed. The cat does not enter the room. And if he happens to see a hamster through an open door, he swells up to the size of a manula and retreats in horror.

Here he is, our hero and savior.