S**t Where You Eat
My cat is displeased.
Perhaps it’s the stress of the move. Or something she does not quite like about the new home. Or the new litter box is the wrong shade of blue. Or maybe she has also developed a basement phobia.
Regardless of the reason, she is not happy and she is letting me know.
First, by using my gym bag as her litter box.
And then the dog bed in my office.
And finally, my office floor.
And now I am displeased.
I have relocated her food from the main floor down to the basement/garage level, where it now sits near her litter box. I figure that the litter box may not be enough to draw her through the kitty door and down the stairs, but I’m betting that her food is. I’m going against conventional wisdom; I want her to s**t where she eats.
And, as I was carrying her food down the stairs, I realized that I use the same strategy in my own life.
Ewww, no I do NOT store my food in the bathroom. That would be unsanitary. Besides, I can restrain myself from using the bathroom on my office floor. I’m civilized like that.
But I do link together things that I do not want to do (my s**ts, I guess you could say) with the things I do like (my kibble, perhaps). Much like I am trying to train the cat (my goodness, dogs are so much easier in this regard!), I train myself to see the link as inevitable. If I want my kibble, I have to endure the s**t.
Today, I listened to music (kibble) while grading papers (I’ll let you guess). I enjoyed coffee (kibble) while paying bills (extra s**tty). Along the same lines, I withhold my favorite socks to wear only on long runs, I save my favorite shower gel as a reward after the gym and I enter a new item on my gratitude list every time I make a payment on the debt from my ex. None of these erase the discomfort of having to endure things I do not want to do. But they certainly make it more pleasant.
S**t is part of life. But that doesn’t mean that it has to stink.
And as for the cat, I’ll give her another week. And then her bed moves down there too.