Tagged: cat people
Hey corporate America…cut out the “hip” April Fool’s jokes.
Another April Fool’s Day is here, and with it brings a trove of companies trying to show the youth how “in touch” they are with them by making up random products and hoping enough people fall for it that they get some good viral marketing in. I suppose I can’t blame them for trying.
Cmon, Google Nose! Who were you trying to fool? The only way this one would have amused me would be if before you allowed people to “smell” things from the internet, you made them consent to putting their web cam on. Now THAT would be a joke I would get into. How many morons lean forward, close their eyes and try REALLY REALLY hard to smell a diaper? Post the stupidity. Then I’ll applaud you.
Among the jokes today was one that didn’t seem to get a lot of media coverage, but was the only one I mildly enjoyed, and only because there was a cat involved. Thank you, Sony, for not trying too hard. Simple really is sometimes the best way to go. This is the photo of a cat rocking out with a pair of M3-OW KittyCans. I even love the name they came up with. Again, simple. And cat-related.
I bet he’s listening to Weezy’s new album!
From the fake press release:
“Now that there are more households with pets than with children, we are targeting pet owners who want to provide unique entertainment experiences for their furry, four-legged family members,” said Tom Barret, lead engineer for the Animalia line. “Sony is known for making products that enrich our lives, and the Animalia line was developed for domesticated animals who also naturally seek visual, music and emotional experiences.”
Bohemian Rhapsody = Music to Annoy Your Cats By
Fun lil fact about Freddy Mercury: he was a crazy cat lady. He wrote a song for one of his many, and even had a “waistcoat” (it looks like a vest to me, but what do I know?) painted with all of his cats.
What a lovely man. And thoroughly missed. They just don’t make music like that anymore.
I’m sure Mr. Mercury would not be all that pleased (or maybe he would, who knows) to learn that I like to use one of his songs as accompaniment to cat torture.
How did this start?
Try holding your cat.
YOU LOVE MOMMY.
If yours are anything like mine, they will struggle, as if they are saying “Let me gooooo!”
That’s where it starts. I’ll start singing this to them as I attempt to force their wriggling bodies to sit on my lap.
“Mamma mia, mamma mia, mamma mia let me go”
“NO! I will not let you go! NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!”
This goes on until I’m sick of this particular exchange. As my cats are named Taco and Moosh, it’s only right that I use their names here:
Taco Moosh, Taco Moosh, can you do the fandango? THUNDERBOLTS OF LIGHTNING VERY VERY FRIGHTENING EEE!
I’m certifiable.
Kitties for my birthday.
It’s my birthday! I’m thirty-one. I have officially been old enough to drink legally for TEN YEARS. My god, that thought is horrifying. I remember how far away 21 seemed when I longed to be able to buy my own beer, and now I’m 10 years from that on the other side.
If you’re wondering why I’m writing a blog post instead of doing something fun and exciting to celebrate, it’s because it’s miserable outside. The weather is always a little flaky on my birthday but it’s not usually outright COLD. And it’s cold. Sunny, but windy and and cold. And since I’m still expelling an ungodly amount of mucus, I’m not willing to suffer through it for even a spring training baseball game, which the boyfriend lovingly offered up even though his back’s all screwed up and I know he isn’t impressed with the weather either. Now that I think about it, it was really windy on my birthday last year too, but it was HOT. I passed up a beach day because of the wind since getting sandblasted is NOT fun (I was also really hungover). So I’m here with the boyfriend, who is laying in bed with his bad back, and the kitties, who are sleeping on the couch next to me and in the cubby hole of the cat tree. 
The boyfriend took me to get vegan pancakes this morning only for us to discover that the place serving the vegan pancakes is in fact no longer open. It was a truly lovely thought, though. And he got me vegan cupcakes!
Apparently everyone knows what I like, as most of my cards are cat-related. 
One meows the birthday song, which confused the hell out of the boys. Searching all over for the singing kitties.
I also got this amazing book, I Could Pee on This.
I also got a Richard Dawkins books, of which the title could ironically also refer to cats.
Poems by a cat. I assume they were dictated to a human. I had fun annoying the boyfriend while reciting some of them to him. Highly amused.
Except for the stupid weather, I feel loved and adored in my advanced age. I’ve had well-wishes and presents from all over, particularly on facebook, which makes one feel rather popular. Tonight I will drink with some friends and will attempt some sort of moderation, as hangovers have only gotten worse for me the older I get. We’ll see how that works.
Old cats and ex-mommy status.
My mom works weekends, because she has her awesomely fabulous bookstore to run (Sam’s Books, in Oldsmar, Florida, if you’re ever in town, please check her out). My birthday is Saturday, and of course this is a busy day for her, so we celebrated together yesterday. My mother is probably the reason I regard birthdays so highly, as she always acts as if mine is a holiday. We went out to lunch, browsed around a bit then went back to her house where she had a piece of vegan cake waiting for me. Man, I love cake. I love cake like a fat kid loves cake. If I ever lose that 20 pounds (that would still keep me in a perfectly normal range, so no, I do not have body dysmorphic whatever) that I’ve been threatening to lose for the last 16 or so years, I’m going unvegan for a day and eating an entire Publix cake. Because Publix has the best freakin’ cakes ever. I also got to grab a big stack of books which means I will probably not get all the things accomplished that I threatened to accomplish on my time off.
Being at my mom’s means I get to hang out with my kitties. Who I realized, are really now her kitties. Although I picked them both out as babies and was their mommy for the majority of their lives, I am only mildly tolerated now.
Even Fatty’s eyes are fat. I heart my big boy.
Fatty, my fat fat fat baby, doesn’t even do our choreographed stretch when I pick him up just the right way anymore. Of course, he IS turning 16 this year. And he wasted no time gaining back all the weight he lost when he almost died of anemia.
The other baby, Little, has never really been anyone’s cat. He keeps to himself. He allowed me to pet him briefly but was quite clear in letting me know that he was only humoring me.
There’s something sad about ex-mommy status, even though I have two boys of my own at home. I would probably be more upset about it if I didn’t take into account the reasons that I didn’t uproot them when I finally moved out of my mom’s house at the ripe old age of 24, those being that I rent (they’ve been freely allowed to scratch everything forever) and I didn’t want to separate them from my mom, who of course is an amazing mother (obvs, you can see how well I turned out). She’s good for them. I’m ok with being the sister. Besides, color-wise, I have an identical set here (black and a tabby). Life is good.
Side note, I got to go through a bunch of old stuff yesterday including my old dance costumes. I wish they still fit. I’m not kidding when I say I would prance around the house in them.
HOW CUTE IS THIS??? It ALMOST makes me want a kid. Almost. Not really. I just want to wear it.
Caturday is Blahturday.
It finally happened.
After weeks of dodging germs from what seemed like EVERY PERSON IN EXISTENCE, my immune system has finally succumbed. I woke up with a sore throat and it’s just going downhill from there. It was only a matter of time. Everyone at both jobs had some variety of the sickness, including the boyfriend. So instead of enjoying the new cat tree (yes, it’s up!), I’m whining to Taco in bed.
At some point, I will get up and make some of an effort to do something. Not just yet. I also have to drink some apple cider vinegar and I really hate that. But it’s good for the ol’ mucus.
Aside from me feeling like someone stuck knives in my throat, I did take some pics of the kitties with their tree last night while I wasn’t aware of the sickness yet. The boyfriend did a lovely job of putting it together without breaking anything. They seem to vaguely enjoy it. Now if we could just agree where to put it.
Feelin’ it out.
Taco’s chillin’ in his kitty cubby hole!
Enjoying the upper deck.
Hard to see Moosh. The tree is black cat camoflauge.
Ok, so I took a lot of pictures. I was excited. Wish I still felt that energetic today. DO YOUR JOB, IMMUNE SYSTEM.
I may be a crazy cat lady, but not crazy enough to eat cat hair.
This is as close as I wanna be.
I don’t usually watch those “Strange Addiction” shows because they’re essentially just freak shows on TV. I suppose my logic is flawed since I watch Jersey Shore, but watching people who most likely have mental issues is not my cup of tea. The other night, though, I did watch one episode. One, because there was a couple from Tampa on there and I was curious, and two, because the other featured addiction was this lady who ate cat hair. The couple from Tampa was odd, they’re addicted to coffee enemas. If you don’t know what that is, you’re not missing out. Apparently they’re supposed to have some major health benefits but I’d rather not find out. Anyway, you’re not supposed to spend 5 hours a day doing coffee enemas even if you DO believe in their health benefits. But they did. I don’t know where they find the time.
But this other lady, she was a normal (well, normal for me, she had a bunch of tattoos and looked like she was into punk or some other alternative genre) lady with cats. I didn’t have my entire attention on the show the whole time so forgive me if I don’t get the story just right, but it was something like one of her cats became ill, and while the cat was being nursed back to health, she started licking the cat as a mother cat would do to a kitten. I’m not sure if she read this was supposed to help the cat recover or feel more comfortable, but I assume so. I tried googling but I lost interest after two different search term attempts. Anyway, she decided she really liked the feel of the cat hair in her mouth, so she started eating it. She says now she finds clumps of fur, checks to see if they’re clean (how the HELL do you know if a clump of fur is clean? I’d really like to know the criteria on that) and then chews and eats it. Says she enjoys the texture, it’s like eating cotton. Um, who likes eating cotton?
Don’t eat sparkle balls, either.
Personally, I’m very annoyed when I get cat hair in my mouth. Particularly after I’ve just put on a coat of sticky lip gloss. Ugh. I’ll do a lot of weird things for my cats. I love them to death. They’re my children. And I know a lot of people don’t understand what *I* do. But eating cat hair is NOT going to make me feel closer to my cats. Petting them will suffice just fine. I didn’t watch the end so I don’t know if she got professional help for this addiction, but I sincerely hope so, because I imagine it has less to do with loving her cats (which I have no doubt that she does) than it does with some sort of unhealthy compulsion.
So please, if you saw that show and think that all self-proclaimed crazy cat ladies are indeed that crazy, we are not.
What will YOU do with your tax refund?
For many, tax time means paying money. For me, it means a fat refund. See, I know that it’s just giving the tax man interest-free monies, but I suck at saving, so really, that money is in far better hands, interest or not. A few years ago I got screwed (they changed the tax laws, as usual, and those of us with two jobs who were unprepared for it got surprised) so now I take out extra every week to avoid such unpleasantries in the future. So I’m getting a refund. Most of this refund will go in the bank, but this year, I think I’m going to splurge on the kitties.
I’m finally buying a cat tree.
It’s a little expensive, but I never did get around to building the one I threatened to (see my post about it here) and I found one I like that’s not in the thousands of dollars.
Does that cat have 6 toes??? I love Hemingway cats!
It’s got sisal in the bottom nook and a pad on one part.
This is the Sebastian something-or-other. It’s not that much more expensive than the traditional trees of this size (I use the term “tree” loosely here) and it fits with my modern Ikea look. I’m excited. I already filed my taxes even though the IRS doesn’t start processing them until the 30th.
I showed the boyfriend last night. His response was the “dismissive head nod/half eyeroll/smirk.” This pissed me off. For someone who is always complaining that the cats take over the house, I thought that he would LOVE that I’m taking his feelings into consideration and buying something that looks more like furniture than a tacky carpet tower. I had already had a few adult beverages at this point (it was Friday. I had a long week.) and so of course, I felt compelled to respond with something like “way to be passive aggressive,” he said “don’t the cats already have enough shit” and then I stomped outside. By the time I finished my smoke, I’d already decided to leave it be and continue on with my plans. My best friend once told me the best way to get things done around the house is to just do them and then act as if whatever you did has always been like that. It works. To my surprise, the boyfriend APOLOGIZED for not being more excited about it, and told me that he just didn’t want to see me waste more money on crap the cats will ignore. I was very touched by this. A significant other recognizing FEELINGS! Even after almost ten years. I almost cried (seriously, but I’m also PMSing, so I think hormones had a little to do with the threat of tears).
Even if the cats ignore it (which I doubt, Moosh’s new spot is on top of the bookcase attached to my desk, on top of a scanner he probably shouldn’t be sitting on – Moosh is a serious tree dweller), it’s still useful as furniture, and for about the same price as a bookcase from Ikea. So really, what do I have to lose? My Mooshie gets to climb something he’s actually allowed to, and Taco, well, Taco’s favorite sleeping spot is anywhere that I wanted to sit. His other favorite spot is in my face, and I don’t think there’s a cat toy in the world that can replace that. He’s just annoying.
Am I crazy?
Moosh on my desk. In my face. As I’m writing this.
Alas, my blog will never make me rich.
I like to read. I LOVE to read, in fact. I read a bunch of crap, like chick lit and sometimes accidentally romance novels when the cover of the book fools me into thinking it’s chick lit. I’ll read it anyway. It’s like candy. No nutritional value but it’s fun while you’re eating it. I try to balance out my crap reading with what I call “smart books,” a.k.a. non-fiction or classic novels. I don’t always make it through the non-fictions…they’re always really interesting to me at first, and then I get bored. But sometimes I don’t, which brings me to my point. Malcolm Gladwell totally keeps my interest on non-fiction subjects, so as a result I’ve read several of his books, the first being The Outliers. It’s about incredibly successful people and WHY they are successful. The basic consensus is this: successful people don’t have to have giant IQs, in fact, sometimes intelligence that high is detrimental. No social skills. IQ doesn’t measure street smarts. High-ish IQs seem to be best. But what really makes a successful person successful is luck. I prefer to call it “random advantageous circumstances” since I don’t believe in “luck” as it’s defined. And it’s not just luck, it’s being able to recognize these random advantageous circumstances and furthermore, taking advantage of them. Bill Gates is one of those people. He was in the right place at the right time with the right interests and knew to milk that shit.
Let me switch subjects for a sec. You’ll see where I’m going with this. Now, I by no means consider myself a writer. I probably should, I make my living proofreading and dabbling in copywriting. And it’s not as if I think I’m a BAD writer, really, I just realize that I’m not the best. I ramble, I can’t keep track of my tenses, I DESPISE re-reading my work to check for errors (stream of conscious writing, you know) and I don’t always have a solid point. BUT…I do adore the subjects I write about (kitties) and I have good stories.
My baby boy is so good. And cute. And lovey.
(Here’s where I put the two together.) As a smart girl, I feel like I should have done something considerable with my life. But I’m grown up and I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up (cat whisperer is at the top of my list currently, but as you can read here, it seems kind of hard to break into). Since reading the Outliers, I keep that recipe for success in the back of my mind at all times. I’m always on the lookout for my million dollar idea. For the wave to ride to success. When I started this blog, it was because my cats are psycho and frankly, I don’t always believe the things they do. Writing about my crazy cat experiences is cathartic and highly rewarding (who doesn’t like favorable comments?) But I always hoped that I’d find a way to make it my million dollar idea. Well, no one’s offered me a sponsorship yet, but I decided to take it upon myself and look into getting paid via ads. Which is when I discovered that WordPress ain’t havin’ none of that. Unless you go through them and you buy your domain name. It seems rather sad to pick up my toys and leave for greener and more profitable pastures. And as of now I’m not planning to. I just needed to vent about my defunct dream. ONE MORE MILLION DOLLAR DREAM DOWN THE DRAIN!
It would help if the boys helped with the hunt for the million dollar idea, but they only search for bugs.
I also failed on the “marrying for money” idea. What can I say? I’m a sucker for love.
So if anyone knows how I can make my crazy cat stories into stacks of benjamins, hit me up, yo. I’ll be on that like a cheap suit. Until then, I’m going to see if I can get the cats jobs.
Taco is a petulant child. If you won’t make room for him on your lap, he’ll FIND room. Forcefully. Ah, the life of a cat mom.
Never a dull day…
Cats really make life interesting.
I mean, who knows how bored I would be without them? For example: Tuesday, I had a few minutes to sit on my ass in between work and the gym and more work. Taco was such a dear that he vomited food all over our comforter again! Stripping the bed and tossing it all in the wash (after removing the food particles, of course) was such a PERFECT alternative! Because I have a lot of time to do laundry several times over.
You’re welcome for the clean bed to sleep on.
I suppose it was better that I saw it rather than the boyfriend NOT see it and lay in it (it was all on his side of the bed), but cleaning up kitty puke is never my favorite chore. My mom’s cats (also my cats) puke on her bed all the time. Now I understand how she feels.
I’m starting to think that perhaps I should just cover every surface in plastic like an old lady. I mean, the couches are already covered in puppy pads and our mattress has a waterproof case on it (we bought a new, very uncheap new mattress not that long ago and decided for that sort of investment we should guard against possible Taco pee, even though he’s never done it there. So far, though, it’s only been tested by me falling asleep holding a beer. It worked. Phew.) so we might as well just take the extra step to encase it all. Shrink wrap?
Can you spot what’s wrong with this picture?
I love my boys and all, but don’t they know that I don’t get paid for cleaning up after them?
The question of the day: Did the cats miss us?
Unequivocally, yes.
Too much, in fact. I was pleased to be greeted by both boys. I dropped the boyfriend off at a friend’s house (prior plans, but I just wanted to go home) so I am currently the only target of affection.
LOOOOOOOOOOVEEEEEE
So much affection. Taco has followed me meowing for 3 fulls hours now. Everywhere I go, there he is. It’s ridiculous. I mean, I’m glad they weren’t mad at us for having left them for 3 days but I didn’t expect that Taco would be so concerned upon my return that I would leave again. Moosh has been lovey but modestly so, especially in comparison to Mr. Attached To Mommy’s Hip.
This was my greeting. Plenty of meowing as well.
I missed my babies too. My mom totally spoiled them. There’s so much food in their bowls they could eat for a week. This is why her cats are overweight. She’s always very concerned about kitties going hungry. She worries about this with humans, too, which is why she brings me vegan cake all the time, usually right when I have sworn to eat healthily (even though being vegan, my food intake is generally on the healthy side, except for my weakness for french fries).
But I do really appreciate her feeding them and checking on them each day. Who knows what kind of trouble they would have gotten into otherwise? My puke-soiled duvet cover is in the dryer as we speak, and if that’s the worst that happened, I’m vaguely ok with that.
We both work two jobs…you’d think they’d be more used to us NOT being home.
Beach view
Either way, I’m glad to be back, even though it feels like I never left. In case you’re wondering, Ft. Myers Beach is a very lovely destination. I don’t know what it’s like for spring break or during the summer but it was mostly older people and Germans. I don’t know why that area attracts a plethora of Germans, but MAN, is it ever full of them. I wish the weather had cooperated a bit more, but it was pretty and it’s always nice to get away with the boyfriend.
MEOW hear this! 