Category: #kittyproblems

While the cat’s away…the…um…cats will play.

We’ve been gone one day. One.

That is exactly how long it took Taco to get to what I THOUGHT was an unreachable place (about head-high on a wire baker’s rack), grab a bag of treats (that I JUST bought yesterday), drag them upstairs ONTO our bed, shred the package, eat all the treats, and puke twice. On the bed.

Thank you to my mother for appreciating my worry that the cats would make trouble while we were gone and investigating even though there was no immediate sign of trouble. Mommy instinct is apparently live and well in our genes. And thank you for cleaning the puke off the comforter, even though I know you’re used to it with your own boys at home.

I mean, really? Taco, C’MON, MAN!

Image

Lady, you ain’t leavin’.

Laser kitty PEW PEW PEW

The chronicles of Taco are neverending.

So I decided that since Taco is having a flare-up, we should try the laser therapy again. It’s not as expensive as you’d think, and my vet said that she has had success with cats who have worse flare-ups than Taco. Last time we only did one session, this time we’re going to try for the recommended 2-3. The weather is crazy windy out right now and for some reason that seems to freak Taco out more. I mean, I don’t like wind either, but it doesn’t cause MY mental issues to flare. Then again, my hormones do that for me once a month. That’s totally another story.

Cat got your tongue? Har har har.

Taco is again a laser kitty. I don’t know why laser sounds amuse me so.

I also went to the pet store yesterday, a real one, not one of those big fancy “we don’t really know anything about pets” places. I love small businesses. I swear, I have been a cranky old lady since I was 14. I refuse to shop at Wal-Mart. Anyway. I needed more cat urine cleaner. The one that I had sucked. Or Taco’s pee is just really really strong. Anyway, I got a new kind (still smells like pee, this last episode of his was a doozy, none of the other couch pees have been this strong especially after cleaning, AND it was on the boyfriend’s favorite seat…yeah, that went over well). And I talked to the pet store guy, who was super friendly and you could tell knew what he was talking about, like the kind of people who own businesses because they actually give a shit about what they’re doing rather than making a boatload of money. He made a lot of suggestions. And they were all things I’ve already tried. I could see the surprise on his face, I don’t think that he’s ever had such a thorough crazy cat lady asking for help before. He quizzed me on my number of litterboxes vs. number of cats (2 cats, 3 boxes) and then he THOUGHT he was going to stump me when he asked if I used 3 different kinds of litter…and the answer is yes. Yes, I buy THREE different kinds of litter. I felt like passing this test elevated my crazy cat lady status. Unfortunately, it doesn’t get me any farther in fixing Taco. When I say I have tried everything, I really really mean I have tried everything. I even spray the couches with cat repellent.

Here’s what I did do. Because, you know, my parents always taught me that you should always ask for what you want, because the worst answer you can get is no. So I emailed the cat behaviorist people. I told them I can’t afford their $225 phone consultation. I told them that I have done everything I can possibly do and I just want to help my kitty. So I threw it all out there and asked if I could barter. Granted, my skills may not be in their demand (I work in marketing, they already have a really nice website and it appears they don’t need any help getting business) but I can do copywriting, proofreading, research…I even threw in fantasy football tips (although this may not be the year to ask me those, I’m doing miserably). I did leave out crafts, I’m not sure “decoupauged tissue box” is a viable offer. I haven’t gotten an answer. But even so, I tried. I didn’t ask for charity, although I certainly would accept it from them if they offered. So if they say no, I’m no worse off than I was before. It at least made me feel good, because I’m not giving up. I’m hard headed like that.

I just wish extreme love was enough to fix. In a perfect world it would be.

Kitty mommy blues. Thanks for listening.

Taco peed on the other couch. The one that he hadn’t peed on yet.

This is ultimately frustrating. I consider myself a loving, caring, well-informed kitty mommy that tries really hard to give her boys the best life possible. I know he’s not doing it on purpose, but it’s a slap in the face.

 

I’m sure you’re all getting sick of me bitching about this. I’M getting sick of bitching about this. And I’m gonna be honest, I’m sick of hearing the boyfriend bitch about it. This isn’t to say that he’s wrong for being upset. But here’s what happens…he gets pissed about it. I’m pissed on a different level, like a “this is what mommies have to endure but sweet jesus stop” level. And sometimes I feel like he’s pissed on a “let’s get rid of the cat” level. This has not been expressly said. So then I am dealing with my own frustration, his higher level of frustration, AND trapped between that and defensiveness for my baby.

 

From a logic point of view, I see why this combo causes a higher level of upset for me. I understand (for the most part) why cats do what they do. The fact that I can’t figure out how to make Taco stop peeing on the couch is a frustrating conundrum but out of all the things I DO understand about cats, this one thing is a fraction. The boyfriend loves them. But he is not a crazy cat lady. He didn’t decide that he liked cats more than humans. He just decided he liked me enough to put up with a crazy cat lady for what is going on 10 years. He doesn’t GET them. What bothers me most is that he should know how upsetting it is to me just merely not reinforcing strongly that he would never ask that we re-home Taco. Just because he hasn’t said the words indicating that he wants to doesn’t mean I’m not afraid that he’s going to ask that. My boys are non-negotiable. But so is my relationship. So it hurts that he doesn’t understand this very big part of my life, the crazy cat ladiness. Or at least give in to understanding that he can’t understand and be on my side. And be upset WITH me…not because our cat peed on our couch, but because I can’t fix Taco no matter how hard I try. I don’t even know if this makes sense reading it. And he will probably be upset with me for being so brutally honest here, but frankly, I had to get it out.

 

Taco is my baby. He might be a lemon, but he’s my lemon. He’s at least in a home where he will not be abused for peeing on a couch. He gets the best I can give him. I can’t save them all, but I can at least give one a little bit of leeway for being an animal. I just really really really really wish I could stop it. Boyfriend, I would. I even spent my lunch hour trying to figure out how to become a cat behaviorist (I haven’t really figured that out yet, but usually if I can’t afford something I try to do it myself. This is proving difficult in cat whispering Taco).

 

And despite all this, I successfully completed week 2 of smoke-free weekdays. I wanted to smoke this morning when the boyfriend told me about the loveseat desecrating, but I made my boss talk me out of it. Knee jerk reaction when I get bad news. So I have that to be positive about! At least I have control over something…

Kitty mommy vent time.

I will never understand why it takes Taco two full days to stop hissing at Moosh when he gets back from the vet. It’s not like his scent isn’t EVERYWHERE. Sometimes I think they’re really smart, and sometimes I agree with the boyfriend about them having pea brains.


How can he not recognize his brother but recognize the couch as a place to pee?

 

This is where I vent.

 

I have no help with this couch pee thing. My vet has helped with all of the medical issues possible, and I’ve taken all the advice possible about helping him stay stress and FIC-flare-free.

 

Yet he peed on the couch again the other day. I don’t even really want to talk about it, because that means facing it, and yeah, I know, it’s a COUCH, but it’s OUR couch and while I’m totally ok with my crazy cat lady status, I’ve completely accepted that IS my life, I’m not ok with my house smelling like cat piss. I’d like to have people over. I’d like to utilize the couch for more than just the puppy pads that are currently adorning it. I’ve done everything to stop it. I don’t know what else to do. It’s a fairly new couch. Do I just accept that it’s never going to stop? Do we just get rid of the couch? What if we have it professionally cleaned and all and he pees on it again? What if we get rid of the couch and he just pees on the loveseat? I’m fully aware that there are worse problems in life. But this is MY life and I want a damn couch I can entertain people on. *I* would like to sit on my couch. MY usual seat was on that couch.

 

This brings me back to my failed bid at My Cat From Hell. When they responded that they wouldn’t be coming to Florida, they said that Jackson Galaxy sometimes does Skype consultations, and I could try. So I did. I got a response yesterday that he is currently filming and not available, but referred me to another cat behaviorist. So I checked that out. It’s TWO HUNDRED AND TWENTY FIVE DOLLARS for a HALF HOUR PHONE CONSULTATION. I’m in the wrong effin’ business. Do I have to go to college for that? I’m already the go-to cat problem person for people I know. I need to start charging. Not trying to brag or anything, but over the years I feel like I’ve amassed enough cat knowledge through personal experience and my undying devotion to the babies that I’m probably pretty qualified already.

Jockeying for position on Ikea boxes.

Wow, what if the reason I always get the lemon cats is because one day (today?) I realized my calling? I’m 30 years old and I still don’t know what to do with my life. Maybe I’m supposed to be the girl Jackson Galaxy. I DO have tons of personality and tattoos. And I can thing of worse things than dealing with cats all day. And I could be MEAN to bad kitty owners, because I would get paid upfront, like these $225 consultation people.

 

But first, I need to fix this couch thing. So far I can’t find an answer. This is one of those times where I just want someone to tell me what to do, and I do it, and it works. This one is over my head.

 

So if anyone knows anyone that will help me help Taco to stop peeing on my couch for significantly less than 2 hundos, let me know. I’m tired of thinking about it.

Mommy instinct is fallible. And…I think it’s gonna be one of those months.

In case you were waiting with baited breath to find out how Moosh is…

 

He’s fine. This has been confirmed with a vet visit. He did pee on Monday so I wasn’t worried about crystals anymore but since hanging out in the bathtub randomly isn’t always a good sign either, I decided to take him anyway. This decision was partly based on the fact that he was also overdue for his yearly visit. That fact made me feel like much less of an overreacting freako crazy cat lady.

 

Listen, if there’s one really good thing you can say about crazy cat ladies, we know our kitties. (Well, that and we take an awful lot of cat pictures.) When something’s off, it’s off.

Such an angel.

But in this case, whatever was making Moosh more weird than normal had run its course by this morning, because he was acting perfectly fine. I rushed home from work, lured Moosh out from under the bed with treats and tried to stuff him in the carrier before he was fully awake. Didn’t work. The boyfriend came home just as I was attempting this lovely task, guess who got to help? And guess who got clawed? Sorry baby, thanks so much for the help though!

 

For a laid back cat, Moosh sure hates the cat carrier. He NEVER meows, except for when he’s hungry, and then it’s a wussy ass “meeewp” but in the carrier, he’s like Taco times 10. He’s really got quite a range.

Escape while you can!

Anyway. He’s all normal. Including his weirdness, he’s back to his normal weird, instead of the weird weird. The vet pointed out that it may be the changing weather or changing furniture. Probably has something to with the glass breakage too. I found another giant chunk of it tonight. Not quite sure where that was hiding. These boys are lucky they’re not sliced to hell. Taco, on the other hand, didn’t even eat tonight because he’s too busy hissing at Moosh. This will last 3 days. Come ON, Taco, it’s only your freakin’ brother that you see every freakin’ day. He can’t possibly smell THAT different. Starve, then. See if I care. You eat your brother’s food all the time anyway. It’s about time you know how he feels.

Taco hiding out in the closet from Moosh. THAT’S a switch.

My boys are crazy. Just like their mother.

 

Oh, and then I got home, and decided to check my coolant levels because it smelled like burning antifreeze. Surprise! There’s a leak. I just got a new radiator, I am going to assume that is the most expensive thing that would cause a leak and I can rule that one out, so we’ll pretend for now that it will be a cheap fix. See? Power of positive thinking in effect. At least my babies are healthy. And I have a boyfriend willing to take a claw for me.

 

And I got to gush over these adorable babies at the vet!

Squeal!

Kitty mommy stress

The boyfriend and I went to Ikea this weekend to buy a new desk, one that makes me feel more grown-up (I’ve had my old one since high school) and a bookcase. This weekend has been a whirlwind of putting stuff together and reorganizing (not even remotely finished with that).

This may be me overreacting, but Moosh is acting weird. I mean, he’s a weird cat anyway so that alone wouldn’t be cause for alarm, but I also noticed that when I cleaned out the upstairs litter box yesterday (which I’d forgotten to do all week), the one that Moosh frequents, there was no pee. None. There was enough pee in the downstairs one that it could have been the work of two normal, healthy cats, but it struck me as odd.

 

But now I think he’s acting funny. I couldn’t find him this morning and finally did in Jason’s shower. He likes to jump in there, but usually right out. Not like, hang out there. Especially when treats are offered. Other than that he’s just acting funny. Sometimes he’s acting totally fine, and then he does random things. He spent all day under the bed, but I think that’s his new spot, so that part might be ok. And he’s eating fine. But there was only one pee in the downstairs box today and Taco peed on the couch again (that’s a whole ‘nother story) so statistically it seems likely that the pee in the box was Moosh’s, right? I pushed him in his a bazillion times and he keeps jumping right out and looking at me like I’m an asshole.

Kinda like this face.

If you have a male cat, you may already know about crystals. Crystals are a male cat owner’s nightmare. They stop up the peeing process and kitty gets sick. Really sick. And if you don’t get them to the vet in time, they can die. Best case scenario is a very expensive vet visit/stay.

 

I THINK, though, that crystal-inflicted kitties still go in the box and try. Moosh hasn’t. So I’m trying to not worry. The rational part of me (rarely the part that wins out in a worry situation) says he’s probably fine, he’s probably acting funny because a) when we came home from Ikea yesterday, there was a smashed glass on the kitchen floor, which I deduced that Moosh decided to go in the cabinet and at some point knocked out a glass that hit the counter on its way to the floor, so that may have freaked him out a bit and b) there’s two new, large pieces of furniture in the house that he doesn’t recognize.

 

I’m still worried. I will continue to worry until there is a properly soiled litterbox or until I take him to the vet. Worry, unfortunately, is what I do best.

Day 3 of Interesting Week. Ignored.

So here it is, day 3 of my interesting week, and nothing even remotely interesting has happened.

Taco supervising as I work from home. He should be fired.

Of course, that’s probably because I’m quarantined to the house to avoid infecting my co-workers and other outside life with my germy eyeball, but that’s another story. SOMETHING could have happened. I was on a roll there.

 

Instead, I have been ignored all day, abandoned by my furry flock. Rejoice, kitties, Mommy is here ALL DAY! So where’s Moosh Moosh? Under the bed. Where he’s been all day. Taco? He’s been intermittently annoying, mostly sleeping but occasionally getting up to meow fiercely for a few minutes at me and then retiring back to slumber. Not man nor beast wants to be around me today.

No help at all.

I did, actually, infect the boyfriend, it would seem, despite my efforts to the contrary. I washed sheets, disinfected surfaces and made pointed efforts to not touch my eye, at least not without a thorough handwashing afterwards.

 

I did google to see if I could give it to the kitties after a friend jokingly suggested that I’d never get rid of it if I passed it on to them. Didn’t really get a solid answer, so I’m not going to worry about it. They’ll be fine. I think.

Sorry Officer, it’s the cat’s fault.

Let me just start out by saying Mondays are a bitch. It’s always harder to wake up on a Monday because you always ruin your sleep schedule over the weekend even if you swear ahead of time that you’re not going to. So like every other Monday morning, I hit snooze until I absolutely HAD to get up. Just enough time to brush teeth, throw clothes on, feed cats, leave. Only this morning, once I got to the “feeding cat” part, I noticed there was no Taco. Mr. “HEYHEYHEYLOOKITME” always underfoot. This is unheard of. I mean, he’s spent ALL NIGHT without food! He’s usually my alarm clock. So, instead of sticking with my really tight time schedule, I went hunting for him. I even woke up the boyfriend (sorry honey) who didn’t have to be at work until 9. Looked in all the closets and hiding spaces. He finally emerged from INSIDE THE COUCH after some vigorous treat shaking. I knew he hadn’t gotten out, but for him to miss feeding, I have images of him sick somewhere and hiding. No. He was in the damn couch. IN IT.

Such an angel…NOT

Some may call my driving style aggressive, I like to call it defensive and speedy. I don’t SPEED-speed, but I hate driving so I want to get it over with as quickly as possible. This means I don’t want to be stuck behind some douche doing 35 in a 45. Which is where I found myself this morning, already running late because Taco was in the effing couch. So I tailgated a little, had an opening to get over, and I did. Annnnddddd that’s when I got pulled over.

 

Unmarked sheriff, yay. And he yelled at me. Like, YELLED. I didn’t even need to make myself cry, because it happened naturally. And he barked questions like “Do you even have insurance” and “Are you driving on a suspended license” (apparently my driving is bad enough that my license should be suspended? Come on. I drive a Volvo. I at least give the appearance of being responsible) — and this was all why I was frantically trying to find my registration in the mess of doom that is my glove box.

 

Then he surprised me by coming back and asking me to give him a good reason he shouldn’t give me a ticket for (I’m paraphrasing here) being the worst driver and human being in the world (I’m not sure what he said exactly, but his tone left that impression) and I stammered out something about being late because my cat was missing and it freaked me out and ended with “It’s Monday.” Either he’s a softy for kitties or he understands the painfulness of Mondays, because he was much nicer as he told me he was just giving me a warning and I should get to work safely and to drive better. I’m glad I didn’t point out that driving 10 miles under the speed limit is equally unsafe. Or tell him that my focus sucked because I was wearing my glasses instead of contacts which really messes up my peripheral vision.

 

That’s when I decided that I was going to appreciate my day from then on because it could only go up from there, and you know what? That worked. I had (so far) a very uneventful and productive Monday. So thanks, sir, although you made me feel like crap, you ultimately made my day better. And I should probably remember not to drive like SO much of an asshole. People still shouldn’t be driving 35 in a 45. Don’t you have somewhere to be?

This is what I do during red lights. I’m hilarious.

The boyfriend texted me later to tell me that he discovered that it was a frog that was under the couch. It’s still somewhere in here because when he went to go get it, it jumped back under. So yeah. Not only is Taco perfectly fine, he wasn’t even hiding. He was just going after live food rather than his normal morning boring food.

Never a dull moment!

YOUR LOSS, ANIMAL PLANET

Surprisingly, I received a response from the My Cat From Hell people, asking where I was located. In case you missed the post about how I answered their casting call, you can see that here. I was overly hopeful because in the past, they only asked for people living in the LA are, which, if you’re familiar with geography, is rather far from Florida, although not in the grand scheme of things. Hawaii is much farther. I am incredibly grateful that I was able to vacation there a few years ago but they really need to do something about the long plane ride. Frankly, I’m amazed that no one has come up with a less deadly version of the Concorde yet. How were they more technologically advanced in the EIGHTIES??? So back to the point, that they didn’t have a requirement, and the fact that they answered me back in what seemed to NOT be a form email got my hopes up that my cat pee couch dilemma was interesting enough for them to consider our little family of furballs.

Until I got the email that said “Thanks, but you’re too far.” (That’s not a direct quote, I paraphrased.) Oh well. I think Florida is a perfect place for Jackson to come. We have many unique kitty challenges, like not having real dirt, just a dirt-like sand that is the favorite of fleas, as well as not having a winter that gets cold enough to kill off the fleas, and even if you have indoor-only cats (which of course I do, because in addition to sociopaths and vehicles, we have alligators and supposedly coyotes but I’ve never seen one of those) fleas will come in unbeknownst to you clinging to your socks like a hobo on a train. They’re a bitch to get rid of. How come dogs don’t seem to have as much of a problem? They go out every time nature calls. And they ROLL AROUND in the dirt that the fleas love so much. Cat fur better? Everything cat is better. I could do without the fleas, though.

But alas, the boyfriend and I are just going to have to bite the bullet and do something about the couch and the figuring out of how to ensure that Taco never uses it as a litter box again. For now, though, I’m going to continue to procrastinate. Would have been so much easier to have someone to fix the problem for us. For a smart girl, I’m awfully lazy.

Honey Boo Boo got nothin’ on my cats.

I have to admit, I love my fair share of horrid reality shows. I watch Dance Moms, So You Think You Can Dance, Jersey Shore and some new one I found on CMT, Cheer. I have, as of this moment, been able to resist Honey Boo Boo. The only reason I know about Honey Boo Boo is that this child and her redneckiness make the news. Really? The NEWS? Because there’s not, you know, an election coming up, or political unrest, or other completely valid news-y things to report on. With the exception of Jersey Shore, I maintain that my reality show watching is at least based on hard work and talent. I suppose child pageants have talent shows, but still.

Moosh would make the BEST pageant contestant.

I did, actually, answer the My Cat From Hell casting call. They’re finally branching out from LA, which is good, because Florida is nowhere near LA, and in fact, I’ve never been there. I wrote a very compelling email, and then guided them to my blog. I don’t know if it will even get read, but this blog is as comprehensive as you can possibly get in documenting all of my cats’ issues. I am HOPING that the producers find my cat pee couch story interesting enough that they help me. Cat pee couch hasn’t been done on the show yet. And I really really really want to fix Taco and have my couch back.

Taco is just so freaking cute.

And it does cause problems in my relationship. The boyfriend is not as connected to the boys as I am, although I know he loves them dearly, but he’s definitely not on crazy cat lady status. It’s frustrating enough to have a cat peeing on the couch and being personally upset by it, and then add in the friction of the boyfriend’s frustration and some weird form of guilt (I was raised catholic, although I’m an atheist now, the catholic guilt is ENGRAINED permanently) because we most likely wouldn’t have cats if I wasn’t a crazy cat lady who needs cats.

 

Anyway. I hope they at least give me a chance. We’re very interesting, and Taco could have his OWN damn show. Not to take away from Moosh, he’s my lover kitty, and Taco is the entertaining one. He’s also more photogenic, and I do kind of feel bad that I have more pictures of Taco on my instagram than Moosh, but half the time when I take Moosh’s pic he just looks like a ball of black fur.

Oh, and my favorite reality show of all? FOOTBALL! Sundays are fun days again. Except when my fantasy team loses, which is likely this week as my tight end got me a big fat goose egg on Thursday. Can’t win em all, I suppose.