Category: #kittyproblems

TECHNOLOGICALLY ADVANCED bad kitty mommy.

As you all may know, today was the first day you could pre-order the new iPhone 5. I currently have the 4 (not 4S, pre-Siri) and it’s about time for an upgrade. Why? It just is. Because I’m an adult and I can. So despite the fact that I ordered it before most people are awake, I missed the first boat and will have to wait 2 weeks instead of just one to receive it. Apparently they sold out in an hour. I would have had to be up at 3. Too early for me. I COULD wait in line at the store, but I’m not THAT crazy. I don’t like people and I don’t like waiting. Sounds horrible.

 

So as I sit here in between jobs (I would normally be at the gym but my leg is incredibly sore, I think I pulled something as usual), I have Taco on my lap purring, and it occurs to me that I could have bought my boys a very nice cat tree with the money I just spent on a cell phone. I barely even use it as a phone. Everything else, yes.

Y U NO LOVE ME MOM

Moosh Moosh needs his shots, too, which is about the price of the phone, that I will be putting off, since I just bought a phone that is better but not incredibly different than the one I currently have (except it’s bigger, thinner, the front facing camera is 720p now, that’s a big deal, if you’ve ever used the front facing camera on the iPhone you will know that there is NO flattering angle even remotely possible).

This is actually a vaguely flattering picture but it’s so freaking grainy.

 

Beyond the cats, I could have used the money to buy a laptop, which I actually NEED, or rather, I NEED in order to do work while watching football instead of being chained to the desk away from TVs. Which in itself makes me a bad kitty mom to WANT to do that because Taco only sits on my lap when I’m sitting at the computer (like right now – he’s so purry and cute!). He’ll probably feel so alone if I have a computer on my lap instead. He’ll be heartbroken and run away. Moosh will be fine, I suppose, he likes my shoulders better anyway.

 

But yeah. I’m an iWhore. We all have our vices. Don’t judge.

 

Cat puke-a-thon update.

I have to feed Taco prescription food, and it’s crap. It’s good for his condition, but it’s crap. I’m the kind of kitty mommy who likes feeding her babies organic, meal-free, byproduct-free food. So I sneak in some good food sometimes. I wasn’t keeping a food diary or anything, but something set off alarms that it kind of seemed like Taco puked when I added the other food in there. So today, I didn’t. And before he ate, I force fed him an eyedropper of Pepcid AC dissolved in water (thanks again, Mommy, that idea was BRILLS!) and so far…we’ve made it through the day without a single vomit!

Yay, Taco!

Of course, I only fed them half of what I normally do, and I know they’re starving but I reasoned that somewhat starving kitty was better than a kitty who was completely starved because he ate too fast and ralphed everything back up. No vet today! Yay!

Doesn’t Moosh Moosh look positively THRILLED?

New cat drama, yay!

Like I really want new cat drama.

These little devils cause gray hairs.

 

Today, Taco has puked 5 times. All throughout the day. There’s really nothing in the house that he could have gotten into and he’s acting perfectly fine otherwise. We’ve taken him to the vet before for the puking, and she said that based on his age and the normal tests, it was likely just upset stomach and prescribed him Pepcid AC. Yes, the human kind.

 

Only Taco, being the smart little asshole he is, figured out Pill Pockets, and refuses to eat them anymore. So when he stopped puking so much and started ignoring the Pill Pockets, I just gave up. Since then, here and there he’s been pukey, but really, what cat isn’t? Even Moosh pukes sometimes. Mostly hairballs, I mean, it IS Florida and all, and I see how much hair they have. It’s only natural. I hear pumpkin puree is supposed to work for that, has anyone tried it?

 

Anyway, I don’t think it’s the hairballs today. He’s puked up all his food AND some Greenies (which will turn your beige carpet a lovely shade of green!) and even did the weird MEOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOW thing that cats do right before they puke…only MY cats have never done it right before they puke. In fact, the only reason I know about the MEOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOW “I’m about to puke” noise is from Jager…who was sick with FIP. My vet said that the noise was normal, but I now associate it with a dying kitten (which I know, logically, isn’t what’s wrong with Taco as it’s really only a disease that hits cats under 2, and usually way younger than that) and that’s extraordinarily unnerving.

 

And this is supposed to be my vacation week and I was looking forward to “me” time tomorrow (by vacation week I mean I have the week off one job and 1 and a half days at my day job which may not seem like a vacation week to you but believe me, it is to me) but now it looks like I’m going to have to take Taco to the vet, which also makes me feel like a horrible cat mom and horrible person in general for lamenting the loss of my “me” day for what could be a sick kitty. But something always happens on my days off. And I don’t get a lot of them. Plus, the vet costs money. Money I don’t want to spend at the vet. I love my vet, but really, I would like to see less of her. Just got the “Time for Moosh vaccinations!” postcard in the mail the other day. I should really get a volume discount.

 

But I suppose I should be happy I’m not getting hit with a hurricane and using my day off to evacuate. And although the RNC is going on just on the other side of the bay, I haven’t had any run-ins with crazy republicans. I did, however, put my “Republicans Hate Kittens” sticker on my car (it has a sad kitty face on it too) in hopes that I offend someone. I reason that any republican who actually does not hate kittens is probably an ok person and wouldn’t be offended by such a sticker anyway. I see the bright side. I guess I just feel like wallowing today. In addition to worrying about the kitty.

Cat-related injuries. It’s an epidemic.

I am a klutz. I’ve always been a klutz. I trip over things it should be impossible to trip over, I run into things that weren’t even remotely in my way and I’m covered in bruises.

 

There was the time that I got off a machine at the gym, bent down to pick up my bag and smashed my forehead into the arm that holds the plates on the leg press that was next to me. That left a dent. I was shocked it didn’t split my head open.

 

I put a knife through my hand emptying the dishwasher. That was two stitches.

I know. It’s kinda gross.

 

I sliced my shin open moving a broken mirror while trying on outfits for my 7th grade picture day. Stitches…haute couture accessory!

 

I fell off a docked sailboat while getting off onto the dock, straddling the rope that moored it — resulting in the only broken bone I’ve ever had — tailbone. At least I think I broke it, I couldn’t sit for weeks. It still aches a little while doing lunges.

 

Last night I caught my thumb in the door hinge while closing it. Not sure how I did that, really.

 

These are just a few examples of why I own the title “Princess Grace.”

 

So. WHY do I have cats that add to the injury tally? Today, I closed my foot in the door because I thought I stepped on one of them and put my weight back on the foot that I was in the process of moving out of the way of the closing door. This wasn’t REALLY the cats’ fault, the rug had bunched up and that’s what I stepped on…but if the cats didn’t exist, I wouldn’t have thought I stepped on one.

He is TRYING to kill me.

 

So many times I’ve had to attempt extreme body contortion to grab the railing of the stairs while going down or up when a cat ran underfoot. Countless pulled muscles there.

 

I’ve had more than one lovely black and blue mark from the cats chasing each other at full speed and I had the AUDACITY to have my leg in the way. Those little buggers have really hard heads. This also causes a rise in my anxiety levels as I watch for signs of concussion. I don’t even know if cats get concussed, yet this is a valid concern for me.

 

And the scratches. Dear lord. I have more scar tissue than…I don’t know, someone with a lot of scar tissue. Moosh is usually pretty good with the perching on the shoulders but every once in awhile he loses his footing and my chest gets the bloody end of the stick. My most unfavorite is when I’m holding one or the other and something spooks them, resulting in an unwelcome claw stuck in the skin, while I frantically try to stop the spooked cat from flailing and attempting to remove said claw with the least amount of damage possible. And it’s always somewhere fleshy and painful, like a boob or armpit.

See that evil look?

 

My conclusion is this: my cats will outlive me.

Bad kitty mommy again.

This picture of Moosh in a kitty bed on the human bed does not relate to my story at all. Just felt like throwing it in here.

I have been a bad kitty mommy this week. I’ve been so busy and cranky and having to deal with a bazillion things that I didn’t notice the litter box was at capacity. The other night, Taco loudly made his displeasure known. When I realized the cause of his discontent, I went over to deal with it. But the Litter Genie was full, so that took some extra time to re-set.
I noticed Taco had stopped meowing. Why? Because he was peeing on the couch. Yes, we have puppy pads there for this very reason, but he TRIED to hold it. From the sheer volume of pee there, I assume he’d been holding it for quite awhile. Those puppy pads kinda suck, too, his paws were wet — so I panicked and did what everyone (I think everyone, anyway) would do…I marched him to the bathroom to attempt a paw washing in the sink. This did not go over well. I got a couple of vague rinses in and gave up, tried to dry them off with toilet paper and promptly locked him in the bathroom for what I thought would be an appropriate amount of time for him to clean himself up and not get cat pee smell everywhere. As I did that, he meowed weirdly, in a way that sent me into yet another panic that I had hurt in somehow in the sink struggle.

 

I think he was just traumatized, because he seems to be fine now.

 

It’s been awhile since he peed on the couch, but it’s just as frustrating and even more so because I could have prevented it. I mean, living your life with a shower curtain and puppy pads on your couch is hardly a way to live…and I didn’t need to make matters worse. Of course, it pissed off the boyfriend too (who yes, could have cleaned the litter box as well) which I do understand…after all, he did buy the couches and all. But he’s a cat (Taco, not the boyfriend), and it’s mostly my fault anyway.

 

This week has just been unpleasant overall. But this always raises my spirits:

Furry bed.

So we’d had the same duvet cover for like 4 years, and I was getting bored with it. It’s nice enough, brown and tan in a damask pattern, but I was bored and ready to change things up a bit.

Moosh hoggin’ up the old duvet cover

I wanted some sort of gray comforter, but it would seem that those are rather hard to find, and as the story of my life goes, every one that I found and liked was astronomically priced. I swear, it really is a curse to be blessed with such amazing taste and no riches to back it up. Thanks a lot, parents. Geez. If you were relying on ME to make the millions, you would have been better off trading off some of the smarts for a little more drive. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I’m just talented enough at things that I feel I don’t really need to work on them as well as not driven enough to exploit said talents.

I digress. This is about our comforter. So anyway, I ended up settling on a nice black duvet cover. I was KIND of disappointed with it because the fabric was so thin, but that’s besides the point. It’s also rather disgusting what they charge for duvet covers. It’s basically buying a oversized pillowcase, yet they rape your wallet. Honestly, I could have made one with two sheets, but I gave up that idea based on the margin for error involved. And the aforementioned laziness.

The black comforter. It seemed like a good idea. Moosh is black and Taco is mostly dark.

NOT DARK ENOUGH. It wasn’t really that noticeable with the brown duvet, but HOLY CRAP my bed is a freaking fur coat. I don’t know if the fabric catches the fur better or I can just see it more, but there is more cat hair residing on my bed than 2 weeks of vacuuming the entire house yields. Again, HOW ARE THEY NOT BALD?

Moosh furrin’ up the new duvet cover

I guess it’s just one of those things where you live and you learn. Or, it’s the perfect time to start shaving the brats. I could even spin that idea by saying it will cut down on hairballs and therefore improve their quality of life! I really should have been in PR. My gift for justification knows no bounds.

But first, I’ll probably have to either figure out how to put mittens on them or encase myself in full body armor.

MEOWlympics.

As most of the world is, I’m currently fascinated with the olympics. At the tender age of 30, I realize my athletic prime has passed and it’s unlikely that I’ll find my niche to win gold. But I think about the sports and activities that passed me by…like gymnastics. I’m 5’8″ now, and I’m broad. If I stopped eating, I’d still be a large skeleton. So that wasn’t a sport made for me. Rhythmic gymnastics? I remember having some cassette tape when I was a kid…it came with the stick with the ribbon and you were supposed to do twirlies with it but that’s about all I remember of it. Obviously rhythmic gymnastics didn’t make that much of an impression on me either. I did swimming for awhile, I wasn’t bad but I wasn’t Natalie Coughlin or anything. I took diving classes, I was terrified. Not of the height, but the flippy flips. I think I saw the Greg Louganis faceplant too early in life. Never been much of a runner, so that’s out. It’s just flat out amusing to watch me play tennis. I manage to hit the ball over the fence repeatedly. Fencing sounds fun but I never had the opportunity. Weightlifting, in theory, sounds like something I would be good at. I build muscle easily. But I’m also prone to injury and “clean and jerk” sounds like waaaaay too much opportunity to pop something out of place.
Now SHOTPUT. That is something I could have excelled at. Except I don’t recall them offering that in high school. Where does one go to start shotputting? I’m excellent at throwing things. Aiming, that is a different story. The safest place to be is where I am trying to throw something.

Which brings me, in a VERY roundabout way, to the subject of my post. Throwing mousies. I am SUPER KICK ASS at throwing mousies.

Unfortunately for the boyfriend, as per the above-mentioned aiming abilities, I usually hit him with the mousies. Face, crotch, the exact place on the floor where he will immediately step on it and curse me…this is not on purpose. The cats, bless their hearts, will come to a screeching halt when mousie lands on Daddy. They know better. It would probably be worse if he got hit with cat, too. I’m also one of those people who laugh at inappropriate times…which makes him even madder. My own ineptness at aiming and the hilarity that ensues brings on a giggle that can’t be controlled. The inappropriateness of it makes me giggle more, and well, you can see where that goes.

I’ve always thought that the cats lose the mousies under things and in closets and such…but after writing this I’m questioning that conclusion.

To be fair, there ARE cat toys everywhere, and it’s just the mousies that seem to go missing.

Seriously, though, if being a crazy cat lady was an olympic sport I would win gold every four years. I realize I have stiff competition, but I’m pretty crazy. I exercise my crazy cat ladyness EVERY FREAKIN’ DAY.

 

UPDATE: I just found the thing that I did with the cassette tape (and by that I mean I searched the interwebz) — GET IN SHAPE, GIRL! OMG I totally remember this! I wish I still had this. I sense a youtube 80s fest.

Zombie parasites in my brain from cat poop.

During lunch at work, I peruse the news sites and keep up with all the latest happenings. I do very much enjoy keeping up with the most current events, like the Higgs-Boson particle likely being found. As a science nerd, I am SUPER excited about that one. But then, yesterday, I came across this. Cat Parasite Linked to Suicide Among Women. I mean, REALLY? This Toxoplasma gondii crap lurks in cat poop, waiting to get in your brain. It’s mostly harmless, I guess, unless you’re pregnant, but now it seems that’s spread to all women, because you may be 1.5 times more likely to end it all. This is not welcome news. I have never understood suicide, although I’ve had friends who have gotten that far. I like to wallow in stuff for a few days and then perk up. I’ve noticed the older I get, the more crotchety I get, but I certainly haven’t even remotely contemplated the unthinkable act of doing away with myself. I like myself WAY too much for that. I have, on occasion (ok, maybe a lot), felt the urge to wring some necks, but not my own.

This little brat is often at the top of my hit list.

I’m pretty sure with the amount of cat poop I’ve shoveled in my lifetime that it’s unlikely I’m NOT parasited. And I am not the best at washing my hands. I am from the “whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” school of thought. After the bathroom, yeah. And after the gym. For some reason the gym disgusts me enough to thoroughly wash my hands afterwards.

Gettin’ his parasites all up in my lap.

Anyway, back to my zombie brain. This story is incredibly fascinating. They found that in rats, this parasite gets in a part of their brains that makes them unafraid of cats, and instead gets all hot and bothered by evoking a sexual response. This, in turn, makes the rat more likely to be eaten by the cat, ensuring the parasite ends up where it really wants to be — in the kitty gut. This is a smart mother-effin’ parasite. Humans don’t even totally understand how the brain works but this parasite is all up in there, making you do stuff. A regular puppeteer.

Maybe I should leave my brain to science. I probably have a ton of parasites in there.Who knows what else is lurking?

So in conclusion, if anyone notices me being mopey for more than 3 days (this is the usual time limit I allow myself for moping), please call the CDC and tell them my cat made me a zombie and to please do something about it.

Ok, so maybe this is more “duck face” than sad, but I don’t have any sad pics of myself.

A plea to Jackson Galaxy.

I really wish Jackson Galaxy would come to Florida. I watched the first show of the new season of My Cat From Hell last night and while it’s great and all, I am NOT taking Taco for a walk around the block here, which was one of his suggestions for a Bengal on the show. Maybe that works in California and New York but I can just imagine the flea party that would ensue here. Plus, Taco absolutely hates fresh air. He freaks out. Which in turn, will stress him out, which will cause a flare-up of his Feline Idiopathic Cystitis and then he will pee in MORE inappropriate places. I still have a shower curtain and puppy pads on my couch. And a weekly spraying of cat stay-off spray, whatever that is.

My cats have some of the same issues these cats on the show have, but there’s always something just different enough that his solutions won’t work for me. Moosh bites randomly. Sometimes I can tell when he’s about to by a tail thump but sometimes it’s out of the blue. He’ll be purring, belly up getting pets when BAM! Bite. It’s not a certain spot that I touch…I’ve poked and prodded to check. I know what DOES provoke him, and according to last night’s episode, I am not supposed to be doing what I do, which is using my hand as a toy. I pet his head backwards and smush his face, and his eyes get big and black and he lunges as I move my hand away. Sometimes this ends badly for me. But I can immediately get him out of attack/play mode by putting my face in his face. It’s like his off switch. It’s like he knows face is a no scratch zone, and he nuzzles. Here’s the thing, though…Moosh is such a weird cat that he’s not really into toys. He has a passing interest in some occasionally and that’s about it. Taco, on the other hand, plays with anything and everything. He must know I’m writing about him because 5 minutes ago he was DEAD asleep on the bed and he’s just entered the room meowing at me. He is a SUPER attention hog.

“Can I get on the ceiling?”

Jackson also says that cats are either tree dwellers or bush dwellers. Moosh is definitely a tree dweller, he wants to be on top of everything. I found him in my cabinet once. Next to the clean glasses. Taco has no interest in jumping on much unless there’s something for him to mess with. He can, however, jump chest high. I wish I had a better camera that was capable of catching him in a leap, because it’s really a sight to see. I assume that’s the Bengal in him. I don’t know what any of this means in terms of making my cats behave better, though.

I was tempted to buy a cat wheel for Taco to get out his energy, as I saw on an older episode. I found out they are rather expensive. I decided running up and down the stairs is exercise enough.

Kitten Taco! I forgot he was ever that small.

In summary, PLEASE COME TO MY HOUSE, JACKSON GALAXY! I know that my cats are not threatening lives but I would like to use my couch again. And sleep in a little on weekends. And make Taco stop eating Moosh Moosh’s food. And find out why Moosh licks blinds, which isn’t harmful but really freakin’ weird.

You can never have too many posts about litter boxes.

Today, I have been very productive. I went to Target, Michael’s, the gym AND the beach (Debby left AMAZING weather in her wake, even if she did take an awful lot of the sand dunes with her, too). And I even took half of the recycling to the recycling place! I can’t get too excited about that one. It’s literally a 5 second drive. But YAY TO ENVIRONMENTALLY-FRIENDLINESS!

Not gonna lie, I love living in Florida.

I’m not looking forward to my next task, though. Reconfiguring the downstairs litter box placement.

So we added the 3rd box downstairs in hopes it would give Taco an alternative to peeing on the couch. It’s worked out MOST of the time, but he still has his moments.

Anyway, the perfect place for a corner-style box was in the “dining room” that we don’t use as a dining room or really anything else. And this is fine. However, the boyfriend’s mom is coming to visit and the only good place to put an inflatable bed is in that very same space. Considering the boys have made that their favorite pooping place and therefore considering the stench, it’s going to have to be moved. That’s just not nice. I love the boyfriend’s mom. If she was an evil in-law, I’d probably consider leaving it but she is most definitely on the good side.

I’ve heard cats are rather finicky about change, and although mine seem to take most things in stride except for the vacuum cleaner and mattress delivery people, I’m slightly concerned with a) where to put it and b) if they are going to have, literally, a shit fit.

Even being sandwiched by work boots doesn’t faze Taco.

It feels like such a daunting task that it almost seems easier to clear the 2nd bedroom of my craft things and put her there, except there’s a litter box here, too, and my closet and bathroom (I highly recommend separate bathrooms and closets in a relationship — I think it’s the key to longevity).

There’s also other cleaning involved in preparation. Not looking forward to that either. I’m not the cleanest person on earth. Even when I try, I’m still messy.

But I suppose this is enough procrastination. SIGH.

Moosh enjoys the peacefulness of the closet. Perhaps I can hide there too.