According to the opinions of various vets, my cat has been traumatized and anxious since approximately his birth, and the vet in Hyde Park who saw him when has was all of six months was ready to prescribe him Prozac. Since then, suggestions about anti-anxiety meds have been frequent. And it is true that he's been moved around a lot and been placed in a series of temporary foster homes when I was between cat-friendly apartments. However, his domestic situation has been relatively stable for about five years now, barring a couple of moves with which he demonstrated his displeasure by peeing on our stuff for a few weeks after we'd arrived. Isn't that plus a year of placidity enough to de-stress a cat? Apparently not. But what can he possibly be stressed about now?
Gradlife gives one a good view of catlife, and this is what catlife looks like to me:
Or on this couch. Or in this bookshelf, where I have a designated shelf. Or in the closet. I fit everywhere. But nothing is satisfying. Worse, the humans have the gall to leave me alone here, for even four hours at one time.
In the afternoon, a human returns to my abode and pets me and calls me stupid names in a stupid voice and rubs my belly. Mmm, belly rubs. I tolerate these. I am offered catnip and treats for all my hard work during the human's absence, but still I feel underappreciated. Then I return to sleep on whichever couch the human is reading on. Sometimes, I am let out onto the balcony, where I am able to partake of the irresistible leaves of the potted palm until I am forcible torn away from my vegetable love which I am slowly shredding with my affections and forced back indoors. Then the living ping pong ball emerges to taunt me. I do not understand why the humans are not more concerned about eradicating this intruder when they used to confiscate my mice and bats and birds promptly. But the ping pong balls they leave for me to hunt. At 8 pm, I discover again that I am hungry! Hungry! Hungry! Feed me now!!! Fortunately, the humans are more responsive at this hour than at the earlier one, and I don't even have to wait 20 minutes before they oblige. On occasion, I am offered salmon pate wet food. This is acceptable to me.
It is now time for additional sleep, and I once again mount my plush throne, survey my dominions, curl into a croissant, and sigh. I am le stressed. It is such a hard life I lead. Maybe I will lick all my stomach fur off? Yes, I will do that. That will teach them to stress me out.