This is actually quite an old story now. It goes back to the time just after we first got him, in fact, and he was still kind of getting used to the house. We had noticed that he had a tendency to velcro himself to .. well .. just about everything. He didn’t seem to know how to retract his claws. You could hear them making a faint tearing noise as he walked over carpet, and any attempt to pick him up would result in the carpet coming with him. This was further borne out by being scratched all the time whilst playing with him.
So I started clipping his nails, which had a reasonable effect, but it was clearly time for him to get a scratching post. There wasn’t really anywhere that we could fit one, so we opted for a flat upright model that could be attached to a surface using screws.
Up the scratching board goes, and Spenny obviously ignores it. I dunno, maybe he thought it was just a piece of modern art or something. Catnip impregnated, my ass. So I spray some soluble catnip on it. All that results in is Spenny banging his head against it
Of course, I probably shouldn’t have been all that surprised by Spenny not knowing how to use a scratching post. I mean at the end of the day he didn’t really know how to use his tail or his claws either, and those are parts of his body, so when it comes to a scratching post I should have known that we would be out of luck.
So we try picking him up, he’s confused, but tolerant for the time being. I try picking his paw, which thinking back was probably a bad idea, and rubbing it against the scratching post. The paw just flops back out of the way, and the claws completely miss the scratching surface, whilst Spenny isn’t paying attention to that at all because he’s more concerned with why I’m holding onto his paw like that. I try again, the claws miss again. How the hell does that happen? Normally when he’s walking around he can’t retract the claws at all, and yet now the claws aren’t coming out one little tiny bit.
A few more rubs later, and Spenny’s tolerance is starting to run out, and he’s wriggling around. Time to give up, so we sit down and have a think. It’s decided that one of the things that’s making things hard is the necessity for one of us to hold Spenny up whilst the other tries to rub the paw along the board. So we take the board down and put it on the floor. Whilst clearly being held up like that was an indignity he wasn’t willing to suffer, the promise of catnip in the air is still sufficient to hold his attention, fortunately. It was indeed fortunate because it meant that we didn’t have to retrieve Spenny from one of his many, at the time, hiding places around the house that we hadn’t managed to discover.
So Spenny is back. He’s standing up investigating the scratching board, cautiously. Again I try rubbing his paw against the board, trying to hold it at an angle so a claw might hook and spark the faintest glimmer of an idea as to what this weird object is for, at the back of his walnut-brain. Hmm. Still not working, and now Spenny is starting to look at me like I have managed to escape from an asylum.
I pick Spenny up and rub him for a little while, in what I hope is a soothing fashion. Spenny still has a mildly confused expression on his face, though that’s hard to distinguish from how he always looks, but he’s getting rubbed so it’s ok. After a while he signals he’s had enough and wants to get down. It’s time to try a slightly different tactic. Holding Spenny with both hands under him, I dangle him over the board and drag all four paws back over it. Finally a few claws snag on the material, so I pop him down on the board to see if he’s got the idea.
No, don’t be silly, of course he hasn’t. All that’s happened is he has lain down on the board, being careful that none of himself goes over the edge, and the catnip-board is completely surrounded. Apart from his tail, that wasn’t part of him yet, not for several months.
Now, Spenny, see that’s not really how they work. I try to pick Spenny up, but oh the irony, Spenny has managed to velcro himself to it, and the board comes with him. Not that that helps at all, I guess he’s just used to finding himself strangely attached to things, it happens all the time.
I’m starting to tire of this little adventure in Spennyness now, and after trying a few more times dragging all four paws along it, I essentially give up. We hook the board back onto it’s screws and decide to try again tomorrow. Spenny is still looking intently at the board, so as some sort of last-ditch attempt, I pull a paw up and pull it down the board. It catches, there’s a faint glimmer of recognition, as Spenny looks up and flicks his tail, but then it’s gone.
Next morning I come downstairs, half asleep, to try to find something to eat. Something seems wrong, but I can’t place it. As I return from the kitchen I notice that a section of the scratching board has been shredded, and has fibres hanging away from it.
Gee, I guess Spenny did finally get the idea of scratching posts. It would seem that when he does get an idea into his mind, it’s hard for it to leave again!