Tagged: cat people

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.

Kitty mommy guilt.

He luffs me.

I admit, sometimes I’m not the best kitty mommy. For example, I let the boys go without wet food for almost an entire week because I kept forgetting to go buy some (but then, I also forgot to take back my Redbox movies for a week too, I might as well just keep them at this point). In all fairness, there was a tropical storm going on earlier in the week that hindered errands a bit, and I do work two jobs. But I felt bad at my forgetfulness nevertheless.

Sometimes I forget to clean the litterbox. This is rather hard to do when there is a big stinko in there, but if there’s not or it’s covered well I’m prone to forget. Then I feel awful when I finally do and discover they’ve been slogging around in 10 pounds of waste.

I also don’t completely change out the litter every 2 weeks. I let it go sometimes. I’m pretty sure this is bad.

So forlorn and hungry!

When it’s kitty dinnertime, if I am doing something more important, I make them wait. I also don’t completely clean their dishes all the time, or at least as well as I should. This is shameful.

On occasion, I torture them for my own amusement, like holding them on my lap and laughing at them as they struggle to get away. The horror!

So tired from being mistreated.

Once, I left Taco in my car for 3 minutes while I went inside a store on the way home from the vet. It was a very nice and un-hot day, and I was parked in the shade, but I felt like I deadbeat mom as I waited in line and craned my neck to look out the window.

I’m not even remotely the best kitty mom in the world, but I justify it by telling myself that my love for them is so enormous that it eclipses my bad momminess. So far, that still assuages the guilt.

More stuff about cats and tropical storms.

That’s my back patio.

Ok, so it wasn’t just Debby’s outer bands that hit us…Debby has been a bitch for 3 days now. I put too much trust in the CONE OF UNCERTAINTY (I freaking LOVE saying that, even better if you say it through an empty paper towel roll), as I discovered shortly after my last post. I ventured out only to the grocery store Sunday, and had we not been out of beer and needed something for dinner, I wouldn’t have gone out. It is, however, a good thing that I went when I did, because it got a lot worse and there were pictures of submerged cars in the parking lot of the Publix I went to. As it was, I was doing 35 the whole way. Yesterday all the bridges were closed, which didn’t really affect me because I didn’t need to leave my little peninsula. But a lot of people were seriously inconvenienced, which is, I suppose, better than submerged.

This was on my way TO the store. It was a lot worse on my way back. If you look at the left side of the other side of the road, that is an Applebee’s in a shopping center that also holds my Publix, and where a car submerged later.

Other than being really good snugglers, cats have this to offer over dogs (yeah, I know dogs snuggle too, but that’s not the point here): THEY DON’T NEED TO BE WALKED. Although I complain about the litter boxes constantly, during 3 days of gusting wind and sideways rain, I appreciate it very, very much. This is not to say that I don’t feel bad for the dog people. I am friends with many dog people, and I have heard all their stories and sympathize appropriately. Unfortunately, nature calling does not trump Mother Nature, which if you think about it, is really a conundrum.

YAY LITTER BOXES!

So for this, kitties, I am grateful that you take your nasty dumps in my living space. I also have to give credit to the Litter Genie, it works splendidly and worth every dime.

Moosh sleeping on my galoshes.

Tropical storms make good kitty cuddle days.

This is actually during a lighter portion of the downpouring.

We aren’t TECHNICALLY getting hit with the tropical storm, although it wouldn’t be my first. As a girl born and raised in the SUNNY (hint, hint Mother Nature!) state of Florida, I’m used to it. In fact, where I live is actually a peninsula ON the peninsula of Florida, so I’m really effed if a hurricane comes a knockin’. But it hasn’t…yet. One of my first memories is Hurricane Elena, she came around when I was 3. The eye never really came on land here but most of it did, so we evacuated to what would later be my high school. Fun times.

Back to today. Tropical Storm Debby may be going to Texas, but she is dropping a lot of her back end over here. It hasn’t stopped raining all day. The kind of rain that isn’t even worth venturing to the grocery store in, even if you have really cute pink leopard print galoshes like me. It’s floody, windy, nasty rain. Every time I think it’s getting lighter, it starts deluging again.

So really, perfect weather for doing the work that I am supposed to do this weekend anyway. Oh, and laundry. Supposed to finish that too. But I haven’t started it yet, because Moosh decided he wanted to cuddle, and I can’t say no to a cuddle. I guess he doesn’t like rainy days either. He headbutted me so hard it hurt. Violent snuggler.

Never regretted a kitty snuggle.

So I have wasted a large part of my day already in bed with a book and a cat. But really, is there any other way one SHOULD spend such a craptastic day?

Crazy cat lady AND a circus freak.

Ok, that’s stretching it a little. I am not nearly as tatted up as I could be, or even as much as I want to be. In fact, I just recently broke a SEVEN YEAR tattooless streak. I imagine it is something like a recovering heroin addict trying heroin again. They’re addictive. As soon as the needle started jabbing away, it was like riding a bike.

Here’s a shameful fact. Despite my crazy cat lady status, I have a mere TWO cat tattoos. There’s some girl who got a whole SLEEVE dedicated to her cats! I should have my membership revoked.

It’s not that I don’t WANT more cat tattoos, it’s that my style of choice is generally traditional and there are few ways to place cats in that setting. I’ve also seen a LOT of really really really ugly cat tattoos. Have you ever seen someone who got a portrait of their kid or mom by a crappy artist and the tattoo ends up resembling Sloth from The Goonies? That happens with cat portraits too. Do not want.

Below is my very first tattoo. Actually, it’s my third, because I have some dots on my hand when I was experimenting with india ink at 15 and also a lovely chaos symbol, also done with india ink at 15, that this tattoo is covering up. I got it the day I turned 18, and boy, am I glad I waited. I have very few regrets about my tattoos because they’re really a timeline of YOU, but I remember the incredibly stupid crap I wanted pre-18 and it was far worse than anything I got after. I was so very into punk rock and being an anarchist and although I’ve retained a lot of the snotty attitude and defiance, I no longer think The Exploited is a really inspiring band. But Gwar (the tattoo below) has stood the test of time, and they are still my very favorite band, and have been since I was 14.

Here’s the tally:

  • 5 skulls
  • 3 butterflies (they’re awesome butterflies, though…tough, not pansy-ass)
  • 2 hearts with daggers
  • 2 Gwar tattoos
  • 1 Guns n’ Roses tattoo (but I got it traditional-style)
  • And some various other things.

And only two cats.

This one, my ex did. This was back in his apprentice days but last I heard he opened his own shop and is doing really amazing work. This one is all faded, please don’t judge. I got this when I was kickboxing and was amused at the thought of kicking someone in the face with the angry cat.

And below is my newest masterpiece. I’d wanted a tattoo done by Jason Minauro for a really long time, but I never got around to it. When I finally did, I saw what all the fuss was about. He’s amazing. I fancy myself somewhat of an artist and in fact wanted to become a tattoo artist at one point, but I didn’t want to insult him with anything more than a rough sketch of what I wanted. And I am SO glad I didn’t, because his art was far better than anything I could have done. This is probably why he’s like, renowned and shit. He found my cat obsession amusing, and added such great little touches like the claws on the brass knuckles. I’m also very happy that it turned out so well because it is my first IN YOUR FACE visible tattoo (my forearm) and is rather large. And yes, the PAWS UP is a clever Lady Gaga reference. I love her. He also found this amusing.

Now…what to get next?

My Cat From Hell = Jersey Shore

So My Cat From Hell’s new season starts soon (if you haven’t seen it, it’s on Animal Planet, you need to watch). I love this show. I love quirky Jackson Galaxy, his penchant for for the rockabilly-ish and how he fixes even the worst of kitties, and makes the humans do actual work to ensure the kitty is living his or her best life. And chides them when they don’t put in the effort.

But essentially, I realize, I watch this show for the same reason I watch Jersey Shore: I feel better about my cats (and myself, when I watch Jerz). Jersey Shore is a bunch of pompous drunk morons who do really stupid things and say really stupid crap and get into the most ridiculous of fights. They make me feel better about ANY shenanagans I have caused by a night of too much Jager. Because as low as my lowest low is, I have never been that low. Nor have my lows occurred on such a consistent basis.

Moosh Moosh likes to play with…bachelorette party favors. So embarrassing!

While Taco is quite possibly the biggest pain in the ass the cat world has ever seen, he’s relatively harmless. I would really like to fix the whole “pee on the couch” thing but for the most part, his antics are merely annoying and sometimes border on endearing. (UPDATE: The boyfriend read this blog and voiced his displeasure with my lack of concern about the couch peeing. As if I like it! Honey. I’m just saying it could be worse. At least it’s a medical problem.) Despite being loud and overly curious, he’s lovey, he’s cute, and he never tries to scratch my eyeballs out. Moosh is a oddball, with his random licking of things and proneness to perching, but overall he’s a very well-behaved cat.

Takin’ it like a man.

These kitties on My Cat From Hell, they are crazy. The one that freaked me out most was the cat that launched himself chest high at his person. Moosh will launch himself on my shoulders, but not to go claw-crazy at my face. Most of the time the owners are well-meaning people, they just don’t understand cat like Jackson Galaxy.

So my confidence is boosted two-fold. One, my cats, albeit a little wacko, are not nearly as bad as these cats, which gives me a source of motherly pride, as well as a little bit of arrogance. Two, half the stuff Jackson teaches these people is stuff I already do innately. This makes me feel like I am MEANT to be a crazy cat lady. I KNOW cats. No special training needed. I don’t really know what this says about me, other than that I am a very empathetic person and I find cats more pleasant than humans. But I like to think this makes me special.

Just like I like to think that as long as I never show my “kooka” in a drunken haze on national television, that I am doing way better at life than a lot of people are. Although I rarely get embarrassed, because when you are as clumsy as me, you learn to be amused at your own antics. Otherwise I’d spend most of my life red-faced.

Bad hair day? Nope. Par for the course.

Let sleeping dogs lie, but never cats.

Am I the only person obsessed with my sleeping cats? I must have more pictures of snoring kitties than Vegas has hookers. They’re just SO FREAKING ADORABLE when they’re sleeping (the cats, not the hookers), and just like a snowflake, I swear they never sleep the exact same way twice. There is always ONE cute little tiny change, which is why I feel the urge to snap yet another picture. Taco often sleeps sprawled as if the floor is going to move out from under him. Moosh will sleep with his fat gut in the air like a doofus. These are just my two favorite poses, but oh-em-gee there are so many others. And the rare moments when I actually catch them sleeping together, that will simply make my day. Even if they are merely sleeping in close proximity to each other, I feel as if I’ve been awarded some magical gift.

So close…

And don’t even get me started about kittens. They fall asleep in the middle of things, and it’s so adorable I could die.

Of course, the poses never last long, because I have to pet them and coo. But THEN they do even CUTER stretchy things and I coo some more. My absolute favorite is what I call the “backwards stretch,” where they curl their paws in and do some sort of opposite stretch thing. I think that I’ve attempted something similar but it’s not nearly as fun to watch and I usually end up giving myself a Charley Horse in my calf.

Here’s where I get a little strange. If the cats have been inactive for a certain amount of time, I feel this compulsion to find them at least once an hour and wake them up. Do human mothers do this? Is this engrained? I can’t help myself. It’s not like I really think they’re dead. I just need to poke them and make sure every so often. Then I get to see them do the stretchy thing. Bonus!

Time to poke.

I think it’s entirely possible that I’m just jealous that they look so comfortable. My bed is pretty damn comfortable, but I have never felt as happy or serene as they look in even the most awkward of positions.

To the Cat Daddies…

The kitties would like to wish their father and grandfather a very happy Father’s Day. They even got their daddy a card. I had to sign it for them, though, because they don’t have thumbs.

It’s a boy!

It’s not easy being a Cat Daddy (unless you’re Jackson Galaxy)…you have to be rather quiet with the snuggle talk because your friends will mock you relentlessly. I have the utmost respect for the cat daddies out there who fly their kitty flag proudly.

Honey, your boys love you. And I know you love them, even though they wake you up, cover your clean laundry with fur and step on your man parts.

Grandpa (Dad, I’m sorry, but furry grandchildren is all you’re gonna get)  has two Daddy’s girls of his own — one human, one cat. Joanie, my dad’s kitty, has hated me for most of her life. Hisses when I come near. Very jealous. But she’s mellowed with age, and I love her anyway.

I look a little crazy in this picture for some reason. Probably in the genes.

Dad, I love you! Thanks for teaching me the sky’s the limit (literally — when are you going to finish teaching me how to fly?) and for being an awesome cat daddy to Joanie (and Fu). You’ve taught me how to be a jack (Jill?) of all trades, because life is boring when you stick to just one thing. You’re the best! I miss you and hope you have an amazing Father’s Day. Tell the kitties to be extra nice to you today.

Cat chore of the day – nixing the claws.

Taco’s been a lil scratchy-scratchy with the ol’ clawsies lately, so today is SOFT PAW DAY! WHEEEEE!

When I was younger, I never dreamed my life would be so exciting at 30.

Moosh has never had an issue with the scratching. He’s very good about only scratching things he’s supposed to, although he does like to stretch up a wall here and there, but the claws don’t really come out.

Taco, being the bad son that he is, scratches wherever he pleases, although surprisingly not the couch (but he does pee on it, so I’m not really sure which is better). He ADORES my yoga mat. While I’m on it. Have you ever had to shoo away a cat scratching under you whilst doing the downward facing dog? Because I have.

I am heartily against declawing. It is not, as many people think, just an “easy removal of claws.” It is an amputation. It is exactly like removing the top joint of your finger. Even if it weren’t such a HORRIBLY INVASIVE SURGERY that was SIMPLY for the convenience of the owners, what happens if your cat gets out? Mine are actually terrified of the outside world (once, I left for work and didn’t close the door all the way, and the boyfriend, upon leaving for work himself, discovered the open door and Moosh sitting calmly on the porch chair — a porch that is not enclosed) but things happen, and I love them too much to put them at that sort of disadvantage. Nor would I want to dismember them.

Still not convinced? It’s illegal or considered inhumane and strongly discouraged in all of the following countries:

  • England
  • Scotland
  • Wales
  • Italy
  • France
  • Germany
  • Bosnia
  • Austria
  • Switzerland
  • Norway
  • Sweden
  • Netherlands
  • Northern Ireland
  • Ireland
  • Denmark
  • Finland
  • Slovenia
  • Portugal
  • Belgium
  • Brazil
  • Australia
  • New Zealand
  • Yugoslavia
  • Malta
  • Israel

That’s quite a list. WHERE IS THE KITTY LEGISLATION IN AMERICA, OBAMA???

There’s also possible behavioral changes, complications and nerve damage pain to think of.

So. There is no declawing in my house. There is only Soft Paws. Which really aren’t that bad. Glue in the cap, cap on the nail, hold the cat, release. Reapply as necessary. They can eat them and everything. Out of 3 cats I have applied them to, only one has had a problem with them. Surprisingly enough, it’s the good son, Moosh (who, we discovered,  doesn’t need them anyway). I’ll apply them, hold him for the requisite 10 minutes for the glue to dry, and then he will walk 5 paces, sit, and determinedly begin yanking them off with his teeth. He will sit there as long as it takes to get them all off. This is an amusing process to watch, as I am far more lazy than him, apparently. I don’t have that sort of drive. Taco, on the other hand, doesn’t even notice them. He’ll just go on about his day.

I call this portrait “I f#$&ing hate you people.”

Without further adieu, off I go to fit the bad son with his mittens. I am merciful this time, and picked clear instead of pink.

Taco doesn’t care. He loves his fancy nails.

 

UPDATE: After a lengthy hunt for the claw clippers (finally found under the sofa), the soft paws were applied with little fanfare, until the “holding for 10 minutes while glue dries” part. It would seem that being held by me is akin to being held against hot coals.

Talking to cats. Can’t help myself.

I talk to my cats. This may make me wacko, I understand this. This is ok with me. All in all, it’s probably a lot like talking to one’s self.

Moosh giving me the “whatever” eye.

I do know that both Moosh and Taco respond to the sound of their names.

If I coo “Mooshymooshmooshy” real low, Moosh gets all lovey, and will come smush my face, but first he’ll “mrrrp” at me.

Pay attention to meeeeeeeeee

Taco, as per usual, will respond to his name loudly. A conversation between Taco and I goes something like this:
“Meow!”
“What?”
“Meow!”
“What?”
“Meooooowwwww”
“WHAT DO YOU WANT???”
*jumps on lap, usually at an inconvenient time*

I will discuss things with them as if they understand. I tell Moosh that if he doesn’t finish his food, his brother will eat it. Then I tell Taco not to eat his brother’s food (neither takes my advice).

When Taco takes a dump, I tell him how much it stinks, and ask him what the hell he ate to produce such disgusting waste, as if he has a choice in the matter of his food (somewhere, subconsciously, I think he’s stealing shit from the fridge, I guess). He ignores me.

When they’re fighting, I tell them to cut it out and be nice to each other, or to play nice. They stop to look at me for a split second, then immediately resume fighting.

I ask them why they’re not bald, since their hair is EVERYWHERE, mostly stuck in my eyes. Also met with ignoring.

I alert them when there’s another cat or a bunny outside: “Ooooooh it’s a bunny! Look at the bunny, kitties!” while pushing them toward the window to look. This sometimes gets a response in the bunny’s direction, or prompts them to rub on my legs.

This is prime snuggle time.

Most embarrassing is snuggle talk. This is when I talk to them like they are little babies while making myself sound incapable of brain activity. “Who’s my boo-bear? Who likes a snuggle? You’re my cute-face snugglebunny. You love mommy, don’t you? Mommy loves YOU. Look at that belly! You’re so silly.” As hard as this is to admit, I can go on like this for hours. You know your relationship with your significant other is solid when you can do all of this in front of them without care, and without them batting an eye.

The point of this is, science tells me that they don’t know what the eff I’m saying, that it’s the tone of my voice, blah blah blah. But then, science also tells me that cats only meow at humans…so isn’t that equally as futile as me talking to them? Taco doesn’t have tones in his meows. It’s either WHINE or OMG EMERGENCY. If there was an actual emergency, I would have no idea, because I gave up on running out to find out what’s wrong with him when he makes that cry, because there is never anything wrong with him.

It’s not like people really listen to each other anyway. At least my cats cock their head and give me the impression what I’m saying is important. And for that, I thank them.