I have 3 litterboxes. You’re supposed to have as many as you have cats, plus one, and there should be one on every floor (I live in a townhouse). However, since we added one downstairs in an effort to stop Taco from peeing on the couch, both cats have, for the most part, abandoned using the two upstairs, mostly likely because the downstairs one is next to the kitchen and they can cause the most destruction with their foul smells. It’s great, really. I love knowing my olfactory senses are working to full capacity.
That being said, since they hardly use the upstairs ones, I only check them once a week or so. Perhaps that’s slightly neglectful. But honestly, the smell is usually a dead giveaway if there’s waste requiring removal.
So imagine my surprise when last night, I opened the covered box to find it was completely and utterly infested with tiny brown bugs. I mean, hundreds. And after closer inspection, I realized that the tiny brown bugs were not just confined to the box, but all over the surrounding carpet.
Now, I freely admit I’m not the best housekeeper. I’m more like a PigPen. This does not mean I live in filth. The boyfriend makes up for what I lack, and I do try to keep things tidy. I’m messy, but not dirty. But still, I would like to think that I would have noticed a bazillion of these freakin’ bugs all over. So I’m reasonably sure that the infestation grew fairly quickly.
We took the box outside (where it still resides, I don’t feel like cleaning it just yet) and vacuumed up the offenders. The boyfriend immediately blamed cat poop.
So I did what every good American would do.
You know those bugs that end up in your pantry, usually in your flour?
Yeah. Turns out they dig corn, too. Which is conveniently what my cat litter is made of. It seems there’s a certain trade-off in being environmentally friendly and therefore shunning clay litter.
So hey, at least I’m not the only one this happened to. And maybe it’s because they don’t use that box. Because the high traffic box doesn’t have a single bug (at least that I can see).
World’s Best Cat Litter, I am hereby calling you out. I do like your product, but give a girl a warning, seriously.
Took Taco to the vet yesterday. Just the yearly checkup, which I think was 2 months late. Anyway, both the boys just had birthday, Moosh is now six and Taco four…and apparently 4 is the year to get FAT. Because according to the vet, that’s what Taco is. Tell me how I’m supposed to reduce his food when he eats all of the food? I can’t starve Moosh to cut back on Taco. I got a grazer and a gorger. Guess who wins?
And seriously, 13 lbs for a cat is NOT that bad. Sure, he was 11 lbs for the majority of his adult life but 2 lbs in a year isn’t THAT bad. As much as he runs around I cannot believe he’s getting fatter. Plus, I discovered that we’ve actually been buying “moderate calorie” food, which explains why we’ve been running through it so fast — and why the cats have been begging for food 3 hours after morning feedings.
It also is a two-man job to even get Taco into the carrier, despite careful planning. I had attempted to carry out the kidnapping without waking the boyfriend up but alas, it got too loud, which was fortunate because he heard enough to shut the bedroom door just in time to avoid Taco running in and hiding under the bed. Then came down to help, since I got Taco in but couldn’t close with one hand.
They have kittens for adoption at my vet. These kittens were adorable. I threatened Taco if he didn’t shape up, I was trading him in for a new model. His performance didn’t improve, but the vet rejected my trade offer. Go figure.
As all cat owners know (I assume all, every cat I’ve ever had is MISERABLE in the car) I endured bone-chilling howls all the way there. Slightly muted on the way back. And, upon arriving home, feeling horribly guilty for all my evil doings, proceeded to give Taco all of the treats in the world. Including turkey, which he meowed incessantly for, but didn’t know what to do with upon receiving. Shrugh.
We have 3 litterboxes. Both cats prefer just one. That one happens to be the one in the living area, conveniently located next to the open-concept kitchen.
I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that this can make for some uncomfortable living circumstances. Even if I IMMEDIATELY place the poop in the Litter Genie (which is AHH-MAY-ZING), the potent smell of poo lingers. And lingers. And for some reason, my cats’ shit seems to be of the extra smelly variety. Adding to that is the airflow in the house, which somehow manages to disperse the disgusting aroma to all areas, even upstairs.
I’ve tried baking soda in the box. I’ve tried kitty probiotics. And my most recent foray into eliminating the foul odors emanating from my boys’ “outbox,” I bought a package of “Stool Deodorizer” treats. All-natural, of course.
Well, that was a disappointment. They might work. I wouldn’t really know because I can’t get my little brats to eat them. Moosh refuses them outright, while Taco can be tricked into kind of eating one by stacking another regular treat on top of it. I even tried burying them in the food. Moosh ate all around it and Taco left most. I hate them sometimes.
Anyone know how air purifiers work? Do they take out smells? If they don’t, the name is misleading, as a smell is really just TINY LITTLE MOLECULES of an aromatic object drifting into your nostril where it is received as a smell so in theory if the air is truly being purified, it would remove the tiny physical molecules of poo from the air. Are you disgusted yet? I’m gonna go vomit now.
I could google this, but for the sake of this post, I’ll allow my curiosity to fester.
“This” is the phenomenon of my cats seemingly recognizing my (and maybe the boyfriend’s) voice. I know that I’ve read that cats respond better to women’s voices, something about the tone. Moosh and Taco seem like they respond to our voices, particularly by their names. Taco is less of a sure thing, he just talks all the time, and to whatever variation of his name we use. But he at least looks like he knows that he’s being talked to. Moosh, on the other hand, knows his name like the back of his paw. Maybe it’s just the tone that we say it in, or the way that “Moosh Moosh” sounds. Saying it sometimes gets him all worked up, like I’m petting him without actually petting him. He’ll close his eyes, purr, and look like he’s in ecstacy.
It’s funny what you discover from years of co-existing with your animals. How you can figure out what their triggers are. Why do they have the triggers they do?
The best response I can get from Moosh is by shaking my head back and forth while saying his name in a deep, cooing voice. He’ll come running almost every time. Unless he gets distracted.
Taco’s ultimate call-over involves more energy. He responds best to an excited voice. Less coo-ey, more OMG, but still in a deeper voice. He gets all jacked up and runs over. If I’m laying down, combining that with patting my chest plate loudly will get him up and on my stomach purring.
So…am I crazy? Does anyone else know quirks this intimate about their furry children or do I just look waaaaaay too far into things?
Here I go, blaming the cats for things again.
My neck has been killing me since Monday. The kind of hurt that makes it almost impossible to turn one’s head. It’s been really fun checking my blind spot while driving. It’s feeling a little better today, but as I was going through my photos, I realized that I captured PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE pointing the finger straight at Moosh Moosh.
Yes, my “good son” is apparently to blame for my latest injury.
The photo below was taken last Saturday night. At the time, I thought, “How adorable. My son loves me SO MUCH. I’m so very lucky to have this lil snugglebunny in my life!”
I see now that this was step 1 of the evil plan.
Sunday night. Gettin’ all up in my bidness. I still vaguely found it cute, but I was wondering if he was trying to take over my pillow entirely. It was a bit uncomfortable for me, but he’s my kid, and mothers have to sacrifice for the greater good sometimes.
It was all part of the master plan. The way I see it, this angel-faced devil hatched up this plan in order to force me to sleep in an awkward position which he knew would result in a stiff neck, keeping me out of my night job so that I would be home to spend time with them and feed them at an earlier time.
On the other hand, he’s not that smart. Maybe Taco was behind it all.
So I’m not sure how many of you out there are into all the “hip” new apps that the kids are using these days, but as a 31-year-old who still thinks she’s 12, I sure am. Most recently, my (slightly) younger and hipper friend introduced me to Snapchat, which, if you’re not a pervert or horny teenager using it for more risque purposes, seems to be a tool to send your friends stupid, goofy faces. Needless to say, I was an immediate convert. I also recently jumped on the Vine bandwagon. If you’re not familiar with this one, it’s just a way to share short, looping videos, mostly compiled of even shorter clips.
But NOW…Instagram, in all its Facebook-owned glory, quite smartly jumped on that shit. Yes, Instagram just put the short-lived Vine out of business in one fell swoop by now including videos. This is ok with me, I didn’t get close enough to Vine to feel mourn-y or anything.
What does this mean for you, you may ask?
It means now, not only can you browse millions of adorable kitty pics, you can now browse millions of kitty VIDEOS. Honestly, if any more technologies come out aiding my crazy cat lady-ness, I’m going to have to make it my full-time job.
And, of course, one can also post millions of one’s OWN kitty videos. I’ve held myself back so far and only posted 2. Should you care to see them, you can always follow me on instagram.
And if not (but you should), here’s a cute pic for the road.
THEY decide the wake-up time.
THEY decide when it’s time to eat.
THEY decide when they want to sit on your lap.
THEY decide when you’ve been on the computer too long and alert you by sitting on your keyboard.
THEY don’t clean up their waste. The humans do it for them.
THEY allow you to pet them, but only until they’ve had enough, at which time they will make it clear by biting your hand.
THEY decide you need to rewash your clean laundry because it’s a perfect bed for them to shed on.
And Taco obviously fully embraces his king status, as evidenced by this picture.
As a mother of any species can tell you, you know when something’s a little off with your children. And despite the fact that my brats are never really what I’d call “all there,” they’re acting weirder than usual. I don’t know if it’s the fact that they had their parents home for a whole 5 days or the weather or if they’re just feeling their age as a result of their recent birthdays, but even the boyfriend’s noticed. It’s not anything I can put my finger on. Just some weird crap here and there.
Moosh will stop in a part of the room he usually won’t (yeah, I notice this crap) and stare at me. Usually he just waits by his food bowl and stares. He’s also being really needy. Following us around and looking at us pitifully for attention.
Taco can’t sit still. He’s in my face 24/7, and when he’s not, he’s in weird places, like my closet (this is Moosh’s usual haunt) and in Moosh’s basket (also, as you might have gathered by the title of the resting place, Moosh’s). Taco’s also started kneading me when he lays on me in bed. Yes, I know this is a NORMAL cat activity, but he’s never really been much of a kneader (Jackson Galaxy calls this “smurgling” but never explained if that’s some sort of scientific term — it seems like an odd choice for a serious scientist to choose, but whatever) and he does it ON me. I’m fairly certain that my skin isn’t as rewarding to smurgle on as, say, a cushy blanket. I don’t mind it so much. It’s more like a change-up pitch in baseball. Throwin’ a fast ball at me forever and now you’re going to throw a slider? You know what? That’s a horrible analogy. I’m assuming you get the point.
I don’t know what this all means, but it throws me off. And I hate change.
Not WITH THEM with them, just their pictures. See, I got some of my instagram pics printed out, and I was planning to transfer them to canvas for some DIY art pieces.
Only it turns out that you’re supposed to use pictures printed on regular paper from a laser printer. Not photo paper. Good going, me.
So I’m going to attempt to modpodge them to the canvases and get it done that way. I’m so stubborn. We’ll see how this turns out. Especially with my “helpers” – i.e. the furry ones who get really curious particularly about anything I don’t want them around.
I have big plans. We’ll see how this goes.
As you can see, Taco is already being very helpful by playing with the bags of supplies I picked up this morning.
I think I would have been better off going to the beach.
Update: all of the square canvases I bought are 1/4th of an inch bigger than the damn pictures. “Measure twice, cut once” is awfully good advice, but I suck horribly at following it. In fact, I’m more like “Vaguely measure, make it fit.” This is probably why I’m not rich and famous for my handmade goods.
My caturday was spent, for the most part, without cats.
I know. This is shocking. Usually I spend my Caturdays lazing around the house, lamenting about how I’m too lazy to do anything. Recovering from my week. But this Caturday is special. For you see, I’m on vacation. Kind of. I am officially out of service where Big Brown in concerned all the way until after Memorial Day! WHEEEE! And to boot, I have an official WORK-FREE 5-day vacation starting at 3pm Wednesday!
It’s a lot easier to be unlazy when you know that you have more available lazy time in your future.
So today, I exerted myself. EXERTED! My friend and I rented bikes and rode around St. Pete. We oogled over old houses we can’t afford and took some beachy scenic routes. My friend loves history, so she didn’t seem to mind my stories (St. Pete is my hometown, so I spent a great deal of time saying “Well, THAT wasn’t there before”). Or the heat. I even sunscreened myself effectively, although possibly TOO effectively, because I don’t appear to have a tan. Which is probably good, because I don’t ride in my bathing suit (shocking, right?) and would have had some wretched tan lines, but I did want a LITTLE glow.
Despite the fact that neither of us had been on bikes in a rather long time, there were no injuries. Apparently “just like riding a bike” is quite the accurate metaphor. However, hills are another story, and so are bike seats. Now, I am not a skinny girl. I wouldn’t be skinny even if I starved myself. But I have a white girl butt. It’s fat and flat. Despite the flatness, there’s plenty of padding. It was useless.
And about the hills…there’s really no “hills” to speak of. Most of Pinellas county is under sea level. Perhaps “slight inclines” would be a better description. And these weren’t even too bad…until we stopped for lunch. With beer. It was noticeably more difficult to pedal after lunch. This could be attributed to the fact that we’d already been riding a few hours, or because we took a break from it. I liken it to getting a tattoo…you never want to take a break. Get it all done at once. If you stop, it hurts like a bitch upon restarting. But beer can’t possibly be detrimental, right?
Anyway, it was a lovely day. We were both so amazed that we made plans, kept them, AND the weather held out that we talked mostly about how amazed we were.
I didn’t see any cats. But I saw a lot of boats. Including catamarans. And after the 2nd catamaran we saw with a cat paw print in the name, it occurred to me that it was because they were CATamarans. So you see, I had a Caturday after all! IT ALL COMES AROUND TO CATS.
So here’s my day, in picture form.