Rowena and the cat flap

Yes, another cat story. What else do you expect from a blog eaten by a cat?

I really have two cats, not just the Rowena of blog-eating fame. Our first cat is Arwen, a beautiful, regal, cattitude-filled blue and cream tortie. She's the very image of a perfect Victorian lady's cat.

Rowena isn't too happy about this rival for human attention and affection. Given half a chance, she'll harass Arwen and chase her down into the basement, where the humans rarely go. There may be a minor tussle at the door, but Rowena always wins and poor Arwen is left to sulk downstairs.

We installed a cat flap in the basement door the spring after we brought Arwen home. Her litter box is down there, and once the air conditioner was back in use for the warm season, we soon discovered keeping the basement door open did not help keep the house cool. Enter the cat flap - basement door stays closed, Arwen can get to her litter box, everyone's happy.

Except that Arwen could not figure out how to use the cat flap. I've trained her to sit, stay, beg, circle, jump up or down, and come when called. You'd think I could train her to push the flap open and walk through. Heck, no. That's real work. Did I mention she's a willful princess?

I tried luring her with catnip. She rolled and did her nip fit on the opposite side of the door. I tried cracking the flap open just enough so she could see me bait the floor on the opposite side with her favorite food, shrimp. That smart little furball whipped her paw under the door, scooped up the shrimp, and pulled them over to her side for a leisurely feast. Huh.

In the end, we decided to tie the flap open by looping twine around the flap and tying it to the door knob. Arwen gets free access, and the hole for cool air to escape the ground floor is much smaller. We can live with that.

Or so we though. We had no idea how smart cats really are. Foolish human mortals, us. Enter Rowena.

Rowena understands hinges. Rowena understands gravity. She understands that the string is all that holds up the silly little cat flap. She has never seen us put the string on or take it off. But she knows.... oh, she knows that after Arwen flees through her propped-open cat flap, a little hook of the paw and tug on the string, and BAM! Down comes the flap, and Arwen is trapped in the basement. You can almost hear the evil "Mwa ha ha ha ha ha ha ha! Take that, you spoiled cat princess!" resounding in her fuzzy feline Einstein brain.

I'm afraid she might try to take over the world next week. Our only hope is that absolute rule would interfere with her afternoon naps and evening play sessions.