Yes, it has been forever, and I’m sure you’re asking “Why now?” I say, “Why not?”
Maybe because I ran out of cat things to talk about. Or because I’m busy. Whatever it is, here I am again!
So. Yes. I am crazy. Not in a “needs to be locked up” sense, but close.
The fact that Moosh likes to sleep above my head is well-documented in other posts, so I won’t get into it. So the other night, whilst in the middle of what was apparently a very deep sleep, Moosh bit my hand (regardless of position, I almost always have to have one arm positioned somehow above my head). Now, being that I was, in fact, in the middle of a very deep sleep, I’m really foggy on what exactly happened, other than that my hand hurt quite a bit. I woke up enough to see that it was bleeding, but just barely, and I was so tired that I decided any bacteria would just have to wait for the morning and I went back to sleep, as did Moosh. In the morning, I saw there was another mark on the other side of my hand, in keeping with my bite theory. It wasn’t very deep, so I just peroxided it, antibiotic-ed it, and slapped a few bandaids on (by the way, these are impossible to keep stuck on your palm).
I pondered the reasoning for the bite for the rest of the morning, and while I assumed that I may have jerked in my sleep (I sleep punch the boyfriend a lot so this is a valid assumption) which freaked Moosh out who then bit, the thought suddenly occurred to me that I only had 48 hours to get a rabies shot before it was too late and I began the spiral down into what I hear is a horrible death by insanity.
The chance of rabies being an issue is pretty much .000000%. Both of my boys are strictly indoors and get their shots yearly.
However. I am what I like to call a “disaster planner,” meaning I can only relax and tackle an issue once I have determined the worst case scenario and planned for it. I blame the girl scouts. It’s not pessimism, I just feel better identifying it. Then I can plan for the most realistic outcome.
So I emailed my vet to please verify that Moosh was up to date on his rabies shots. I’m sure I gave them a laugh for the day, but yes, they assured me, he had it in January.
So that just leaves infection. Cat bites are pretty much the worst for bacteria. If you ever have a choice, get bit by a dog instead.
When I took off the bandaids at the end of the day I realized the marks were kind of parallel and more in line with claw marks rather than a bite. All that for a damn scratch. But hey, I was asleep.
I also do not feel as crazy as the person who put a t-shirt on a perfectly nice outdoor cat. This cat accosted me on my porch the other night, meowing and rubbing on my legs, and tried to run in my house. It ignored the food I put out for him so it seems he’s someone’s cat…but what MORON puts a shirt on their cat (also, what moron lets their cat outside, but that’s a different story)? I debated taking the shirt off the cat because it seems so very dangerous but I wondered if they maybe had a really good reason for putting the shirt on the cat. I may put a notice on the neighborhood board calling out the idiot owner.
Newsflash: This morning, the cats DID NOT WAKE ME UP.
The boyfriend did. At 6:30. To tell me he fed the cats. THANKS HONEY.
And people wonder why I don’t want kids. I have 3.
Speaking off, the furry ones are certainly full of vim and vigor today. They’re chasing each other around the house and chirping at things I can’t see at the sliding glass door.
And playing with the Sunday paper.
So I’m getting out of the house. It’s a little windy for a beach day, but it’s cloudless and lovely and I’m going to have some bestie time with my favorite gal while getting brown (or sunburned, which is more likely, despite careful application of sunscreen).
Happy Sunday, ya’ll!
In true Polish fashion, I celebrated by first sun of the year with a sunburn, despite careful application of 15spf OceanPotion Gel (this is sincerely the best sunscreen I have ever used, yet it’s impossible to find. You have to scrape it off in the shower later but it STICKS. I just miss spots. It’s just one of those stupid things I do, I miss streaks of skin somehow. And yes, I know that 15 is shitty, but I like being tan, and I started getting my skin cancer checks last year, since I live in Florida and all. And I wear 30 on my face.)
Before I start, just wanted to let me know you can follow me on BlogLovin’. <a href=”http://www.bloglovin.com/blog/6651639/?claim=8bknxa2nqnt”>Follow my blog with Bloglovin</a>
And because I feel like putting very little effort into a post, here’s a super cute picture of Taco.
I don’t know if you crazy kids are into the instagram these days, but I sure am. I keep my “celebrity” following to a minimum, as I really would prefer to see pictures of my own friends (I make exceptions for Justin Timberlake and 2Chainz) but I do follow a few “famous” cat accounts.
Grumpy Cat (she’s trademarked so I’ll just link to her webpage here)
Lil Bub makes me squeal with glee. SO FREAKING CUTE. And it was just announced yesterday that Bub is the focus of a new documentary that’s just been accepted to the Tribeca Film Festival. I really don’t care what it’s about, as long as there’s Bub in there, I’m happy. I was excited to learn that Lil Bub has quite fashionable gear for sale at reasonable prices as well, so I bought a tank top and a calendar. This made my day. PLUS…part of the proceeds go to charitable animal stuff and the rest goes to (QUITE SMARTLY) Bub’s food fund. The humans for these cats sure know how to grab on to their 15 minutes of fame. Shit, I’ve been reaching for mine for almost a year now doing this blog expecting to get discovered.
Unfortunately, as adorably unique as my kitties are, and no matter how much I know I could EASILY pick my boys out of a lineup of seemingly identical ones, they do not have funny fur colors that make them look like they have eyebrows or an eternally sticking out tongue. No, mine are just full of personality, the kind of bratty personality that kind of shows up in pictures and refuses to move an inch for video. I don’t even bother trying to catch these little imps in action anymore, they have a sixth sense for knowing when the camera’s rolling and stop doing anything remotely interesting immediately. DAMMIT, CATS. DO SOMETHING TO EARN YOUR KEEP.
Sometimes I like to switch things up a bit. Instead of annoying the boyfriend all day by singing rap songs (I’m super obsessed with 2 Chainz right now, because in a bad bitch contest, I’m in first place – if you listen to 2 Chainz you’ll get that, otherwise you’ll probably think I’m a misogynist or something), I get in the mood to annoy the cats. After all, they annoy the hell out of us all the time. I feel that they need to be put in their places on occasion. As luck would have it, I felt particularly annoying yesterday. So I spent the day throwing toys at them (this annoyed the boyfriend as well, he hates when I take out all 387458349 of their toys and throw them around the house), hiding them under blankets and saying “Oh dear, Taco disappeared! Wherever could he have gone?” and forcing them to sit on my lap.
The best part is when you leave them alone for a bit and they settle in for what they think is peace and quiet…and then you poke them. And poke. And poke. It’s very satisfying to get them back, and the boyfriend is relieved that he’s not the target of my annoyance.
This morning I went back to annoying him. But there’s also beef stroganoff in the crock pot (this gives me extra points because I’m vegan) so he’ll put up with me for another day. Moosh is hiding in the closet anyway, just in case I feel like poking at him again. Taco is on the couch downstairs, but he never learns his lesson. The big dummy.
Whenever a stranger comes over to the house, or for that matter, even my mother, who comes over at least once a week, the cats freak. Especially men. You’d think that all humans were killing machines ready to crush them into cat food. Moosh Moosh, I kinda understand, someone threw him out of a car when he was a kitten. Taco, he’s been around good people since he was born. This leads me to the conclusion that they are both just big babies.
So when the boyfriend’s 6-foot bazillion cousin came to visit the other night, I expected a scene of panic. I was somewhat proud of them, though, they didn’t hide in the closet.
Frankly, I’m amazed that they behaved as well as they did. They did, however, scramble for cover when I got a ladder out last night to silence a dying smoke alarm. The boyfriend was out of town last night and this is the second one that has died while he was out of town, leaving me to deal with the overly stupid process of turning off the circuit, replacing the battery, turning the circuit back on and then testing. I had to call my mommy over because I had visions of me falling off the ladder, not to be discovered for days. I have a good mommy. You’re never to old to need yours!
I wonder if the cats would have gotten hungry enough to eat me? Ew, why did I think that?