Cat and Mouse Games

We arrived in Monteverde last Saturday and since then we’ve been engaged in a cat and mouse game that has left us both on edge, but for different reasons.  Allow me to explain:

Part I: The Big Cat

Our rental house sits on a large farm and the owner of the farm, Joe, is also our landlord.  As Joe was showing us around the house, he also issued a warning: keep the dogs close by or indoors, especially at night.  Over the past year, several dogs have gone missing, along with some cats and goats, all prey to a puma that’s been wandering the area. 

The news did not sit well with me.  I hate cats, even the small domestic variety (except for Kazakhstan Kitty).  So the idea that there was a much larger, more powerful cat prowling the area did not impress me.   I went to sleep that night feeling tense and anxious – memories (really, nightmares) of Old Dan and Little Ann, from “Where the Red Fern Grows” lingered in my head.  No way that Kaia would meet the same fate as Old Dan.

As I awoke the following morning, I reached my hand down to pet Kaia’s head, which should have been within reach since she sleeps next to me on the floor.  But no soft little head.  I sat up to see if she was near Ernesto, but she wasn’t anywhere in the room.  “Oh my God,”  I thought, “a puma must have gotten into the house and snatched her!” (the thought that she might have slipped out of the house and been attacked by a puma never crossed my mind . . . nor that there were less sinister explanations to consider).  I panicked and was about to go check on her whereabouts when I froze, struck by the realization that if there were indeed a puma in the house that leaving the bedroom could be a death sentence (yup, I’m a not only paranoid, but a coward too).  Fortunately, before I could get too worked up – or wake Ernesto up, I heard the familiar jingle of Kaia-bells, which put me at ease.  Turns out she slept with Ernesto’s parents (and peed on their sleeping bag, which was an ominous sign of things to come . . .)

Kaia’s absence, and my fear that a puma could get IN to the house raised within me a whole new host of concerns.  What would happen if I were alone with the dogs (we’re dog-sitting Ernesto’s sister’s bull terrier, Wasabi) and a puma came on the property?  Would a puma jump through glass to get a dog?  And if so, where would we go within the house to protect ourselves?  I determined that the bathroom was the only possible location for a safe room since it is mostly windowless.  It is now the “puma room”.

Due to the puma, the dogs have been on a tight leash – both literally and figuratively.  The moment either dog slips out of my sight I go into a puma-induced frenzy, calling for the dogs in the deepest, loudest, most aggressive voice I can muster.  I remember from living in Arizona that your best defense against mountain lions is to make yourself as tall and loud as possible.  Or was that for bears?  Either way, I want that puma to think I’m a calm, assertive bad ass, like Caesar.

Part II: The Other Cat . . . and Mouse

Ernesto’s parents left on Sunday and we invited our friends over for dinner that night.  Before they arrived, I pre-heated the oven in order to bake a cake.  As the temperature in the oven increased, a funny smell began to diffuse through the house.  I know that when left unused for any period of time, ovens can emit a foul odor as dirt and grease are burnt off, but this odor seemed different.  Ernesto also commented on the smell, but we proceeded with an “it will burn off” attitude, and baked the cake, and then some chicken.  But as the evening wore on, and our friends arrived, the smell appeared to increase in intensity and foulness.  After we’d chatted for a few hours, the smell was overpowering, but we’d also grown somewhat accustomed to it.  By this time, the chicken had cooked and the cake had risen, and all seemed well except for the stench.  We proceeded to eat dinner.

Our friends finally commented that the house smelled like burnt urine.  And then the obviousness of the odor was absolute.  There was positively no doubt to us that what we were smelling was baked urine.  But urine in the oven?  How could that be possible?  We pondered this question with the smell of burnt urine lingering in the air.

Once our friends left, Ernesto and I started to dismantle the oven in hopes of finding the source of the smell.  A slatted window above the oven gave us the idea that a feral cat might have squeezed through the window while we were on a walk with the dogs and marked its territory.  I wasn’t completely convinced that it wasn’t a puma that had somehow sprayed a warning call to us.

The next morning, I hit the web for some possible remedies for cleaning an oven soaked in cat urine.  You’d be surprised how many cats pee on stovetops, a fact that only intensified my dislike of felines. Getting rid of cat urine, as we learned, is no easy task.  There are products to help neutralize the odor, but even these often don’t work, or require repeat applications.  And in Monteverde, there’s not an overabundance of urine neutralizing products available.  Some people recommended a solution of baking soda, white vinegar, and water, which is what we first tried.  Of course, applying such a solution to an oven and stove is no easy task, since liquids aren’t absorbed and don’t tend to cling to the walls or roof of the oven.  After nearly an hour of work we were left with the smell of putrified urine mixed with vinegar.  Our hope diminished and desperation began to set in.

We headed to town and consulted the local vet, who gave us a product specifically designed to neutralize the smell of urine.  The instructions noted that several applications might be necessary and seemed more geared to treat urine left in fabrics, but whatever.  Desperate times, desperate measures.

After three GENEROUS applications of the spray, we were rewarded with a liquefied mess that still reeked of urine.

Ernesto threatened to kill any cat that we found near the house.  I threatened to string any stray cat up and leave it as puma bait.  Better a cat than our dogs.  The urine was corrupting our moods and our housewarming.  We found ourselves avoiding the kitchen completely.  Our feelings of revulsions intensified after we considered that we’d eaten chicken and cake that essentially marinated in urine AND, even worse, that we’d fed our friends this urea concoction. 

But my feelings of revulsion were accompanied by a nagging feeling that our feline hypothesis was flawed.  My previous internet search had confirmed the fact that many cats do pee on stovetops, but it also left me with some troubling questions, primarily, why  there wasn't evidence of urine on the stove top.  In all of the cases mentioned online, there was a puddle – evidence of the cat’s transgressions.  But in our case, no puddle.  And no cat, not even a puma, could open the oven door, pee, and then close it again.  And even if this were possible, there’d be liquid evidence.

Returning again to the internet, but broadening my search to include any stove/oven problem related to urine, I began to grow increasingly uneasy.  It seemed that mice, not cats, were likely responsible for the putrid smell of baked-in urine that compelled us to eat only cereal, canned tuna, and pretzels.  And mouse urine, unbelievably, appeared to be more difficult to neutralize than cat urine.

We described our problem to several locals and the general consensus was that we were definitely dealing with mice, not cats, and that replacing the oven, or at the very least, the insulation, was the only solution.  Doh!

So we tried to contact Joe, our landlord, by phone, but no answer.  He and his wife had driven to San Jose for the Independence Day weekend.  Ernesto emailed them, explaining our situation, and we waited.  They responded soon after telling us that it likely was a mouse problem and that they’d try to buy insulation in San Jose, but that due to the holiday, weren’t sure that things would be open.  

Turns out they were able to get some insulation and Joe and his son came over yesterday to take the oven to their workshop for dismantling.  When Joe approached the oven he confirmed that the smell was definitely mouse urine.  When his son, who didn’t know why we were moving the oven, got close to it, he let out a low whistle and said, “Whew, got a whole bunch of mice in this oven, huh?”

Seems that mice love the warmth of stove insulation as much as they love to pee in it.  Ernesto and I were the only ones around here that couldn’t immediately identify that the stench was mouse urine.  Not sure if this is good or bad.

Joe gave us a gas stovetop burner to use until he can replace the insulation.  Hopefully, if the damage isn’t too extensive, the new insulation should solve the problem. Until then, Ernesto and I are gleeful simply to have the stinky oven out of the house, and a temporary stovetop that emits smells other than hot, burned urine in the house.

To the cats that were falsely accused (or cat lovers), I make no apologies.  After scouring the internet my suspicions that cats are spiteful, ruthless animals have been confirmed, even if our own urea-fiasco wasn’t cat induced.  And, it’s likely that the smell of mouse urine has attracted the attention of the puma, the worst cat of all.