I have a lot of excuses as to why I haven’t written a post in awhile. Work’s been super busy. It’s football season. Most importantly, the cats have been oddly…uninteresting.
I dislike excuses, although I am the biggest justifier you’ll ever meet. So I will not blame my non-writing on any of those things. Basically, I’ve been lazy.
So what’s new with me? The cats are still cats. The boyfriend is still the boyfriend. My fantasy football team is taking a dump as usual. Oh, the Bucs won 3 in a row. That was quite the pleasant surprise. Thanksgiving went well. I’m already procrastinating buying x-mas presents.
The weather is the biggest variable at the moment. I finally got out my “winter” clothes a few weeks ago and I have yet to wear any. It’s been cold (by Florida standards) I think a total of 2 days. I wore shorts today.
It IS having an effect on the cats. They’ve been very loud. One of them (read: Taco) knocked a cupcake off the cooling rack while we were at a football game. Cats have no business with cupcakes. WTF, cat?
So that’s the short and long of it. Maybe I should stop being so lazy and get back to my regular posts. We’ll see…
You may not think that cats and cars have ANYTHING to do with each other whatsoever, save for being one letter different. You’d be wrong. See, they’re both money pits.
You know the old adage, “when it rains, it pours” – I’ve found this to be true about both.
Let’s start with cats.
Most of the time, my boys are healthy and thriving. However, I know that we’re always one sneeze/puke/bloody poop away from a vet visit. Something that is absolutely essential is to have a vet you can trust and ask a bazillion questions to and get informative answers without even a hint of an eyeroll. Someone you truly believe has your babies’ best interests at heart. I have one. This being said, while I do believe veterinarians should be paid handsomely for the work they do, my wallet says otherwise. The bills add up and up, even if you have an excellent vet who is honest about whether certain procedures are necessary. If you’re a worrier like me, you tend to fall on the cautious side and get the tests that are maybe 55% necessary, “just in case.” Then you walk out with a giant bill, and presumably, a healthy cat. Or, like me, you could go in for a simple checkup and walk out with the knowledge that one cat’s pupil is markedly larger than the other, possibly indicating a problem (this requires more tests, of course, and if I really wanted to get serious, a visit to the CAT EYE DOCTOR). It’s never just one thing. And lets not forget the constant maintenance of cat food, which seems to be getting more and more expensive.
Now onto cars.
Unless you have a brand spankin’ new car with a fancy warranty (in which case you’d also have a large car payment and the headache of the immediate depreciation driving off the lot), you have car problems. Having a trusted mechanic in your arsenal is equally as essential as having a trusted vet (I have one of these, too, and I went through a LOT of mechanics before finding Sam, who’s my godsend). Especially if you have a Volvo, which is like having a cat with special needs (okay, that’s a BIT of a stretch, but work with me here). Yesterday I went in for a new headlamp assembly (used, actually – new was a bazillion dollars) because a rock or a BB gun put a nice lil hole in the one I had. And a new hood latch, because the boyfriend broke it opening the hood to look at the headlight assembly when the hole was noticed. While I was there, I discussed having him fix a very slow oil leak that I’d been able to put off because of the very slowness of it. I’d recently noticed more oil where I park my car so I figured it was time. As he pulled my car out, there was a puddle of oil. NOT SO SLOW ANYMORE. So we bumped up that appointment. When I left, I noticed my dashboard light indicating a light out was still on. Brake light, this time. Oh, and my tires are bare. AND it’s almost time for timing belt replacement. And like the constant supply of cat food that’s needed, the car requires a constant influx of gas.
So I’ve come to the conclusion that I basically work to support my cats and my car. Neither of them appreciate it.
I could google this, but for the sake of this post, I’ll allow my curiosity to fester.
“This” is the phenomenon of my cats seemingly recognizing my (and maybe the boyfriend’s) voice. I know that I’ve read that cats respond better to women’s voices, something about the tone. Moosh and Taco seem like they respond to our voices, particularly by their names. Taco is less of a sure thing, he just talks all the time, and to whatever variation of his name we use. But he at least looks like he knows that he’s being talked to. Moosh, on the other hand, knows his name like the back of his paw. Maybe it’s just the tone that we say it in, or the way that “Moosh Moosh” sounds. Saying it sometimes gets him all worked up, like I’m petting him without actually petting him. He’ll close his eyes, purr, and look like he’s in ecstacy.
It’s funny what you discover from years of co-existing with your animals. How you can figure out what their triggers are. Why do they have the triggers they do?
The best response I can get from Moosh is by shaking my head back and forth while saying his name in a deep, cooing voice. He’ll come running almost every time. Unless he gets distracted.
Taco’s ultimate call-over involves more energy. He responds best to an excited voice. Less coo-ey, more OMG, but still in a deeper voice. He gets all jacked up and runs over. If I’m laying down, combining that with patting my chest plate loudly will get him up and on my stomach purring.
So…am I crazy? Does anyone else know quirks this intimate about their furry children or do I just look waaaaaay too far into things?
What I accomplished today: very little.
But I did manage to do something that, while briefly lived, was immensely satisfying. This little miracle? Making a cat sit on my lap. MY decision.
Of course, this doesn’t sound like a monumental deal. After all, cats sit on laps all the time. Taco forces himself on my lap at LEAST once a day. But this time, it was my idea, and he submitted. HE SUBMITTED!
As all kitty mommies know, our children only do things that THEY feel like doing. How many times have you decided to feed your brats (when they weren’t meowing for it) only to have them take a sniff and walk off, only to return when they deemed it suppertime? Or had a bad day and wanted nothing more than a big, furry hug from your little one, but receive the cold shoulder. If they’re feeling particularly ornery, they’ll hide somewhere you can’t possibly extract them from.
So today, a day of accomplishing nothing but finishing season 3 of Breaking Bad (yeah, 2 weekends in a row – so irresponsible and flat-out lazy), I can take comfort in that for at least five minutes, I made a cat sit on my lap. Without struggling, of course, because heaven knows I’ve forced both the brats to cuddle for periods of time. No, the only glory is in a comfortably seated, even purry cat. And I did it.
Insert Rocky music here (Bill Conti’s Gonna Fly Now, if you weren’t sure which one).
I honestly think I have the loudest cat in the entire world. Taco seems to just get louder and louder and louder and louder. And NEVER EVER STOPS. Is it possible for a cat to get more needy as time goes on? It almost seems like the more attention we give him, the more he requires. I’m ok with the meowing sometimes, on occasion I even find it cute. But he overdoes it.
I hate to constantly reference the show My Cat From Hell, but I recently saw an episode featuring a cat that was overly attached to his humans and freaked every time they left…to the point that it would perch in the (2nd story) window anxiously awaiting their return…and once fell out. For all of my confidence in my feline knowledge, I really had no idea that cats could suffer separation anxiety. Hell, their attention span seems worse than mine, and that’s saying a lot. So I wondered for a bit if this was Taco’s problem. We already know his wires are a little crossed anyway with the Idiopathic Cystitis. But he has his brother all day, and while both me and the boyfriend work two jobs, one or both of us is usually home for a bit between them and even when we’re here more often than that, he still gets all in yo’ face.
I suppose I’m not going to get any answers. The boyfriend got so annoyed last night he told Taco “I can’t wait until you get old and lazy and do nothing except lay around all day.” I second that.
But then, when that happens, I’ll probably want a kitten.
I realized today that I have an awful lot of cat-inspired decor on my Pinterest.
In order to attempt to judge if it would be over the top for me to gussy up my couch with cat pillows, I took stock of the things in my home that are cat-related. I THINK it’s not that bad.
Whether or not the boyfriend agrees with me, that’s another story.
As if one needs MORE reasons. I know I spend an awful lot of time on this blog bitching about my cats but really, I’m very happy to be a kitty mommy.
Why am I so appreciative today?
Well, for one, it’s been excessively rainy this week. My backyard was so flooded at one point today it started pooling in the tracks of my sliding glass door. This is nothing new, it’s Florida and it’s July. I should be happy it’s not a hurricane. What I AM happy for, and have covered before, is that I don’t have to take the cats outside for walks like this. But that’s not what I’m writing about today.
I read a story today (ok, I just skimmed the headline and a bit of the first paragraph, but I got the point) about how July 5th is one of the busiest days of the year for shelters accepting dogs. This saddens me immensely, but also makes me quite thankful to have my kitties. Of course, it’s not dogs’ faults that they’re scared shitless of redneck amateur pyro enthusiasts setting off millions of dollars of loud, obnoxious (and let’s not forget fiery) plumes of explosives. And it’s also not the fault of the canines that humans are assholes who take on the responsibility of pet parenting only to throw in the towel at a moment’s notice. Of course, since I didn’t actually READ the whole article, I may be completely missing the point, but after some conversations with friends who are puppy parents (the RESPONSIBLE kind) worried about the mental state of their furry children tomorrow, it’s not at all far fetched for me to come to the conclusion that I didn’t really need to read the article to figure it out.
The monsoons of the past week have also so generously brought loud, window rattling thunder, which apparently has a similar effect on the dog population. Personally, I find it soothing. My boys pay it no mind. Except for the other day when Moosh was dead asleep in a bed near a window, and a particularly loud clap of thunder shook the walls…he poked his head up, gave the window a “dude, I’m sleeping here” scowl, and took his time getting up to find a quieter spot where he could rest without his slumber being so rudely interrupted.
This is not a gloat post, I love animals. Much more than humans, in fact. Including dogs. I am just not a dog person. I find them cute and adorable and I think they’re wonderful for dog people. I just find things like this incredibly sad, and honestly, I empathize with the dogs. I don’t like loud noises either. And I also don’t like idiots who treat animals as if they’re not living beings who deserve every bit of care that a human child would. I’m also torn, because the type of person who would give away a dog as if it was a thrift store donation is not the kind of person who should have one, so in a way I suppose it’s kind of good.
All this being said, there are times when the cats go absolutely apeshit over a creak that I can barely hear, but at least I can rest easy knowing they’ll make it through tomorrow. Me, on the other hand…when the pyromaniacs come out, I’ll be safely inside, so long as a stray ember doesn’t burn my house down (I do, actually, worry about stray embers). I ooh and ahh over fireworks like normal people, but I like to enjoy those of professionals. From a distance.
Here I go, blaming the cats for things again.
My neck has been killing me since Monday. The kind of hurt that makes it almost impossible to turn one’s head. It’s been really fun checking my blind spot while driving. It’s feeling a little better today, but as I was going through my photos, I realized that I captured PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE pointing the finger straight at Moosh Moosh.
Yes, my “good son” is apparently to blame for my latest injury.
The photo below was taken last Saturday night. At the time, I thought, “How adorable. My son loves me SO MUCH. I’m so very lucky to have this lil snugglebunny in my life!”
I see now that this was step 1 of the evil plan.
Sunday night. Gettin’ all up in my bidness. I still vaguely found it cute, but I was wondering if he was trying to take over my pillow entirely. It was a bit uncomfortable for me, but he’s my kid, and mothers have to sacrifice for the greater good sometimes.
It was all part of the master plan. The way I see it, this angel-faced devil hatched up this plan in order to force me to sleep in an awkward position which he knew would result in a stiff neck, keeping me out of my night job so that I would be home to spend time with them and feed them at an earlier time.
On the other hand, he’s not that smart. Maybe Taco was behind it all.
So I’m not sure how many of you out there are into all the “hip” new apps that the kids are using these days, but as a 31-year-old who still thinks she’s 12, I sure am. Most recently, my (slightly) younger and hipper friend introduced me to Snapchat, which, if you’re not a pervert or horny teenager using it for more risque purposes, seems to be a tool to send your friends stupid, goofy faces. Needless to say, I was an immediate convert. I also recently jumped on the Vine bandwagon. If you’re not familiar with this one, it’s just a way to share short, looping videos, mostly compiled of even shorter clips.
But NOW…Instagram, in all its Facebook-owned glory, quite smartly jumped on that shit. Yes, Instagram just put the short-lived Vine out of business in one fell swoop by now including videos. This is ok with me, I didn’t get close enough to Vine to feel mourn-y or anything.
What does this mean for you, you may ask?
It means now, not only can you browse millions of adorable kitty pics, you can now browse millions of kitty VIDEOS. Honestly, if any more technologies come out aiding my crazy cat lady-ness, I’m going to have to make it my full-time job.
And, of course, one can also post millions of one’s OWN kitty videos. I’ve held myself back so far and only posted 2. Should you care to see them, you can always follow me on instagram.
And if not (but you should), here’s a cute pic for the road.
As a mother of any species can tell you, you know when something’s a little off with your children. And despite the fact that my brats are never really what I’d call “all there,” they’re acting weirder than usual. I don’t know if it’s the fact that they had their parents home for a whole 5 days or the weather or if they’re just feeling their age as a result of their recent birthdays, but even the boyfriend’s noticed. It’s not anything I can put my finger on. Just some weird crap here and there.
Moosh will stop in a part of the room he usually won’t (yeah, I notice this crap) and stare at me. Usually he just waits by his food bowl and stares. He’s also being really needy. Following us around and looking at us pitifully for attention.
Taco can’t sit still. He’s in my face 24/7, and when he’s not, he’s in weird places, like my closet (this is Moosh’s usual haunt) and in Moosh’s basket (also, as you might have gathered by the title of the resting place, Moosh’s). Taco’s also started kneading me when he lays on me in bed. Yes, I know this is a NORMAL cat activity, but he’s never really been much of a kneader (Jackson Galaxy calls this “smurgling” but never explained if that’s some sort of scientific term — it seems like an odd choice for a serious scientist to choose, but whatever) and he does it ON me. I’m fairly certain that my skin isn’t as rewarding to smurgle on as, say, a cushy blanket. I don’t mind it so much. It’s more like a change-up pitch in baseball. Throwin’ a fast ball at me forever and now you’re going to throw a slider? You know what? That’s a horrible analogy. I’m assuming you get the point.
I don’t know what this all means, but it throws me off. And I hate change.