Tagged: cats
Lil Bub Makes My Day.
I don’t know if you crazy kids are into the instagram these days, but I sure am. I keep my “celebrity” following to a minimum, as I really would prefer to see pictures of my own friends (I make exceptions for Justin Timberlake and 2Chainz) but I do follow a few “famous” cat accounts.
You may or may not be familiar with these kitties. There’s @adventuresofbarry, he’s just cute. 
Grumpy Cat (she’s trademarked so I’ll just link to her webpage here)
@samhaseyebrows (so adorably questioning!) 
and my newest favorite, Lil Bub. 
Lil Bub makes me squeal with glee. SO FREAKING CUTE. And it was just announced yesterday that Bub is the focus of a new documentary that’s just been accepted to the Tribeca Film Festival. I really don’t care what it’s about, as long as there’s Bub in there, I’m happy. I was excited to learn that Lil Bub has quite fashionable gear for sale at reasonable prices as well, so I bought a tank top and a calendar. This made my day. PLUS…part of the proceeds go to charitable animal stuff and the rest goes to (QUITE SMARTLY) Bub’s food fund. The humans for these cats sure know how to grab on to their 15 minutes of fame. Shit, I’ve been reaching for mine for almost a year now doing this blog expecting to get discovered.
Unfortunately, as adorably unique as my kitties are, and no matter how much I know I could EASILY pick my boys out of a lineup of seemingly identical ones, they do not have funny fur colors that make them look like they have eyebrows or an eternally sticking out tongue. No, mine are just full of personality, the kind of bratty personality that kind of shows up in pictures and refuses to move an inch for video. I don’t even bother trying to catch these little imps in action anymore, they have a sixth sense for knowing when the camera’s rolling and stop doing anything remotely interesting immediately. DAMMIT, CATS. DO SOMETHING TO EARN YOUR KEEP.
Kitties for my birthday.
It’s my birthday! I’m thirty-one. I have officially been old enough to drink legally for TEN YEARS. My god, that thought is horrifying. I remember how far away 21 seemed when I longed to be able to buy my own beer, and now I’m 10 years from that on the other side.
If you’re wondering why I’m writing a blog post instead of doing something fun and exciting to celebrate, it’s because it’s miserable outside. The weather is always a little flaky on my birthday but it’s not usually outright COLD. And it’s cold. Sunny, but windy and and cold. And since I’m still expelling an ungodly amount of mucus, I’m not willing to suffer through it for even a spring training baseball game, which the boyfriend lovingly offered up even though his back’s all screwed up and I know he isn’t impressed with the weather either. Now that I think about it, it was really windy on my birthday last year too, but it was HOT. I passed up a beach day because of the wind since getting sandblasted is NOT fun (I was also really hungover). So I’m here with the boyfriend, who is laying in bed with his bad back, and the kitties, who are sleeping on the couch next to me and in the cubby hole of the cat tree. 
The boyfriend took me to get vegan pancakes this morning only for us to discover that the place serving the vegan pancakes is in fact no longer open. It was a truly lovely thought, though. And he got me vegan cupcakes!
Apparently everyone knows what I like, as most of my cards are cat-related. 
One meows the birthday song, which confused the hell out of the boys. Searching all over for the singing kitties.
I also got this amazing book, I Could Pee on This.
I also got a Richard Dawkins books, of which the title could ironically also refer to cats.
Poems by a cat. I assume they were dictated to a human. I had fun annoying the boyfriend while reciting some of them to him. Highly amused.
Except for the stupid weather, I feel loved and adored in my advanced age. I’ve had well-wishes and presents from all over, particularly on facebook, which makes one feel rather popular. Tonight I will drink with some friends and will attempt some sort of moderation, as hangovers have only gotten worse for me the older I get. We’ll see how that works.
Victorious!
I have accomplished a major goal today, on my 3rd day of vacation, and it’s only 8:30am (I’m a morning person, what can I say? I can’t sleep in). This means that I can officially spend the day lounging around reading if I so desire, and ignore the to-do list I already made. I just started a good one. I laughed about the writer’s name but it turns out she’s rather good. Joanna Trollope. I think I enjoy British writers more than American. Something about their cadence, I suppose. I will, however, read anything and everything, so long as something hooks me enough to find out what happens.
This goal goes back to the cat tree. I’m sure you’re all quite sick of hearing about the damn cat tree, and unless something incredibly fascinating happens with it someday, this will be the last I directly reference it. My dreams of the cat tree were mostly for Moosh, as he is a “tree dweller” sort of cat. I base this diagnosis on more than a few facts: he perches on my shoulders, he’s been found on more than a few occasions on top of the cupboards (once IN the cupboards), and he sits on top of the office bookcase. Taco just likes to go wherever, being UP on things isn’t that exciting to him. He just wants to be where the action is. I thought he’d enjoy the scratching stuff, though.
But guess who’s been using the cat tree more? Taco.
I don’t know what he’s looking at. Maybe the stickers numbering the pieces that REFUSE to come off. Ugh.
At first, I thought it was just him being a brat, taking over whatever space Moosh would want, but I tried putting Moosh on the highest part of the tree and he would either just jump down or step onto my shoulders and jump to the ground from there. Moosh HAS enjoyed the angled edges of the tree on various other levels, as he likes to smush his face against them. It looks very painful to me but it seems to be enjoyable for him. Whatever.
Turns out he just needed to do this on his own terms. Today, he got on the 2nd highest level. I managed to coerce him up to the next with promises of face smushes. And he stayed! I even walked away and he stayed. And realized that he had a pretty freakin’ good view.
King’s view.
MOMMY ALWAYS KNOWS BEST, BEYOTCH.
Update: For no apparent reason today, I caught Moosh on top of the fridge today, where he hasn’t been seen in months, who then, upon being spotted, made a run across the cupboards, then back again to the fridge and then down the minute I sat up to attempt a picture. This is what the cat tree was supposed to solve. Sigh.
Old cats and ex-mommy status.
My mom works weekends, because she has her awesomely fabulous bookstore to run (Sam’s Books, in Oldsmar, Florida, if you’re ever in town, please check her out). My birthday is Saturday, and of course this is a busy day for her, so we celebrated together yesterday. My mother is probably the reason I regard birthdays so highly, as she always acts as if mine is a holiday. We went out to lunch, browsed around a bit then went back to her house where she had a piece of vegan cake waiting for me. Man, I love cake. I love cake like a fat kid loves cake. If I ever lose that 20 pounds (that would still keep me in a perfectly normal range, so no, I do not have body dysmorphic whatever) that I’ve been threatening to lose for the last 16 or so years, I’m going unvegan for a day and eating an entire Publix cake. Because Publix has the best freakin’ cakes ever. I also got to grab a big stack of books which means I will probably not get all the things accomplished that I threatened to accomplish on my time off.
Being at my mom’s means I get to hang out with my kitties. Who I realized, are really now her kitties. Although I picked them both out as babies and was their mommy for the majority of their lives, I am only mildly tolerated now.
Even Fatty’s eyes are fat. I heart my big boy.
Fatty, my fat fat fat baby, doesn’t even do our choreographed stretch when I pick him up just the right way anymore. Of course, he IS turning 16 this year. And he wasted no time gaining back all the weight he lost when he almost died of anemia.
The other baby, Little, has never really been anyone’s cat. He keeps to himself. He allowed me to pet him briefly but was quite clear in letting me know that he was only humoring me.
There’s something sad about ex-mommy status, even though I have two boys of my own at home. I would probably be more upset about it if I didn’t take into account the reasons that I didn’t uproot them when I finally moved out of my mom’s house at the ripe old age of 24, those being that I rent (they’ve been freely allowed to scratch everything forever) and I didn’t want to separate them from my mom, who of course is an amazing mother (obvs, you can see how well I turned out). She’s good for them. I’m ok with being the sister. Besides, color-wise, I have an identical set here (black and a tabby). Life is good.
Side note, I got to go through a bunch of old stuff yesterday including my old dance costumes. I wish they still fit. I’m not kidding when I say I would prance around the house in them.
HOW CUTE IS THIS??? It ALMOST makes me want a kid. Almost. Not really. I just want to wear it.
I love analogies.
So far, I’m enjoying my first day of mini vacation, although the boyfriend woke me up at 6:30 to tell me I was supposed to be at work, then remembered that I was off and apologized, but I was only half asleep at that point anyway, since I had to pee and Moosh, the good son, has an incredibly astute sense of when Mommy has to pee so he purposefully (I swear, he only does it when I have to pee) steps on my bladder. I slept in till 7. This is ok, it’s better than 5:30, and to boot, I didn’t have to get dressed. I’ve been lounging around reading all morning (I turned on the TV for a bit but all the morning shows have crap about the Pope and as a recovering Catholic, NOT INTERESTED) except for some playtime with the kitties and coughing fits.
Not this lazy when it’s FOOD TIME! Lil jerk.
This sickness has a give and take relationship. Sure, the first few days I felt too icky to do anything, but “anything” included eating so it’s not as if I needed to work out. Now I’ve graduated to having my appetite back but I can’t really taste anything so as long as its warm, I’ll eat it, so I’m going with healthy options. Why waste tasty food on the tasteless? I vaguely considered working out this morning but I am afraid that the other gym-goers will rise up and kick my coughing ass out of there, even if I point out to them that I cover my mouth and that I’m not really sick anymore, it’s just the remnants working their mucus-y way out. However, I realized this morning that my abs are REALLY FREAKING SORE. I mean, “I took 5 pilates classes in a row” sore. This leads me to assume that I am burning MASSIVE amounts of calories coughing, and I might even get a 6-pack out of the deal! Now I’m thinking being sick isn’t SO bad. I’m not an eternal optimist, but I am a hopeful realist, so really, looking at the bright sides of crappy situations is just like a contingency plan.
As for the title of this post, I had an epiphany this morning, after a particularly productive coughing session. I felt like I’d accomplished something. I felt a little lighter. A little freer. And then I realized: THAT is how the kitties feel after the litter box. THAT is why they do the poop run. I would have done a lugie (is that how you spell it? Is that even a real word?) run except I thought that would make me cough more and therefore ruin the effects of the mucus expunging.
I can relate anything to anyone with an analogy. I love them.
Using my death bed productively.
Taco doesn’t care about my plight. One day of kitty snuggles with ol’ Sicko was enough for him. He’s busy with his new CAT TREE friend. Hmph.
I’m still sick. I love how optimistic I always am at the beginning of getting sick, as though THIS TIME is gonna be the time that I’m gonna whoop this sucker and get it out of my system in 24 hours. What, yours hung on and became pneumonia? Not gonna be a problem for me, because I’M KICKIN’ SICK’S ASS RIGHT NOW! And then the next day you wake up, test things out, snot starts flowing again, and you lose a little more hope. Usually I only feel like total crap for 2 days on a cold and then the rest is just getting out mucus in various ways, a la coughing fits, neti potting and nose blowing. I’m on day 4 and am now just beginning to feel like I’m in control of my brain again. Does your brain shut your brain down to conserve energy to fight germs? Seems efficient. Although not helpful at work.
To make matters better, this was also the week that I picked as my first vacation of the year at Big Brown, and decided to take a few days off the real job as well. Because…IT’S MY BIRTHDAY WEEK! I know that some people don’t think birthdays are all that important or exciting but I grew up as an only child so my understanding of it is that it is MY DAY so everyone in the land should celebrate ME! I may be turning 31, but in my head, I’m still a bratty child. I wish my newly beginning wrinkles thought that. So today was my Friday, which I can’t really enjoy because drinking a) dehydrates, and I need to keep my mucus watery and b) isn’t all that good for your immune system. I’d rather get over this crap now than prolong it because I have some half-assed desire to celebrate a fake Friday.
To further destroy my ego, the weather, which has been borderline hot, is about to swiftly swoop to much lower lows (and lower highs) than I care for. And that, of course, ruins any silly dream I may have had of birthday beach days. This is why I could never have pool parties when I was a kid. My birthday weather was always “too unpredictable.” Bah to that. Anyway, that will activate my allergies, and in turn make the snot flow even more (if that’s humanly possible).
Since I’m not doing anything fun, I decided to read. Yesterday I really needed light reading, so I read some chick lit, which turned out to be teen books, but I enjoyed anyway. Today, since my brain is a little less foggy, I’m turning to non-fiction. I decided to finally read ALL the books in my house that are about cats that I’ve been meaning to read.
I think I already know the answer to the genius one…
Turns out I have only 3. I really thought I had more than that. So imma get down to business. Perhaps I’ll let you in on my knowledge tomorrow, since I am free from working duties for the next 5 days, albeit limited in the “fun activities” department. I have a to-do list, though…
More cat tree fun…and more snot.
Well, I feel slightly less icky today. I would be happy about that, but the sickness has moved into the “never ending snot faucet” stage. Usually the good cold meds work — you know, the kind of you have sign for at the pharmacy so you can’t buy enough to make meth. You can’t even buy it if you’re a canadian on vacay here. I only know this because I overheard a poor, sick Canadian who really wanted the good stuff but needed a US ID to do so…that’s kinda BS. Does Canada even have a meth problem? Seems like they’re less trashy up there. Anyway, it’s not working for me.
Taco was an excellent snuggler and bedmate yesterday. Easing the sick with cute!
But I am, nevertheless, enjoying watching the kitties play on the new cat tree. They’re not quite as addicted to it as I’d hoped they’d by, but at the moment Taco is, in fact, sleeping on the 4th level. Success.
Enjoy my enjoyment.
Lazily stretching for the catnip banana.
The boys enjoying the lower levels. Much to my dismay, though, neither has utilized the bottom level’s sisal. Hmph.
Action shot.
Caturday is Blahturday.
It finally happened.
After weeks of dodging germs from what seemed like EVERY PERSON IN EXISTENCE, my immune system has finally succumbed. I woke up with a sore throat and it’s just going downhill from there. It was only a matter of time. Everyone at both jobs had some variety of the sickness, including the boyfriend. So instead of enjoying the new cat tree (yes, it’s up!), I’m whining to Taco in bed.
At some point, I will get up and make some of an effort to do something. Not just yet. I also have to drink some apple cider vinegar and I really hate that. But it’s good for the ol’ mucus.
Aside from me feeling like someone stuck knives in my throat, I did take some pics of the kitties with their tree last night while I wasn’t aware of the sickness yet. The boyfriend did a lovely job of putting it together without breaking anything. They seem to vaguely enjoy it. Now if we could just agree where to put it.
Feelin’ it out.
Taco’s chillin’ in his kitty cubby hole!
Enjoying the upper deck.
Hard to see Moosh. The tree is black cat camoflauge.
Ok, so I took a lot of pictures. I was excited. Wish I still felt that energetic today. DO YOUR JOB, IMMUNE SYSTEM.
THE CAT TREE IS HERE! But in pieces.
The cat tree got here safely. It was a 70 pound box, so I’m sure my UPS guy loves me. I DO have to work with the guy, after all, and he knows where I live. Sorry, Aaron. You chose this life.
Enough about Big Brown. I got home from work early last night and starting pulling the straps off (we call them “hub snakes” in the business. Insider knowledge. Easy to trip on.) and pulling all the pieces out. The boyfriend looked at me like I was crazy and said “Really? You’re going to do that now? I’ll do it this weekend.” But I was determined, and he is not to be trusted putting things together because he forgets that things are made too cheaply for his high construction standards and ends up tightening things to the point of breaking. Besides, I like putting things together. And the boyfriend has a sinus infection, which I told him he had before he went to the doctor, but NO ONE listens to me. He never gets sick. I get sick twice a year, every year, and my sinuses ALWAYS hate me. I had a minor nosebleed all day Monday. This bitch knows sinuses.
The beer is more helpful than the cats are.
I digress, as usual. He retired upstairs as I cracked a beer and got to checking out the instructions while the cats inspected the box it came in, plus the styrofoam. I inspected each piece while I pondered starting. Then I decided that I did not, in fact, feel like putting that shit together.
OMG MOMMY GOT US A BOX!
It was funny when Moosh got inside and I banged on the top of the box. I’m an a-hole. Instant karma, though. I knocked over my beer in the process.
So I piled things (appropriately, so the cats don’t knock piles over and hurt themselves), spilled my beer, then also retired upstairs where the sick boyfriend and I watched Tosh.O and I laughed.
Sorry kitties. I worked all day. Slaving over a hot desk so you could eat. You can wait.
They don’t care. They just want food anyway.
I may be a crazy cat lady, but not crazy enough to eat cat hair.
This is as close as I wanna be.
I don’t usually watch those “Strange Addiction” shows because they’re essentially just freak shows on TV. I suppose my logic is flawed since I watch Jersey Shore, but watching people who most likely have mental issues is not my cup of tea. The other night, though, I did watch one episode. One, because there was a couple from Tampa on there and I was curious, and two, because the other featured addiction was this lady who ate cat hair. The couple from Tampa was odd, they’re addicted to coffee enemas. If you don’t know what that is, you’re not missing out. Apparently they’re supposed to have some major health benefits but I’d rather not find out. Anyway, you’re not supposed to spend 5 hours a day doing coffee enemas even if you DO believe in their health benefits. But they did. I don’t know where they find the time.
But this other lady, she was a normal (well, normal for me, she had a bunch of tattoos and looked like she was into punk or some other alternative genre) lady with cats. I didn’t have my entire attention on the show the whole time so forgive me if I don’t get the story just right, but it was something like one of her cats became ill, and while the cat was being nursed back to health, she started licking the cat as a mother cat would do to a kitten. I’m not sure if she read this was supposed to help the cat recover or feel more comfortable, but I assume so. I tried googling but I lost interest after two different search term attempts. Anyway, she decided she really liked the feel of the cat hair in her mouth, so she started eating it. She says now she finds clumps of fur, checks to see if they’re clean (how the HELL do you know if a clump of fur is clean? I’d really like to know the criteria on that) and then chews and eats it. Says she enjoys the texture, it’s like eating cotton. Um, who likes eating cotton?
Don’t eat sparkle balls, either.
Personally, I’m very annoyed when I get cat hair in my mouth. Particularly after I’ve just put on a coat of sticky lip gloss. Ugh. I’ll do a lot of weird things for my cats. I love them to death. They’re my children. And I know a lot of people don’t understand what *I* do. But eating cat hair is NOT going to make me feel closer to my cats. Petting them will suffice just fine. I didn’t watch the end so I don’t know if she got professional help for this addiction, but I sincerely hope so, because I imagine it has less to do with loving her cats (which I have no doubt that she does) than it does with some sort of unhealthy compulsion.
So please, if you saw that show and think that all self-proclaimed crazy cat ladies are indeed that crazy, we are not.
MEOW hear this! 