Mark hasn't any cat sense, what so ever. He carries Fat Kitty around the same way a three year old child does, as if she's a sack of potatoes. He calls her like she's a dog, and expects her to sit and stay. Cats just don't work that way. No matter how many times I tell him that she's going to scratch or bite him, he still tries to make her do what he wants.
Today we made a trip to Target for the sole purpose of buying cat paraphernalia. To keep Fat Kitty from ripping the furniture to shreds like she did to the outdoor furniture, we got a large scratching pole. For Carlotta kitty, we got a collar with a little bell so that Fat Kitty will have ample warning when she's in the vicinity. Finally for Fat Kitty and Carlotta, we got them a bag of catnip, hoping that if they were both high as kites, they wouldn't fight so much. Unfortunately, after Fat Kitty rolled around in the stuff for while and got completely toasted, Mark rolled the vacuum cleaner into the room. Fat Kitty is scared to death of vacuums, and just the sight of it freaked her out. I once had that same sort of experience when I was eighteen, and my dad came into my room after my cousin and I had smoked bag of pot. It can be unsettling.
For the most part, Fat Kitty has settled into her new indoor existence as if it was always meant to be. When I open the back door to take out the garbage, she just stands there and looks. She doesn't make even the slightest move towards the door for fear she may get stuck out there again. At the front door there is a different problem. Tigger, the cat that belongs to the kid next door, has set up camp and never goes home anymore. I think he has recognized what a sweet deal it is to move into Mark and Alan's house, and is trying to work his way in. We'll see who has the greater will power. Fat Kitty worked on me for over a year before I caved in.