Ravioli is sweet and friendly and likes to sit in laps, but if you tell him “down” (I clicker trained him!) or nudge him off, he’ll leave right away. But Tom objects to having the cat near him at all in common areas — he wants to make him go away when he’s just curled up on the other side of the couch or on a kitchen chair. When I’m around, I say to leave him alone because he’s not bothering anyone. But I assume when I’m out, Tom is rousting him from his favorite lounge spots for no reason.
Last week, Tom pushed Ravioli off the couch, but Rav returned when Tom went to the kitchen. This time, Tom splashed him with water from his glass. I said, “What the hell is wrong with you? Don’t ever do that again!” and Tom was defensive. Sara backed me up but later said Tom’s comments and making Ravioli move weren’t a big deal because they don’t bother the cat.
They’ve been at his place instead of ours since it happened, which I appreciate, but Sara said they’ll be back. I feel like I’m going to flip out on Tom if he so much as speaks to my cat again.
Keeping Rav cooped up with his food and litter box in my room while Tom’s over seems unfair. How do I proceed? The lease is up in September.
Holy Ravioli: By my count, Ravioli is the second guardian-angel cat to appear in this column. That is, if Sara will let him be.
Anyone who watches too much TV knows animal cruelty turns up early in serial-killer stories, foreshadowing an excess of hostility and deficit in empathy.
But when the cruelty is on the way-less-extreme part of the scale — dousing a cat, say — I don’t think the connection comes as readily to mind.
I agree with you completely that disliking cats and cat hair and litter boxes is fine, all of it. (I’m no fan myself.) But look at what hero Ravioli exposed: how Tom acts on his dislike. Contempt, whining, utter disregard for his girlfriend’s home as more Ravioli’s than his. Disrespect for your supremacy in your own space. And, especially, the water throwing, an escalation on the animal-abuse and violence scale.
That may have been “harmless” in an injury sense, yes — but how can Sara not see in Tom’s reaction an openness to lashing out physically in anger? At a relatively defenseless creature that was doing him zero harm?
I’m not suggesting Tom is a serial killer in training. But people can do a lot of damage with behaviors well below the threshold of a Netflix limited series. They can bring a cat-ton of misery to their partners and others, at least till they grow up or get help. It’s playing out on a loop right under your noses, that Tom is heavy on hostility and light on empathy.
Anyone who thinks these concerns will go away when the cat does hasn’t paid meaningful attention to current events in a very long time. How does Sara think Tom will behave toward her when one of her quirks starts to annoy him? (Because every couple generates annoyances eventually, if they don’t break up first.)
I realize I haven’t even started to address the roommate and lease issue. But all that background is why you tell Sara you’re not comfortable leaving Tom alone with the cat, and ready to discuss what that means from now till September, because it won’t wait.
And it’s why I think, even if Sara is more roommate than friend, it’s still a kindness to engage her on the larger 911. Maybe:
“Does Tom act out in traffic, too? Or when someone screws up his order?”
“Taking his frustration out on a defenseless pet — that doesn’t alarm you? It’s concerning to me.”
“Reactivity, ‘punching down,’ defensiveness, utter disregard for others’ home — please be careful with this one.”
Or a more measured, “It’s your life, your boyfriend, but it’s my cat and my former refuge, and my alarms are screaming.”
I spin out a lot of column yardage on not crossing lines into other people’s business. But when someone else crosses a line, as Tom keeps doing so egregiously, it’s time to butt in.
