Yesterday I was concerned about Stella's bowel movements. Every so often throughout the day, she'd look at me and yowl. Not the "I want to play" whine. Or the "let's cuddle" mew. Not even the "I'm hungry" rant. It was definitely the "I'm having trouble with the
toilet-as-litterbox arrangement and you'd better do something about it before I explode" yowl.

Just before we left for Italy, I widened the hole a bit in the training/roasting pan toilet litterbox. The idea is to very, very gradually make the hole bigger until the cat has no choice but to position itself on the toilet seat. I instructed our cat-sitter friend that if Stella had any issues with it, break out the traditional litterbox before the cat tears open the bag of litter herself and goes on the floor. (She had already done that once before when we didn't replenish the litter pan.) Stella was not pleased with this development. I found that as long as we kept the supply of pine chip litter pretty full, she'd cope. Every so often, though, she'd look at me, yowl and walk to the bathroom. I'd fill the pan with more litter, position her and coax. It'd usually work.

Yesterday, though, was a different story. After several attempts at positioning and coaxing (Sam suggested sitting on the toilet and grunting) I finally covered the hole with duct tape, filled in with litter and plopped her in the box. She went without a problem. Then I watched her scratching the litter and scratching and getting it all over her face and maneuvering herself in this cramped bowl. It was pitiful. I couldn't continue with this. I got out the litter box and filled it up. She's good.

I had such hopes. But, how much does a cat have to put up with because her caregiver has a brainy idea? She already has a neurotic relationship with the stuffed tiger; I just can't add excessive toilet training to the mix.