Sparta's Spot

A few of my friends, particularly Chris, aren't fans of cats. They're dog people and coming over to an apartment with a cat isn't their favorite thing to do. But then they meet Sparta... the cat that thinks he's a dog.

Lately, Sparta's been having a rough time of it. I've been trying to make up for it by play sessions when I get up from bed. We have the Kitty Kube, a purple cloth cube with three holes that provides Sparta with a toy and a bed. There's the honeycomb wand, a stick with a plush honeycomb at the end and a happy bee on a yellow string. There are random strings from my hoodies and pajama pants for him to chase, chew, and bat about. His mousey is his favorite, a white mouse a little bigger than Sparta's paw with fake rabbit fur and catnip inside. Sparta will play fetch with it and chase it for hours. His newest toy is a feather wand. It's great for him because of the delightful feathers and flexibility of the wand; it's great for me because I can play but am far away from the sharp cat claws. He loves the play sessions and I love that he's getting exercise (I already have Fat Piddy. I don't need Fat Sparta) and I have an hour or so to forget that Morgan and I are now experiencing a long distance relationship.

On Christmas Eve, Sparta rode in a car for three hours to Father's house. What I thought was going to be a traumatizing experience of staying in a house he was unfamiliar with turned into Sparta's paradise! There were lots of windows and so much room to run. Then, he was transported to Morgan's house with another 2 1/2 hour car ride. There, I had leave him in the basement with a towel, his litter box, and a small heater. Unhappy kitty!

Two days before Sparta and I were to return home, I got a phone call.
"There's a flea infestation at the apartment. You cannot bring the cat back into the apartment until he is flea free. And, we're going to have to flea bomb all the rooms."

I had 48 hours to get rid of fleas and am now looking at a $50 bill for flea bombs.

Sparta has been combed by a flea comb that he hates.

He's had two baths, one in the apartment shower... I've never heard him scream before but he definitely screamed in the shower.

Also there was an application of Frontline to tie the whole thing together.

And somehow... he doesn't hate me! He's just been the best kitty! After his traumatizing experience with the shower, he curled up with me on the bed and slept for hours contentedly huddled against me. Every night since returning to the apartment, he has shared the end of the bed with my feet or half of my pillow. I think he misses Morgan, too. Or maybe he's just glad to have the bed back.

After all the trouble he's given me with broken snow globes, fleas, and long nights keeping me awake, I don't know what I'd do without that little crazy cat. Now, when this apartment is so empty and lonely, he's what I got to keep me going.