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.
Yes, it has been forever, and I’m sure you’re asking “Why now?” I say, “Why not?”
Maybe because I ran out of cat things to talk about. Or because I’m busy. Whatever it is, here I am again!
So. Yes. I am crazy. Not in a “needs to be locked up” sense, but close.
The fact that Moosh likes to sleep above my head is well-documented in other posts, so I won’t get into it. So the other night, whilst in the middle of what was apparently a very deep sleep, Moosh bit my hand (regardless of position, I almost always have to have one arm positioned somehow above my head). Now, being that I was, in fact, in the middle of a very deep sleep, I’m really foggy on what exactly happened, other than that my hand hurt quite a bit. I woke up enough to see that it was bleeding, but just barely, and I was so tired that I decided any bacteria would just have to wait for the morning and I went back to sleep, as did Moosh. In the morning, I saw there was another mark on the other side of my hand, in keeping with my bite theory. It wasn’t very deep, so I just peroxided it, antibiotic-ed it, and slapped a few bandaids on (by the way, these are impossible to keep stuck on your palm).
I pondered the reasoning for the bite for the rest of the morning, and while I assumed that I may have jerked in my sleep (I sleep punch the boyfriend a lot so this is a valid assumption) which freaked Moosh out who then bit, the thought suddenly occurred to me that I only had 48 hours to get a rabies shot before it was too late and I began the spiral down into what I hear is a horrible death by insanity.
The chance of rabies being an issue is pretty much .000000%. Both of my boys are strictly indoors and get their shots yearly.
However. I am what I like to call a “disaster planner,” meaning I can only relax and tackle an issue once I have determined the worst case scenario and planned for it. I blame the girl scouts. It’s not pessimism, I just feel better identifying it. Then I can plan for the most realistic outcome.
So I emailed my vet to please verify that Moosh was up to date on his rabies shots. I’m sure I gave them a laugh for the day, but yes, they assured me, he had it in January.
So that just leaves infection. Cat bites are pretty much the worst for bacteria. If you ever have a choice, get bit by a dog instead.
When I took off the bandaids at the end of the day I realized the marks were kind of parallel and more in line with claw marks rather than a bite. All that for a damn scratch. But hey, I was asleep.
I also do not feel as crazy as the person who put a t-shirt on a perfectly nice outdoor cat. This cat accosted me on my porch the other night, meowing and rubbing on my legs, and tried to run in my house. It ignored the food I put out for him so it seems he’s someone’s cat…but what MORON puts a shirt on their cat (also, what moron lets their cat outside, but that’s a different story)? I debated taking the shirt off the cat because it seems so very dangerous but I wondered if they maybe had a really good reason for putting the shirt on the cat. I may put a notice on the neighborhood board calling out the idiot owner.
I have a lot of excuses as to why I haven’t written a post in awhile. Work’s been super busy. It’s football season. Most importantly, the cats have been oddly…uninteresting.
I dislike excuses, although I am the biggest justifier you’ll ever meet. So I will not blame my non-writing on any of those things. Basically, I’ve been lazy.
So what’s new with me? The cats are still cats. The boyfriend is still the boyfriend. My fantasy football team is taking a dump as usual. Oh, the Bucs won 3 in a row. That was quite the pleasant surprise. Thanksgiving went well. I’m already procrastinating buying x-mas presents.
The weather is the biggest variable at the moment. I finally got out my “winter” clothes a few weeks ago and I have yet to wear any. It’s been cold (by Florida standards) I think a total of 2 days. I wore shorts today.
It IS having an effect on the cats. They’ve been very loud. One of them (read: Taco) knocked a cupcake off the cooling rack while we were at a football game. Cats have no business with cupcakes. WTF, cat?
So that’s the short and long of it. Maybe I should stop being so lazy and get back to my regular posts. We’ll see…
Some days, the cats make me want to leave home.
And some days, I luff them more than I can bear.
My kitty snuggle tonight is better than a beer. Cheers, Moosh Moosh.
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.
You may not think that cats and cars have ANYTHING to do with each other whatsoever, save for being one letter different. You’d be wrong. See, they’re both money pits.
You know the old adage, “when it rains, it pours” – I’ve found this to be true about both.
Let’s start with cats.
Most of the time, my boys are healthy and thriving. However, I know that we’re always one sneeze/puke/bloody poop away from a vet visit. Something that is absolutely essential is to have a vet you can trust and ask a bazillion questions to and get informative answers without even a hint of an eyeroll. Someone you truly believe has your babies’ best interests at heart. I have one. This being said, while I do believe veterinarians should be paid handsomely for the work they do, my wallet says otherwise. The bills add up and up, even if you have an excellent vet who is honest about whether certain procedures are necessary. If you’re a worrier like me, you tend to fall on the cautious side and get the tests that are maybe 55% necessary, “just in case.” Then you walk out with a giant bill, and presumably, a healthy cat. Or, like me, you could go in for a simple checkup and walk out with the knowledge that one cat’s pupil is markedly larger than the other, possibly indicating a problem (this requires more tests, of course, and if I really wanted to get serious, a visit to the CAT EYE DOCTOR). It’s never just one thing. And lets not forget the constant maintenance of cat food, which seems to be getting more and more expensive.
Now onto cars.
Unless you have a brand spankin’ new car with a fancy warranty (in which case you’d also have a large car payment and the headache of the immediate depreciation driving off the lot), you have car problems. Having a trusted mechanic in your arsenal is equally as essential as having a trusted vet (I have one of these, too, and I went through a LOT of mechanics before finding Sam, who’s my godsend). Especially if you have a Volvo, which is like having a cat with special needs (okay, that’s a BIT of a stretch, but work with me here). Yesterday I went in for a new headlamp assembly (used, actually – new was a bazillion dollars) because a rock or a BB gun put a nice lil hole in the one I had. And a new hood latch, because the boyfriend broke it opening the hood to look at the headlight assembly when the hole was noticed. While I was there, I discussed having him fix a very slow oil leak that I’d been able to put off because of the very slowness of it. I’d recently noticed more oil where I park my car so I figured it was time. As he pulled my car out, there was a puddle of oil. NOT SO SLOW ANYMORE. So we bumped up that appointment. When I left, I noticed my dashboard light indicating a light out was still on. Brake light, this time. Oh, and my tires are bare. AND it’s almost time for timing belt replacement. And like the constant supply of cat food that’s needed, the car requires a constant influx of gas.
So I’ve come to the conclusion that I basically work to support my cats and my car. Neither of them appreciate it.
Ya’ll know what I’m talking about. The toys we so excitedly buy on a whim, imagination filled with visions of kitty splendor…only to be ignored entirely, not even worthy of being batted under a couch. In a twist of irony, in fact, the BEST toys get batted under the couch. I feel like these toys can never be found when you’re looking for them, but turn up in a giant stash under sometime that you only clean under once a year and then think “Oh, so THIS is where they all went!” BUT. When you look in this place at a later date to find what you now think is the honey hole of missing favorite toys, you find nary a one.
This rant is brought to you courtesy of an impulse clearance rack buy at PetSmart today. I only stopped in there to see if I could find a replacement wavy chaise longue (1. it’s really nothing like a chaise longue, it’s just a carpeted wave shape thing but the cats lie on it like I imagine I would on a chaise longue and 2. yes, I am spelling “chaise longue” correctly, it’s not “chaise lounge” as most people pronounce it – fact of the day) but alas, it was $30. Since I’ve never spent more than $20 on one, I refused to buy one for ten dollars more today, even if Moosh is out of a seat since Taco always shoves him out of the way to take the one remaining one. See, we HAD two, only someone’s fat ass broke one.
Now there’s one, and Taco keeps puking on the sisal part (ever tried to clean puke out of woven sisal?).
There I go again, wandering away from the point. The POINT is that I ended up buying some sort of natural treats that are supposed to “deodorize” your cats’ shit. Considering that the boyfriend and I actually send each other texts to warn of impending poop smells, I would have paid a small fortune for them, but to my delight they were only SIX DOLLARS! This, to me, was worth standing in line for. It was in this line that I discovered the clearance rack. For a mere 2 something I could have a TREAT DISPENSER.
I don’t know what I thought this was, but it seemed cheap, and the cats like treats, so why not?
Yeah. No. This is what it does: you put treats in it. You wind it up. Put it on the ground. It spins a few times. Scares the cats. Spits out a few treats. Stops. Cats stare. Notice treats. Hesitantly walk toward them. Eat them. Ignore the spinny thing.
I hate the brilliance of whomever discovered these impulse lanes. I know that the grocery stores have employed such tactics for years, but only recently stores have discovered that putting in a veritable MAZE of goodies and calling it a “checkout line” is highly profitable. Forever 21, Marshalls, PetSmart…I hate you.
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?