Tagged: cat people

Nature is all up in my bidness.

I was under the impression Nature and I had an understanding. I would recycle and do other things to reduce my carbon footprint and in return, Nature would leave me alone to view it quietly from inside, or on the beach. Nature is not holding up its end of the bargain.

Examples:

  • The boyfriend saved a baby lizard from the ravenous cats.
  • I made the boyfriend save a baby dragonfly that was in the house instead of killing it.
  • At Big Brown, where I work at night loading packages into an igloo-like pod that will later be moved onto an airplane for transport, that container was filled with crickets. People ship those. And I keep forgetting to google to see what animal one feeds them to. One of my co-workers suggested fish, which I’m pretty sure is ridiculous. Lizards?

    I don’t mind crickets, really, but I didn’t want to be jumped on and I didn’t really want to kill them by loading boxes on them. They didn’t understand the concept of escaping.

  • While loading said cricket container, I was hassled by wasps. I really hate wasps. In fact, I dislike most flying insects as they are rather unpredictable and can end up in your hair. Strike 2 is those that sting or bite. Bees get a reprieve because they do useful things, like pollenate and make honey. Wasps and hornets, eff you. I will Raid you till the cows come home. Anyway, we discovered that the reason for wasp hassling was that there were 2 GIANT MFing NESTS above my head. Gah.
  • At home doing work on the computer, picked up my phone off the desk to discover there were ants on it. Looked at desk to discover there were ants ALL OVER IT. When it rains a lot here, sugar ants find some place of entry and come inside my house. They have hit both upstairs bathrooms and the pantry downstairs but why they were all over my desk is a mystery to me. Ant bait. Sorry.
  • After discovering the ant colony, I looked down next to my desk to discover a pincher bug.
  • Silverfish in my bathroom. Those things are DISGUSTING. Sprayed it with hairspray, assumed that sufficed, turned around to see that it was gone. Fast forward to yesterday, when I pulled my clothes out of the hamper only to have what I think was the same silverfish squiggle out of the dirty clothes over my foot. BARF BARF BARF.
  • Then there have been the not-annoying-but-amusing nature incidents, like the random turtle the other week and yesterday I saw a squirrel run by with most of a donut in its month. We have CRAZY squirrels.

Yes, I am vegan, and yes, I am all for animal rights, but I reserve MY right to my personal, nature-free space. LET ME BE!

I really should just start hiding like Moosh Moosh. But there would probably be a silverfish in there.

Florida loses one crazy cat lady. TREAT HER WELL, SEATTLE!

I’m having a sad week. One of my most very dear friends is moving. Really far away. Pretty much as far away as you can get and still be in the contiguous United States. We are bonded forever through our love for Bloodhound Gang, Leslie Hall, crafting, spending money and above all, kitties. Yes, she is just as crazy cat lady as me. She has spent an equal amount of time at the vet (OK, maybe not EQUAL, mine are lemons, after all…but close) and equal time on google searching cat things. We have spent a great deal of time relating kitty stories. I can’t even remotely begin to count the number of lolcats we have sent each other over the years. And she’s leaving.

Sigh.

So this, my Polish sister, is for you. A tribute to you through your furry kid, Aleister. The cutest ginger I know!

May you and the hubby fare well in the long, long, long, long meowing car ride. And past that, I hope all three of you adjust quickly and love your new adventures in Seattle. Just like Milo and Otis. Oh, and I hope you finagle adding a kitten to the fam too =)
I stole these from her facebook because I suck at remembering things, like sending myself the kitten pics of Aleister I have on my work computer. Enjoy anyway.

She likes to dress up her cat too.

Aleister is very chic.

artsy cat

Artsy pic of kitty? Check.

I miss you already!

Pussycat polka. Meow, meow, meow.

I’m a dancing machine. Watch me get down.

I really love “So You Think You Can Dance.” A long, long time ago, I was a child. A child who took dance classes. Ballet, Jazz and Tap. I took gymnastics for a while too, but the gymnastics people told my parents I was going to be too tall for gymnastics so maybe I should focus my efforts elsewhere. I sucked at back walkovers anyway, and my balance beam balancing was vague at best. Being that it was a long, long time ago, I don’t remember an awful lot about my dancing skills ( I DID just buy a discounted deal to transfer VHS to DVD, and I’m super stoked about digitizing my old recitals) but I do know that I wasn’t up to par with the kids on Dance Moms (yeah, I watch that too, I’m sorry, I really like to watch dancing).

Anyway, my parents divorced and I think dance lessons were not feasible financially anymore (neither was catholic school, YAY) and that’s why I stopped. I suppose I should ask my mom, she has a much better memory than I do. However, there IS a dancer in me that is yearning to get out. I’m more flexible than most people and I have rhythm.

The reason I’m writing about all this is because I had a lightbulb moment. One of the first dances on SYTYCD was to the tune of The Lovecats by The Cure. Awesome song. I love it. And I thought the dance was adorable as well, even though the two dancers dancing it are not two of my favorites. So I put it on last night while the boyfriend and I were playing mini golf on the Wii and having a few frosty adult beverages. As I was dancing around, I started thinking about how much of dance is cat movements. The slinkiness, the speed, the agility. Because I love connecting the dots, I continued this thought process. My first recital was to the song “Pussycat Polka” and we all had kitty faces on costumes and big kitty paw gloves. (I just googled this song, holy crap. It’s a super old Mousketeers song.) That led me to look at my iTunes.

Adorable, right?

Stray Cat Strut. That song always makes me feel dance-y. Cat Daddy. Which is both a song AND a dance (and I can totally do the dance). It’s not really about cats, I don’t think…in fact, I’m not really sure what it’s about. “Call me Sponge Bob, stackin’ crabby patties, bitch I go to work, doin’ my Cat Daddy.” …what? Whatever it all means, it’s a fun dance. Then I also have “Cat Dancer” by Leslie Hall, which perfectly fits my point but I’m not sure if it counts because I’m reasonably sure she’s a crazy cat lady too. In fact, all of her songs are about things I like, like crafts and shiny outfits. If you like crafts, shiny outfits and overall awesomeness, PLEASE check out Leslie Hall here.

Leslie Hall is A-MAYZ-ING.

I have no real conclusion to this, except that I like cats and dancing, and cats make good song subjects, I guess. Anyone have a better correlation?

Dance, Mooshie, dance!

Now I have to go ice my hip flexor because I pulled it trying to do a split last night (I should have warmed up more first, but injuring myself stupidly is MY THING).

Too busy for cats???

It seems like I never have time to write anymore. And when I do, I’m too tired. Both jobs have been busting my ass lately. Usually I would get out of the part time job early at least a few times a week, but this hasn’t been the case lately. Adding to that, I’ve been renewing my vows with the gym lately. No more “Eh, I’ll just go sit on my ass and mess around with my blog” between jobs. Only sweat. And pain. So sore. And I keep injuring myself. That’s normal, though, I am the super klutz. I will, however, take this opportunity to show off my new shoes, which I LOVE!

My sweet Asics. Too bad I suck at running. But they make me think I can! I tried. My knees hurt. Love you, elliptical!

So I think the cats have been feeling a tad left out.

Putting your nose in your brother’s butt is NOT gonna get you attention.

After all, there’s no treadmill for kitties at the gym, and they’re miserable when they leave the house, anyway. The upside to all of this is that they’ve been extra needy when I AM home, which makes me feel super loved. They have been so snuggly while I sleep. I woke up in the middle of the night to Taco giving himself a bath while curled up on my stomach. I thought it was an odd place to take a bath, but in a weird way I liked that he was comfortable enough there.

Moosh hasn’t slept on my head in months, but has the past few days. Taco’s been sleeping on my feet when I sit on the recliner, even. So cute.

Sleeping kitty…IN YOUR FACE

It’s also very buggy outside. Like, a lot. They keep flying in. Fortunately, Taco is a master of the hunt. Last night, one flew in and within 30 seconds he had it down and eaten. Lower food bills, to boot!

This is Taco eating his catch. Yum.

So I have no exciting cat insights today because I have been too busy to pester or enjoy them. What a sad life. Sigh.

So sad and alone!

All black cats do not look the same.

I love black cats. I don’t know why. I also love the color black. I’m not goth or anything, it just matches with things so well. And it’s slimming.

Fatty, he lives with my mom, he’s rotund (as the name implies). He’s got medium length hair so he’s extra fluffy, and he’s got big, wide greenish-gold eyes.

Large and in charge.

Jager, he was our little kitten that we lost to FIP (I always want to write about him but it’s too personal to a story for me to share just yet), he was wiry and had amber colored eyes.

Jager, my boo.

Moosh, he’s a big boy (like a panther, not like Fatty) and his eyes change color, but they’re mostly midway between Fatty’s and Jager’s.

Lurkin’ like a panther.

They all look completely different to me. When we lost Jager, the boyfriend didn’t want another black cat, because he felt like it would remind him of Jager too much. To me, this is like saying all girls with blonde hair look the same. That’s ridiculous. Moosh won him over anyway, so that was a moot point. When I talked him into a 2nd, I wanted another black one, but he thought it would be confusing. This is why we don’t have children. What if we had twins? Chaos would ensue. Also a moot point, because Taco came along, and although he has a black brother, I didn’t have much choice in the matter, because Taco was up for grabs, not his brother Zorro.

You can barely see Zorro, but that’s brotherly love.

So because all cats have slightly different facial features, eye shape, eye color, etc., it greatly surprises me when I browse around other cat blogs to see pictures of kitties that look strikingly similar to my own. This is not to say I couldn’t pick mine out of a lineup. Moosh has one little fu manchu whisker on his chin and stray white hairs here and there that I know the exact placement of. Taco has a freckle on his head and a little one on his chin.

I can usually even tell which one of them is sleeping on my feet at night, just by moving. Moosh is more bulk. Taco is more snake. He just melts into wherever he is.

Last night I was out with some friends, including the one who gave us Taco. She still has Zorro, and the momma of the two. We often compare kitty stories, but her boyfriend hadn’t heard them before and was amazed to hear that they’re so similar even though they’ve grown up in two totally different environments. Granted, my friend is one of the awesomest people that I know and a fellow crazy cat lady, so I’m sure the parenting skills are on par with my own, but cats do form their own personalities so it is pretty interesting that their genetics have such an effect on them. They’re both loud, jump chest high and get into EVERYTHING. Zorro doesn’t pee on their couch though. I got the lemon. But lemon cats are my THING, apparently, so I roll with it.

Sigh. This makes me want another black cat.

 

 

Cats in the wild? Nah, they’re pussies.

Sometimes I’m half tempted to let my cats out just to see how they would really interact with other animals. They’ll spend hours cackling at a non-moving lizard just outside the window. Taco stares down Stella, the big Boxer that lives a few houses down (she’s actually afraid of him, this amuses me).

Notice the tail thwacking.

The other day there was a random turtle on the sidewalk. Snapper turtle.

Those things have bigger claws than the cats do and a dinosaur tail. The cats didn’t see it, but Stella sure did. Her owner was holding her back while we studied it, and probably for good reason. I think “snapper turtle” is an apt name.

Stella has no idea.

Anyway, I occasionally wonder how my spoiled little brats would react without a window barring them from actual contact and smell. Would they be so big and bad? Or would they cower in the corner like Taco does when people he doesn’t know come into the house? The bunnies that eat the grass outside in the morning don’t look all that concerned. Nor does the giant neighborhood stray that comes by to ‘bow up every once in awhile. My guys act all big and mighty but I’m guessing they really wouldn’t know what to do with themselves. I’m fairly certain they would starve within days. Their natural instincts have been replaced by recognizing me and the boyfriend as the giver of food. I’m certain they have lost all intrinsic knowledge of how to catch their own food. With how much they fight, they have a better chance of catching and eating each other. I think Moosh would win. He’s bigger, even though he lets Taco push him out of the way to eat his food.

I will give them this — they are excellent bug chasers.

Taco is not, in fact, admiring the fine velvet painting of kittens I found at a thrift store. There’s a bug in the light.

But, as the crazy cat lady and overbearing kitty mommy that I am, my fear of them getting outside FAR outweighs my curiosity, so they’re safe…for now. Until someone pukes on my brand new sneakers. Then their asses are on their own.

Imma be lazy like a cat.

So I’m just posting more pictures of Moosh Moosh’s wacky hi-jinx.

Maybe he wanted a beer?

Overzealous moosh-facing.

So kind of Moosh to allow Daddy to put his head on the pillow.

This is Moosh after accidentally snorting drywall dust. Drugs are for losers, kitty.

My million-dollar idea. Bottled kitten love.

Hi! I’m a kitten. Love me!

There are very few people on this earth that can look at a baby kitten and be disgusted. Even the hardest of individuals can’t look a kitten in the eye and not at least THINK “awwwwwwwww.” There are, of course, the people who are unfeeling towards kittens, Moosh Moosh having been the victim of one of them, and I say this without a sliver of joking, they should be maimed. Death penalty is not even good enough. Not the point today, though. Today, I’m sharing my million-dollar idea. I’m sharing this because it’s an impossible million-dollar idea, so if someone actually takes this idea and makes it work, I tip my hat to you. You deserve the millions.

No one can resist this.

Bottling kitten cuteness. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there are a lot of jerks in this world these days. I can be one of them, but I usually like to reserve it for people who deserve it, like the people who don’t use turn signals or who grab my arm without warning to “look” at my tattoos. So if I could just bottle the “awww” factor kittens have, and spray it like mace, the world would be a much better place. “What’s that, Bin Laden? Terrorism? Have some kitten.” Boom. Problem solved. We might even be able to save America this whole healthcare debate. Who can possibly get sick when you’ve been dosed with kitten?

LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE

So you see, this is an amazing idea. However, without putting an actual kitten in a spray bottle (as a vegan and animal rights activist I can see this would be a very bad way to go about it), it is an impossible one. How sad.

Hey scientists, how about you stop making expensive prescription drugs that no one can afford anyway and get on this? Except for you Hadron Collider people, you stay on that. That’s good stuff. Keep it up.

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.