Category: #kittyproblems

Cat alarms.

I wake up to go to work earlier than a lot of people, 5:30ish. I’m not that far from work and I don’t take too long to get ready (unless I’m having a fat day, in which case I will put on a million outfits and hate/feel like a sausage in all of them) so I can hit snooze a few times. It’s still early. Lately the cats have been sleeping with us. This is a fairly new thing, before, they only liked sleeping with us when it was cold. We live in Florida, so that’s not a lot.

Cat on my pillow.

Moosh either sleeps on my feet or on my pillow, giving my head very little space. This is mostly ok with me. At any given point, Taco will be draped over me, stretched along my side, or also at my feet. Also mostly ok with me. It’s kind of odd that they sleep on my side because I am not a still sleeper. The boyfriend has complained myriad times about getting kneed, punched and elbowed (until we got a king, SO NICE!).

Sleeping kitty babies.

This is all besides the point. On mornings that I have to wake up to go to work, everyone is extra snuggly, making it much harder to get out of bed. Purring furballs vs. work — I love my job and all but nothing beats kitty and bed.

I’m pretty much a morning person anyway. But I would like to sleep in a LITTLE TINY BIT on the weekends. Not asking much. 9? Even 8?

NO.

Hey. Whatcha doin? Wake up! Feed me!

The cats are transformed into monsters on weekend mornings, generally around the time I would wake up for work. They crawl in and out of the window, disturbing the drapes and letting in light, knocking things over loudly, stepping all over me and meowing.

I understand that cats are not capable of rational thinking and spiteful actions, but sometimes I wonder…

Toilet training for cats sounds so tempting.

I have two cats. I had two litter boxes. One preferred one, the other preferred the other.

The boys in a rare moment of sharing.

Then Taco started peeing on the couch and in my attempts to try everything to discourage this, we added a third.

They say that you’re supposed to have one box per cat plus one, but I had resisted this as there is really no good place in my house for various litter boxes. As I write this, I have one next to me, in the spare bedroom that serves as an office/craft room. Another is in my boyfriend’s bathroom under the vanity. The third, the one that I tried not to have, is in my “dining room,” which is really just a space with cat stuff. We tossed the table a year ago, we never ate at it and it was ugly. We keep meaning to get another, smaller one, but haven’t gotten around to that either.

I buy three different kinds of litter. I refuse to use clay, because, if you don’t already know, it’s incredibly bad for the environment, the cats and yourself. If you’ve ever poured a batch and inhaled the cloud of dust that ensues, you’ll understand. So I have S’wheat scoop, Feline Pine and Feline Pine clumping. Taco always preferred the pine and Moosh likes the wheat, and I did the clumping downstairs because it’s miserable to step on those f&^#&ing pellets.

Nothing really stops the stench, and now BOTH cats have taken to almost exclusively using the downstairs box…the one I would really prefer them NOT use, as it is right next to the kitchen.

I cannot fathom why. They both spend the majority of their time sleeping upstairs. Moosh’s current favorite place is in my closet, and Taco’s is under or on the bed. They have developed relationships with the boxes they’re already used to. Why is this new box so special?

They are both total opposites when it comes to USING the box, too. Moosh digs to China. He spends a good 15 minutes covering. This leads to what we have affectionately labeled “the poop face,” because he is covered in pine/wheat dust. Then he likes to do what we have affectionately labeled “the poop run,” which is running up (or down) the stairs excitedly, ending with a little prance. I assume he feels lighter and freer and wants to show it off.

POOP FACE!

Taco rarely digs. His poop run consists of dropping a deuce and then hauling ass, leaving the stench to permeate. And boy, is he stench-y.

So this is why, sometimes, I am really tempted to train my cats to use the toilet. In the end, though, I’m personally too selfish to give up the use of one of MY toilets to do so. Nor do I have the patience or time. Sigh.

For the love of cats (and hatred of fleas)

I stopped by my mom’s yesterday. I haven’t seen Fatty and Little for a couple weeks.

Little and Fatty, back in the day.

Cats are really funny. They are both so much better. So much so, in fact, that Little went back to his routine of hiding from me immediately, and Fatty punished me for my recent absence by ignoring my love for awhile. No purr.

It was funny, the moment I could tell that he decided I had suffered enough. He jumped down from his box and swirled around my arm, started purring and plopped his fat self down on my hand. Apparently I should visit more often.

Little never did come out from under the bookcase, even with treats. I got him to move a tiny little bit for one, but Fatty ran under and ate the others. I naively thought that Little meowing at me to pet him a few weeks was because he decided he liked me. Silly me, it’s just because he felt like shit. If you are a crazy cat lady, you understand this feeling of failure. In my mind, every cat should love me because they should KNOW. Just like I think every stray cat I see, whether it’s at a shelter or on the street, is saying to me “I KNOW you would love me SO much and I would LOVE to come home with you. PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE!”

Little, the loner kitty.

But I digress. It’s a huge relief to see them acting like normal, since the fleas took so much power from them. I hate fleas. I really hate them. And I hate that the lack of winter here, hence lack of cold, cold that I HATE, is partially to blame for the fuckers’ survival (the fleas, not the cats).

I live in a townhouse so I don’t really have much of a yard for fleas to live in. This is probably why I have been able to somewhat control them with Moosh and Taco. But I am terrified of them taking root. I have boraxed, revolutioned, vacuumed and washed. Taco was ok with the natural flea spray the first few times I used it on him, but now he will gouge me to get away.

By the way, that stuff REALLY freakin’ works. Vet’s Best. I used it on myself. I read the bottle…it doesn’t say not to.

Anyway. Fatty is good. I’m pretty sure Little is, since for him, hiding is normal. Fatty is getting back to being fat. He actually only weighs a little more than Moosh and Taco, Not quite sure how his giant gut does not factor more in to the equation.

And now Taco is eating my sandal, so I think that means I have to go pay attention to him. This is fine with me, I’m sick and feel like crap anyway. Laying down DOES sound like a good idea.

And IN my shoes. Sigh.

I like my vet more than I like my own doctor.

The only reason I go to the same doctor is because I’m too lazy to find a new one, even though I don’t care for him very much. But vets, those are a different story. I am a veterinary snob.

Jager was my boo.

Jäger was the uber lemon cat. I say this lovingly. But he ALWAYS had something wrong. He had cat herpes. Yes, cats get herpes. It’s not like people herpes, it just had something to do with his immune system. He was always getting eye and nail bed infections (and it didn’t help that he got his claws stuck in EVERYTHING). I was like BFFs with my vet. Then he got really sick and in the process of figuring out what was wrong, I was there more than I was at home. The only reason I think I stayed halfway sane was because my vet was the shit. I ask a lot of questions. I want to know everything. And the kind of vet I like is the one that answers them and doesn’t treat me like an imbecile just because I google. Yes, I know I don’t have a veterinary degree. So sue me if I like to arm myself with information.

Also on the qualification list: must be a cat person. I have nothing against dog people. Dogs are fun and adorable. I’m just not a dog person. If I was a dog person, I’d probably want a dog person vet. We’re just different breeds.

Moosh, good son that he is, rarely has anything wrong with him, other than being a weirdo. So we went a long time without a vet visit after Jager died and we got Moosh. When it came time for his yearly exam, I found out my vet was gone. The new vet, he just didn’t do it for me. It’s not like he was a horrible vet — the bar is set very high and he didn’t quite measure up. The “it” factor wasn’t there.

Then I went on a new vet search (actually, first I tried in vain to find my old vet). I lucked out. My current vet meets my high standards. She answers my questions before I even ask them. And she ONLY treats cats.

Maybe I’m crazy. In fact, I’ve been told this a lot. But even if I don’t like my own doc, I can fend for myself. My babies can’t tell me what’s wrong with them.

Crazy is more fun than sane, anyway.

Crazy momma, crazy babies.

My couch is not an effing litterbox.

Moosh Moosh laying on the couch in better times.

It’s really frustrating to have your cat pee on the couch. Taco, for all his shortcomings, isn’t a BAD cat, per se. But he peed on the couch because he has this Feline Idiopathic Cystitis.

I have a really great vet so I have a decent understanding of what this is, although apparently the “idiopathic” part of the name is a fancy doctor word for “we’re not really sure what causes this.” The best they can figure is that for some reason, some cats can’t handle stress as well as regular cats (and if I hear someone say “What does a CAT have to be stressed about?!” one more time I’m gonna punch ’em) which in turn causes their bladders to become inflamed. So then it hurts to pee. This is when they pee in places they aren’t supposed to. Which in my case, is my couch.

This is very unfortunate because a) I like to sit there and b) he’ll keep peeing there because he smells it. It’s not like I can just throw the couch in the washing machine with some vinegar. My vet told me to use the cat urine remover, then spray it with vodka. Still smell the pee. Granted, I have to stick my nose right up to it to smell it, but the lil furballs have a much better sense of smell than us.

Currently, my couch is covered with a shower curtain and puppy pads. Oh, and cat repellant. I didn’t know they made that and I don’t know what’s supposed to be repelling about it but it only worked for a little while. We went 2 whole weeks and then he did it again Friday. And then again today.

I am annoyed. Like, really really annoyed. I know it’s not his fault but SWEET BABY JESUS it’s frustrating. Three litterboxes and you can’t pee in ONE of them? I tried reasoning with him once — it was ridiculous, but I was tired of it. I cried… and told him to “stop it for Mommy.” He looked at me quite seriously, then reached out and swatted a pen on the floor.

He’s had a laser treatment for the FIC (I affectionately call this PEW PEW PEW) and about a bazillion other things, but I think his flare-up is over and now he’s just peeing there out of habit.

This sucks.

Taco. The bad son.

I don't know how he got on top of the punching bag. I really don't.

I decided to introduce Taco next. He’s the newest addition to my harem but by far the biggest brat. By “brat” I mean that he keeps us all on our toes. We adopted him from a friend who’d rescued a preggo stray, Taco being one of the litter resulting from said preggo stray. She named him Fernando, which I loved, but a condition of Jason’s (that’s my other half) was that he was to be named after Taco from “The League.” So whatever. Taco’s fine with me. It works for him.

Anyway, I thought that his introduction to his brother Moosh Moosh would be seamless, as he already had a black brother, Zorro. I seriously live in a dream world sometimes. Like he would be tricked into believing all black cats are his brother. What ACTUALLY happened was an awful lot of hissing on Taco’s part. Moosh was intrigued but pretty much “whatever” about the whole thing.

So we did what you’re supposed to do when introducing a new cat. Put him in a separate room and let them sniff each other through the door for awhile. THIS is when I was introduced to Taco’s lungs. You haven’t heard a cat meow until you’ve heard Taco. This little shit can go for days. This is also when we discovered that he despises closed doors. Whatever’s closed off, he has to be in. But that’s another story.

Now, what makes Taco a brat?

The bag of calming treats I accidentally left out. Had to call the vet, he's only supposed to have 3 a day.

  1. He cries. All the time. For no reason. He acts like he’s dying. I would have no idea if he was actually hurt because he ALWAYS sounds like he’s hurt. He also has several different types. There’s the one where his tongue kinda sticks out and it sounds like “Mlllooowwwl”…the “MROW!” lookitme meow… and the howling “meooooowwwwwwwwwwwwww” one that will make me run in from another room.
  2. He HAS to be the center of attention at all times. He can be dead asleep and somehow SENSE that Moosh is getting attention and BOOM! He’s right there. Meowing.
  3. He can get into the accordion doors to the linen closet. Then he gets fur all over my clean towels.
  4. He knows JUST where to step on my gut to cause the most pain to wake me up to feed him. Then meow.
  5. He eats all the food. Moosh likes to graze. He eats a little and comes back for more later. Only there’s nothing left, because Taco already ate it all.
  6. He fucks with everything. He’ll be sleeping on my lap peacefully and out of the corner of his half-closed eye see a non-moving pen on the desk…and stick his fat paw out to grab it. He somehow managed to find a old bottle of diet pills in my closet, opened it, and tried to eat one, resulting in an epic freakout on my part (it turned out he didn’t eat one, but it was a frantic 15 minutes figuring that out).
  7. If a bag of treats happens to be left out on the counter and not put back in the pantry, that shit will be on the floor in the morning, COMPLETELY RIPPED TO SHREDS. I once left an open bag of treats on the floor that I had used to coerce Taco into his carrier for a vet visit. When I came back, Moosh was sitting right next to the bag. Untouched. Good son.
  8. He pees on my couch. This isn’t totally his fault, he has Feline Idiopathic Cystitis. When he gets stressed, his bladder inflames and in turn it makes it hurt to pee. When it hurts to pee, he pees in places he’s not supposed to. This is not fun for all involved.

So why would we keep this drama queen around? For one, I love him. I love his quirks and his meow (just not so early in the morning or when I’m in another room and think he’s gravely ill). And crazy cat ladies don’t give up on their lemons. But he’s also a pretty amazing cat, and he makes up for most of the evildoings. You’ll have to wait for part 2 to hear about that.