Tagged: cat

Why naming your cat is irrelevant.

Kitty eyes see all.

I’m pretty sure that not a single one of my cats has ever come out of their mother’s womb, been named something, and kept that name throughout their entire life.

Furthermore, once a cat name IS officially chosen and is permanent enough to be the one on file at he vet’s (although I have one that goes under a different name and one we had to change at the vet, read on), it is very rare that when talking to the cat, the cat is actually referred to as that particular name.

Shadow –> Baby
Ernie –> Chaos –> Fatty a.k.a. “Big Guy” at the vet, my mother refuses to let his official vet name be Fatty. In fact, she refuses to even call him Fatty.
Original name forgotten –> Mikey –> Little
Gus –> Jager
Oz –> Porkchop –> Moosh Moosh
Fernando –> Taco

Now, all of these names are used here and there, but most of the time either generic baby-talk names are instead or variations of the name. My favorites include Boo Bear, Boo Boo, Babycakes, Kittania, Snuggleface, Poopbutt, Bunny, Stinkers, Stinko, Fatboy or STOP IT NOW.

Moosh Moosh in all his glory.

Moosh Moosh, on any given day, could be Moosh Mash, MooshyMooshyMooshy, Mooshito, Mooshcakes, Mooshface, Skooshers, Skooshy, or  MoshiMoshi. When we got him, we really thought he was a good Porkchop until he smooshed our faces so much that Moosh Moosh just stuck.

Fatty? Well, that’s easy. Fat Fatty McFatterson, FattyCakes, Fatty Lumpkins, Fattilicious, Fatbaby.

Jager — Jagger, Woogie, Jagermeister or Cougar.

Taco, by far, has the most, I guess it’s just the easiest to mess around with — Taquito, Yablito, Tikki-Taco, Tablo, Cobblers, Jocko, Yacko, Taquerita, Toblerone, Yablo, Chimichanga, Blobblo or Taco-san.

And yes, I do speak to my cats in baby talk. Wanna make something of it?

Moosh Moosh ain’t havin’ any of it.

Taco, the Cat Jekyll and Hyde. Part 2.

So now you know why Taco is the devil incarnate. But for every evil, there is a good. Taco kinda takes both sides to the limit. He’s not big on moderation.

Taco’s saving graces:

  • He doesn’t just sit down. He hurls himself onto the floor. It’s a melodramatic “WHUMP!”
  • He melts. I have never seen a more melty cat. When he lays down he BECOMES whatever he’s laying on.

    This is one of his deep sleeps.

  • He snuggles with me at night. I’ll wake up to find him stretched alongside me, at which point I have to start petting him because he’s so damn cute. Then he starts purring, which wakes Jason up because he’s like a motorboat. This is a point of contention between us, I find it soothing. Last night he melted on my chest. This MAY be why I am so tired today — who can sleep with a PURRING KITTY PUDDLE on you?
  • He purrs all the time. I love it.
  • He happy meows. Whenever you touch him, he does this thing that is a mix between purring, meowing, and that weird “MRRRRP” noise cats do. My favorite is when he does it when he’s half asleep, it turns into a gurgling yawn.
  • When he sniffs the floor, he comes back up with his mouth slightly open.

    This kitty is “special”

  • He can jump chest high. Literally. And when he does, he hurls himself into the air with absolutely no control, getting sideways and shit. He once hit his head on the bottom of the counter. It also makes for some very awkward landings.
  • We think he’s part bengal. His fur is, as my vet called it, luminescent. His colors are so vivid. From afar he looks like a regular brown tabby but when you get up close you can see how beautiful he is (I realize I am like every other mother in the world who thinks their child is the best, don’t care, I’m right).

    Both cats love my closet. Go figure.

  • He’s the alpha male of the house, even though Moosh is bigger and older.
  • Despite his alpha male status, he’s a pussy at the vet. He shakes the whole time.
  • When he and Moosh fight, it’s like watching the Matrix.
  • He can catch bugs like no other. Sometimes even at the expense of a stinger in the mouth.
  • He is chock full of personality.
  • He has a little freckle on his left temple.
  • He hates when Moosh sniffs his butt. I do too. It’s so unbecoming.
  • When he jumps on the bed, he usually does it with a full running start, a meow and a leap. Sometimes he overshoots.
  • He has a brush-like thing shaped like an arch that is meant for the cats to rub on and therefore remove loose hair, but Taco puts his head upside down (JUST his head) and chomps on it. No clue why he needs to do it upside down or how it could possibly feel good in his mouth.
  • Did I mention the melty thing? God, he’s cute. I mean, really cute.

    SO PRETTY

    At the end of the day, the cute thing is probably what saves his ass. Oh, and I love him. Jason does too, when he’s not giving him the silent treatment for peeing on the couch.

Cats as props.

I like to justify things. This is how I make myself feel better about decisions. I feel that my morals are fairly centered, so these decisions aren’t really earth-shattering.

I like to fuck with my cats. If you’ve ever put scotch tape on the bottoms of your cats’ paws and watch them run around (don’t lie, everyone I know well enough to admit this to me has done it), you’ll know what I mean. Look, I’m a vegan. I’m all for animal rights. I would NEVER do anything to harm an animal. But I’m not totally against using them for amusement here and there.

My justification? I feed them. I love them. I give them a home. I scoop their shit out of a box. No one disposes of MY waste like that. So every once in awhile, they get to dance for their dinner.

Exhibit A:Props in photos. They look miserable. But it’s a TINY moment of their lives and cats can’t recognize themselves in mirrors or in pictures so they don’t know to be embarrassed. That’s a scientific fact. At least the part about the not recognizing themselves. Lack of embarrassment is my own correlation.

Black cats make the picture.

He loved it.

Pose for the camera, bitch!

Exhibit B: Dressing up the cats. Who DOESN’T like to play dress up occasionally?

Pissed? Nah.

I know, white’s not slimming.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Exhibit C: I have no photo proof of this, but I can exact hours of entertainment throwing stuff around for them to catch. Sometimes pretending to throw them, that always throws Taco for a loop. Always good for a laugh. This one is EXTRA justifiable, because as Jackson Galaxy says, you NEED to play with your cats for them to be happy.

PETA would probably have a shitfit about this, since they refuse to even call them “pets” — they’re “companions” — but I’m a good crazy cat lady and if I sometimes want to put a piece of harmless tape on my cat and watch him run like he’s on hot coals, I will, dammit.

Fat Fatty McFatterson

He’s large and in charge.

Fatty’s the OG black kitty. I was 16, totally into punk rock and rebelling (while still being a mostly good kid as far as teenagers go) when my mom and I were at the thrift store for Friends of Strays. So convenient that they had kittens there as well.

I don’t remember why Mom relented and was so easily talked into a kitten, but Fatty (his name was Ernie then) was a tiny black fluffball with fu manchu whiskers and a purr that would melt ice.

I decided Chaos was his name, because, as I said, I was into punk rock and rebelling. It didn’t strike me at the time that this wasn’t a particularly great cat name. Not until we got another kitten two years later and he somehow morphed into Fatty while the kitten morphed into Little (CREATIVE ALERT).

Fatty likes to eat. Like, REALLY likes to eat. In fairness, he is a medium-haired cat so some of his bulk is fur. Aside from that, though, I have, on occasion, caught him laying on the floor with a bag of food knocked over and a fat paw casually scooping morsels into his mouth.

Sure, you fit in that.

He’s also a momma’s boy. In retrospect, I guess they all are. I take a certain pride in that. He’s been there for almost half of my life. When I moved out of my mom’s, I visited every weekend for months even though he was so pissed at me he wouldn’t come near me, resulting in months of weekends of tears and wailing “My baby doesn’t LOVE me anymore!”

He’s had his share of costly vet stuff, like the oh-so-common-in-male-cats crystals, but last week got really sick with severe anemia. It heartbreaking to see him so lifeless. So he got a blood transfusion, buying him some time for his body to start building up his own blood cells again. This is not a guarantee. Fortunately, he’s made a lot of headway getting better, so much so that he fights off his pills with claws of fury. Here’s a million-dollar idea: start a mobile “cat pill feeding” service. Taco figured out the pill pocket trick and won’t touch them and Moosh is such a picky eater that he turns up his nose at the pill pockets anyway.

Mom and the getting-better Fats

I luvs me some Fatty, even if he does love food more than he loves me. I never thought I would be so happy to see him wolf down food.

Moosh Moosh Was Meant to Be.

Moosh Moosh likes to flaunt it.

Moosh is turning 4 this month. Sadly, he started life being thrown from a car along with his litter as kittens and rescued immediately after. When I found him, he was with a shelter called Second Chance for Strays (amazing people, please support them). I was in desperate need of a kitten, having been without one since having to put our baby Jager to sleep. After you lose an animal, there’s a period of time when you can’t imagine having another. Once that stage of grieving is over, you feel like you have to have a new one immediately to survive.

I wanted a kitten-kitten, Jason wanted anything but a black cat (Jager was black, he thought it would be too hard to have that reminder, which sucked, because all I wanted was a black cat — or a bazillion of them), and what I found was a black 7-month-old teenager cat, the last to be adopted from his litter.

Jason is not a guy who does a lot of grand gestures, but he surprises me sometimes. And so begins the story of Moosh. I couldn’t find any kittens, so I was looking in between jobs and online. I saw Moosh (except his name was Oz). I thought, “K. This is a black cat and not as kitteny as I want. Buuuuut I’ll just try him out anyway. What’s the harm?”

As if he’d been training for this moment all his life, he nuzzled his face into my neck and I was in love.

I called Jason and said something like “iknowyoudontwantablackcatbutireallyreallyreallyreallyreallylikethisoneandwillyoupleaseatleastlookathimilovehim.” He managed to decipher this. I guess he’s used to it. I get excited a lot. Mostly about cats. He’s usually prepared with a NO before I get out the first two words.

Love.

I got home from work that night to find Moosh. My darling boyfriend went to see him, unbeknownst to me. Moosh laid the charm on thick with the ol’ man. Put a paw on each side of his neck and nuzzled in. Jason thinks he’s a tough guy but he’s really a pushover for kitty snuggles. He’s going to kill me for making this public. But his friends won’t read this, and in the event they do, they’d have to freely admit they looked at a blog about cats. Catch-22, suckaz.

Anyway. That’s when he took him home. Moosh is mostly a momma’s boy, so every once in awhile Jason reminds him who took him home (he still loves me more).

Seriously, black cats are the best.

Crazy cat ladies also collect crazy cat facts.

I shouldn’t know so many weird things about cats.

PEW PEW PEW

Most recently, I learned that vets have “donor kitties” that they use to get blood from when it’s needed for a transfusion. I don’t know how they sign a consent form, but apparently they don’t mind so much.

This got me thinking about the other weird things that I know about cats.

Taco’s insides.

  • The floppy pooch of skin on their belly is a trait from their big cat relatives…it gives them extra stretch when hitting full stride running.
  • I know what the inside of Taco looks like. It’s actually my desktop at work and my cover photo on Facebook. I find it intriguing. My vet was super excited to offer to email it to me, so I guess I’m not the only one awed by kitty vertebrae and undigested food (his little tail bones are so purrfect!).
  • Revolution (the flea medicine) can be given orally. It’s not recommended. But it’s totally fine if you accidentally put it somewhere lickable. They MAY foam at the mouth, but they’ll be fine.
  • Male cats were built really badly in terms of their urinary system. If you’ve ever had a male cat with crystals (and a big vet bill to go with it), this is why.
  • A sign of anemia in cats is pale gums. This is NOT a useful thing to know if your cat is black with black gums.
  • Speaking of black cats, they’re the least likely to be adopted. I don’t understand why ridiculous superstition has any place in modern society. Black cats are my favorite. Never had a bad black cat. I’d have a harem of them if it were up to me, but my boyfriend thinks it would be “too confusing.”
  • Despite the many representations of kittens lapping up a bowl of milk, it’s actually a horrible idea to give your cat milk. Also a horrible idea to give them a ball of yarn, which they will eat and then get stuck in their intestines.
  • Declawing is really really really BAD. It’s like removing the entire top of your finger from the joint. That’s not declawing, it’s an AMPUTATION. There are no health benefits for the cat and can, in fact, have a negative impact on the cat’s personality. It’s also illegal in most civilized countries. Just not the U.S. Shocker.

It’s a bird…it’s a plane…it’s a Moosh!

As you can see, I ask a lot of questions at the vet’s office (and my vet doesn’t mind, this is why I love her) and watch a lot of Cats 101 and My Cat From Hell. I’ll probably think of 10 more things the second I post this.

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.

Meet Shadow (a.k.a. Baby)

Shadow was my first cat ever. After my parents divorced and my mom bought a house , I got my first cat. Up until this point I had only been allowed birds and hamsters, this having something to do with my dad not wanting a cat for reasons that I didn’t know until later in life when he repented and got his own cat, but that’s another story. Anyway, when it was just me and my mom living in a house that we owned, I finally got to experience kitty momminess. Shadow came with his mom (I think her name was Whisper or Wispy, we just called her Momma). And eventually Shadow became Baby. I don’t remember where we got them and why Momma was an outdoor cat and Baby an indoor, but all the same, this is where it all began. I have an entire album of pictures of Baby. Just like I have an entire digital album of my current ones.

As you can see, I have always loved a good pun. This poor cat let me take so many ridiculous pictures of it. I have one of him wearing a sweatband and wristband. One of him covered with stuffed animals so that only his head is sticking out. He was a good sport about all of it and I loved that cat fiercely.

At some point here, we got his brother Sammy, too, but he was always outdoor and really skittish. He never really let us in but we tried to love him anyway. Until one day he disappeared and it turned out that my REALLY AWESOME neighbor had set cat traps because she did not like cats in her yard. I have never forgiven this horrible bitch woman because as a single mom, my mom didn’t have the money to get Sammy out of the pound. I hope in my heart of hearts that someone adopted him.

I don’t remember what happened to Momma. I don’t know why I can remember Sammy’s fate and not hers…but I do remember what happened to Baby because it was my first kitty heartbreak.

I stayed with my dad for 2 weeks. While I was there, my dad surprised me by telling me he knew someone with kittens, and my mom was letting me pick one and take it home. I think I was 12, so I hadn’t yet developed the skepticism I so famously flaunt now. BLINDED BY KITTEN EXCITEMENT.

Theeeeennnnn I get home. Mom tells me Baby is missing. I cry and cry and cry. And then I make signs. Put them all over the neighborhood. Go to the pound. Cry some more. Kittens are great and all but they do not ease the heartache of losing your other beloved, and while I appreciate what my mom was trying to do, it didn’t work.

We never found Baby. This is partly why I am now so adamant about keeping cats indoors only. There are assholes with traps out there and people who won’t brake, not to mention NATURAL predators. I will never forget Baby, partly because of the album of pictures, but also because he was, in essence, my first love.