Tagged: cats
Facing facts. The cats run this house.
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.
King Shit.
They’re acting weird again.
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.
He’s ridiculously cute when he curls his lil pawsies!
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.
Never in the existence of this pillow has he ever paid it any mind, yet last night he decided it was the best place to sleep EVER.
I don’t know what this all means, but it throws me off. And I hate change.
Just when you think you’d seen it all…
My boys still continue to surprise me. With all the years of hijinx and mayhem, they’re not out of tricks.
In a half sleep this morning, I opened my eyes to notice the top dresser drawer was open. This is nothing new. Taco’s opened them before. I’ve never SEEN him do this, but he’s the little brat adept at opening things, so I have to assume. So I closed it. End of story, right?
No. Because then the scratching started. Being half asleep, I thought Taco was scratching to open it again. But he wasn’t there. So I opened it. Apparently, the little shit thought it would be a hoot to BURROW in my clothes and sleep there. Why this was a good idea, I’ll never know. I tried to get a picture but he moved too fast, once he decided to pop his head out and emerge.
This was the best I could do.
At least he was sleeping and not meowing at me, I suppose.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY BABIES!
Today is the shared birthday of my baby boys.
Gawd, Moosh looks like a fatty.
The boyfriend refuses to believe this is possible. Moosh’s birthday is, of course, not as definite, since he was found as a kitten after being thrown out of a car, but given that Taco was birthed behind my friend’s house, I DO know this for a fact. Whatever, they don’t care when their birthdays are. As long as they get extra treats, they’re ecstatic. I don’t know how to bake cat cakes, or else I would. Maybe hash brownies with catnip instead of hash? I don’t know how to make hash brownies, either. I’m pretty sure chocolate is bad for cats, too. Well. They’ll just have to deal with a little extra love today. Crap, I think I need to buy them wet food, too. Boy, I’m an awesome mommy.
Moving on. Moosh Moosh is officially an old man at 5, which in cat years is 37.
Does he always have to be sitting on something black?
He’s older than ME! But still younger than the boyfriend. HAH!
Taco is still a little younger than me, 3 actual years, 29 in cat years.
My little Billy Idol.
Shouldn’t he be running out of steam yet? He thinks he’s still a kitten. I just tried telling him that and he looked at me, then continued to lick his foot. Ah, to not care about one’s age! Then again, I think I’m still in my twenties. At what age is it no longer appropriate to wear neon? I hope never. I’m not a fan of Chico’s or Ann Taylor Loft. But I don’t want to end up looking like those ladies who can’t let go of their youth, wearing midriffs and stripper heels. Please smack me if I’m ever that lady.
I suggested taking the kitties to the beach for their birthday, after all, it’s one big litter box…but they hate fresh air, and probably water. Oh well.
Who wants to sleep in on vacation, anyway?
It’s day 1 of our mini vacay. I couldn’t REALLY sleep in because I had an eye appointment early-ish anyway, but Taco wasn’t having any of that. SIX THIRTY. A-hole.
This is Taco last night. He’s practically dead. Why can’t he be like this early in the morning?
Ugh.
Now the boyfriend and I are too lazy to go to the beach. Rather, I had everything kinda ready and the boyfriend said “Why don’t we be lazy today and go tomorrow.” I was TRYING to be un-lazy. It didn’t take much to twist my arm. I’m pining for the great weather I see outside, but…I have 4 more days, right? Why is it so much harder to force yourself to do things the older you get? I’m tempted to buy a kiddie pool so I can lay out back and dip my feet in. That’s pretty much the ultimate in laziness.
We did, at least, go to a beach bar yesterday. That’s something.
View from the Sloppy Pelican
Can’t hate on this.
Vacation hi-jinx.
Despite the fact that I’m only on half vacation until 3pm tomorrow, I’m trying to make the most of my off time. So far, I’ve accomplished very little, except that I’ve actually been to the gym EVERY DAY this week! So what if it’s only Tuesday? This is still something to give accolades for. Yay me.
I also spent some quality time with my mom and my other cats today. By this I mean one allowed me to maneuver under a chair to pet him and the other demanded attention to his fat belly.
The fat powers the lasers.
The mother is not used to having my undivided attention, so as usual, she forgot everything she was saving up to talk to me about. But we had a lovely time anyway, going through books and old photos. And I did all her “tech” stuff. You can lead a horse to an iPhone, but you can’t make em update it. 
Then I came home. To a Taco that seems to be extra loud. He’s been meowing up a storm lately. I am ready to punch him. I won’t, of course, but I threaten him anyway. He meows in response. I’m considering not coming home at all tomorrow.
I plan to spend the rest of the time off with the boyfriend. Hopefully on the beach. I stockpiled a crapload of books (it pays to have a mommy with a bookstore when you’re a bookworm) and I even bought a fancy new towel that slides right on to your beach chair. Please hold out, weather!
Crafting with cats.
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.
Little helper, my ass.
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.
Happy Mother’s Day to ME.
Yep. It’s that day again. The day we all celebrate our moms. And deservedly so. The mothers of the world do so much for us (and put up with a lot of brats like me). I appreciate my mommy every day of the year, except, of course, when I’m trying to get off the phone with her. This is a common mom thing, I hear. I think there’s a secret school for it somewhere. You have to start at least 15 minutes before you absolutely HAVE to get off the phone.
But enough about that. I know I posted something like this last year on Mother’s Day, but it’s worth saying again.
HAPPY MOTHER’S DAY TO THE KITTY MOMMIES!
My oldest.
You’re underappreciated. Especially those of you with special needs kitties. It’s not often understood why someone would take on caring for a pet who needs so much help. I really want to punch people who think that animals with problems should just be “put down” because after all, “they’re just animals.” One of these days, I probably WILL punch someone for saying that. And I’ll be ok with it.
One of my fellow bloggers has a paraplegic cat. I admire the hell out of her for it. It warms my heart that there ARE people out there who don’t need to be punched. On the newest episode of My Cat From Hell, the trouble cat had a neurological disorder that made it positively heartbreaking to watch him attempt to walk. And only one eye. But he had someone that took him in and gave him the life he couldn’t have gotten on his own, or maybe even with another caretaker who wouldn’t have had the patience to love and care for him. And despite the fact that he was hell-bent on tormenting the other cat, she never in a million years would give up her baby.
He thinks he’s king.
Taco is vaguely special needs. He also has a neurological disorder (that makes him pee where he’s not supposed to when he has a flare-up), but it’s not life-threatening and while it wears my patience extremely thin sometimes, I wouldn’t trade him for the world. He’s my baby. So is Moosh Moosh, despite being what I’m pretty sure can only be described as “a little slow.” I love them just as hard as I would love my own flesh and blood.
So. To the responsible, loving, amazing cat moms — *I* appreciate you. And I’m giving myself a little pat on the back today, too. Because we deserve it.
My babies. They sometimes fill my heart with joy.
Not all the brats have fur…
Newsflash: This morning, the cats DID NOT WAKE ME UP.
The boyfriend did. At 6:30. To tell me he fed the cats. THANKS HONEY.
And people wonder why I don’t want kids. I have 3.
Speaking off, the furry ones are certainly full of vim and vigor today. They’re chasing each other around the house and chirping at things I can’t see at the sliding glass door.
And playing with the Sunday paper.
Everything’s a toy.
Sigh.
So I’m getting out of the house. It’s a little windy for a beach day, but it’s cloudless and lovely and I’m going to have some bestie time with my favorite gal while getting brown (or sunburned, which is more likely, despite careful application of sunscreen).
Happy Sunday, ya’ll!
Update:
In true Polish fashion, I celebrated by first sun of the year with a sunburn, despite careful application of 15spf OceanPotion Gel (this is sincerely the best sunscreen I have ever used, yet it’s impossible to find. You have to scrape it off in the shower later but it STICKS. I just miss spots. It’s just one of those stupid things I do, I miss streaks of skin somehow. And yes, I know that 15 is shitty, but I like being tan, and I started getting my skin cancer checks last year, since I live in Florida and all. And I wear 30 on my face.)
It doesn’t look that bad, but it is for a stark white Pollack.
This is why we can’t have anything nice.
As I’ve mentioned before, I love Pinterest. I also love HGTV. I don’t own my own house and I have very little to no sense when it comes to decorating, but I like to pretend I do by looking at pretty pictures and imagining I could do that.
Then I had an epiphany.
I can’t.
Because I have cats.
Pure effin’ evil.
As I sat there looking at the 834579348st picture of a well-decorated room with vases holding large feather-like things perched precariously atop a tall, thin “table,” I realized that THESE PEOPLE DON’T HAVE FUCKING CATS.
I can’t even buy a LAMP without thinking “Ok. Will the cats knock this over?” I mean, I found this fabulous one where the lampshade was hanging sequins but after I got over my initial “OOOOHHHHHHH WANT THAT” I immediately thought “Nope. Cat toys.”
THEY RUIN EVERYTHING.
So much to knock over here! AND IT’S ON WHEELS! Movable destruction.
All of my design choices are based on THEM. I have no plants in my house. I have herbs on my front porch so they don’t eat them, but some other animal does and then I forget to water them because they’re outside and I’m not constantly reminded.
If the boyfriend thoughtfully buys me flowers for any sort of occasion, I have to either take them to work with me or proudly display them in my bathroom.
Yup. These are in my bathroom. Right next to my toothbrush.
NOTHING is off limits to them. NOTHING.
MEOW hear this! 