Hello everyone,
This is an SOS from a desperate woman. Sorry for the wall of text.
I've had cats my whole life. My two previous girls both lived to 21. It's now been 4 years since I adopted my little girl at 8 months old. At the time, I was living in a large flat with no outdoor access, together with my long-term partner. This cat spent the first 4 months of her life as a feral, then went into foster care, and passed through 4 different foster homes in the space of a few weeks before we adopted her.
She's an absolute sweetheart — at least with the two of us. She's hostile, even quite aggressive, around strangers, but with us she's a total velcro cat, and I adore her. But... she's had behavioural problems from the very start that have been making my life a misery...
When we first adopted her, she'd go absolutely mental at night: she'd yowl constantly — not just meow, proper screaming — managed to actually scratch a HOLE in a wall because we wouldn't let her into the bedroom, would literally hurl herself at doors after clawing them to pieces, and wee'd everywhere. After all that, thinking it was loneliness, we got her a little brother. It took her a few weeks to accept him, but they quickly became great pals.
Her behaviour did settle down, though she'd still occasionally wee in random places. It wasn't all that frequent, to be fair.
We moved after a few months. She started weeing a lot more. Thinking the move had unsettled her, we got Feliway diffusers and sprays, and gave her Zylkene on the vet's recommendation... but things just got worse and worse. She was weeing several times a day EVERYWHERE except the litter tray. Things were already going downhill with my partner — we were arguing a lot about all sorts of things, but the cat kept coming up every time: we no longer felt at home in our own place, and we hadn't had a proper night's sleep in two years. After 10 years together, we eventually split up.
I ended up in a studio flat of around 320 sq ft with my two cats, having lost the love of my life, and from that point my life became an absolute nightmare. With so little space, and doing my best to get by on a modest salary while still trying to keep my cats happy, she started doing what I'd dreaded most: weeing on the sofa — she even weed on me while I was asleep in bed. For a year and a half, I couldn't have anyone over, not even my parents. Everyone looked at me oddly, I was mortified and at the end of my tether. It was a really dark time for me, and it certainly wasn't helping matters. I ended up on antidepressants.
(Continued in the next post)