Tagged: cats

February 2, 2013

It’s Caturday, and I’m lazy.

Yeah. So I’m lazy. Again. I DID manage to take my lazy ass to the mall today (I hate the mall) to spend christmas gift cards. I even bought a sensible dress for work. It’s leopard print, so I suppose it’s not TOO sensible, but nevertheless, sensible for me. The rest of my day has consisted of taking pictures of cats. I thought I’d share.

Do enjoy.

Taco loves his Neko toy.

Moosh also loves the Neko toy. For such a sweetie, he has serious fangs.

Naptime. Play hard, sleep hard.

Ditto.

And for the pièce de résistance…a demonstration of how to TRULY enjoy a lazy Caturday. Hope you’re making the most of yours.

January 27, 2013

1 vegan, 3 carnivores.

If you’ve read this blog before, you may know that I’m a vegan. I’m not one of those horrible militant ones who don’t speak to people who eat animal products. I was a vegetarian from ages 15-21, when suddenly I decided I wanted a chicken sandwich. Then I was a meat-eater until I think age 24 (I’ve totally forgotten how long it’s been) when I decided to cut out all animal products all together and follow a vegan lifestyle. This was due to a variety of reasons, the first being that I have a weak stomach and I never really liked meat all that much anyway – the whole idea of it grosses me out. I’ve also never really been a big fan of cheese, which I have found is unimaginable to a great deal of people. I hate eggs. I never drank milk. And I read Skinny Bitch, which I thought was just a book telling you in very mean ways that you have to stop eating crap and stop eating so much in general. I mean, it was, but the crap they tell you to stop eating is animal products. I’ve known a lot of uppity vegans so I was hesitant to go for it but I kept reading and decided screw it, it’s not like I eat that much animal anyway. I did not, however, realize how many animal products are hidden in regular ones, resulting in cutting myself off from an awful lot of food. You wouldn’t believe how many products sneak whey in.

But although I stay pretty close to totally vegan, my world won’t come to an end if I don’t. Depending on how hungry I am when we go to restaurants (you don’t want to see me hungry, I get HANGRY), I may or may not feign innocence as to asking what exactly is blah-blah made with. I try to only buy faux leather but sometimes I forget to look and you know, oops. I eat honey. Sounds weird to have to say that, but some vegans don’t. I mean, even white sugar isn’t vegan, it’s processed with animal bones. I use raw sugar myself, but I don’t not eat things with sugar in it.

The point. The boyfriend and the cats are solid meat eaters. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been asked if my cats are vegan. Is there no logic left in the world? I’ve also had plenty of shocked reactions when I tell people my significant other eats meat. What? How can this be? A MEAT EATER and a NON MEAT EATER living in the same house? Egads! More amazingly, sometimes I MAKE meat meals for him! I feed the cats meat! OH, THE HORRORS!

Yup, that’s meat. Real meat. I don’t let my kitties eat byproducts. Except for the stupid prescription food. I hate that.

I have no real point to this story other than that earlier I was putting stuff in the crockpot to make chicken gumbo for the boyfriend. I’m not a huge fan of cutting raw chicken but I can manage. However…fresh andoille (sp?) sausage…that is apparently my grossout breaking point. I made the boyfriend cut that. I can’t even look at the crockpot right now. I’m still nauseous just thinking about it. As a polack, I grew up on kielbasa. I’m so glad that I didn’t comprehend what it was then. I could never ever ever eat that again. I suppose it’s better than the traditional Polish blood soup that my dad had to eat when he was a kid, though.

Blech.

January 26, 2013

What will YOU do with your tax refund?

For many, tax time means paying money. For me, it means a fat refund. See, I know that it’s just giving the tax man interest-free monies, but I suck at saving, so really, that money is in far better hands, interest or not. A few years ago I got screwed (they changed the tax laws, as usual, and those of us with two jobs who were unprepared for it got surprised) so now I take out extra every week to avoid such unpleasantries in the future. So I’m getting a refund. Most of this refund will go in the bank, but this year, I think I’m going to splurge on the kitties.

I’m finally buying a cat tree.

It’s a little expensive, but I never did get around to building the one I threatened to (see my post about it here) and I found one I like that’s not in the thousands of dollars.

Does that cat have 6 toes??? I love Hemingway cats!

It’s got sisal in the bottom nook and a pad on one part.

This is the Sebastian something-or-other. It’s not that much more expensive than the traditional trees of this size (I use the term “tree” loosely here) and it fits with my modern Ikea look. I’m excited. I already filed my taxes even though the IRS doesn’t start processing them until the 30th.

I showed the boyfriend last night. His response was the “dismissive head nod/half eyeroll/smirk.” This pissed me off. For someone who is always complaining that the cats take over the house, I thought that he would LOVE that I’m taking his feelings into consideration and buying something that looks more like furniture than a tacky carpet tower. I had already had a few adult beverages at this point (it was Friday. I had a long week.) and so of course, I felt compelled to respond with something like “way to be passive aggressive,” he said “don’t the cats already have enough shit” and then I stomped outside. By the time I finished my smoke, I’d already decided to leave it be and continue on with my plans. My best friend once told me the best way to get things done around the house is to just do them and then act as if whatever you did has always been like that. It works. To my surprise, the boyfriend APOLOGIZED for not being more excited about it, and told me that he just didn’t want to see me waste more money on crap the cats will ignore. I was very touched by this. A significant other recognizing FEELINGS! Even after almost ten years. I almost cried (seriously, but I’m also PMSing, so I think hormones had a little to do with the threat of tears).

Even if the cats ignore it (which I doubt, Moosh’s new spot is on top of the bookcase attached to my desk, on top of a scanner he probably shouldn’t be sitting on – Moosh is a serious tree dweller), it’s still useful as furniture, and for about the same price as a bookcase from Ikea. So really, what do I have to lose? My Mooshie gets to climb something he’s actually allowed to, and Taco, well, Taco’s favorite sleeping spot is anywhere that I wanted to sit. His other favorite spot is in my face, and I don’t think there’s a cat toy in the world that can replace that. He’s just annoying.

Am I crazy?

Moosh on my desk. In my face. As I’m writing this.

January 20, 2013

Alas, my blog will never make me rich.

I like to read. I LOVE to read, in fact. I read a bunch of crap, like chick lit and sometimes accidentally romance novels when the cover of the book fools me into thinking it’s chick lit. I’ll read it anyway. It’s like candy. No nutritional value but it’s fun while you’re eating it. I try to balance out my crap reading with what I call “smart books,” a.k.a. non-fiction or classic novels. I don’t always make it through the non-fictions…they’re always really interesting to me at first, and then I get bored. But sometimes I don’t, which brings me to my point. Malcolm Gladwell totally keeps my interest on non-fiction subjects, so as a result I’ve read several of his books, the first being The Outliers. It’s about incredibly successful people and WHY they are successful. The basic consensus is this: successful people don’t have to have giant IQs, in fact, sometimes intelligence that high is detrimental. No social skills. IQ doesn’t measure street smarts. High-ish IQs seem to be best. But what really makes a successful person successful is luck. I prefer to call it “random advantageous circumstances” since I don’t believe in “luck” as it’s defined. And it’s not just luck, it’s being able to recognize these random advantageous circumstances and furthermore, taking advantage of them. Bill Gates is one of those people. He was in the right place at the right time with the right interests and knew to milk that shit.

Let me switch subjects for a sec. You’ll see where I’m going with this. Now, I by no means consider myself a writer. I probably should, I make my living proofreading and dabbling in copywriting. And it’s not as if I think I’m a BAD writer, really, I just realize that I’m not the best. I ramble, I can’t keep track of my tenses, I DESPISE re-reading my work to check for errors (stream of conscious writing, you know) and I don’t always have a solid point. BUT…I do adore the subjects I write about (kitties) and I have good stories.

My baby boy is so good. And cute. And lovey.

(Here’s where I put the two together.) As a smart girl, I feel like I should have done something considerable with my life. But I’m grown up and I still don’t know what I want to be when I grow up (cat whisperer is at the top of my list currently, but as you can read here, it seems kind of hard to break into). Since reading the Outliers, I keep that recipe for success in the back of my mind at all times. I’m always on the lookout for my million dollar idea. For the wave to ride to success. When I started this blog, it was because my cats are psycho and frankly, I don’t always believe the things they do. Writing about my crazy cat experiences is cathartic and highly rewarding (who doesn’t like favorable comments?) But I always hoped that I’d find a way to make it my million dollar idea. Well, no one’s offered me a sponsorship yet, but I decided to take it upon myself and look into getting paid via ads. Which is when I discovered that WordPress ain’t havin’ none of that. Unless you go through them and you buy your domain name. It seems rather sad to pick up my toys and leave for greener and more profitable pastures. And as of now I’m not planning to. I just needed to vent about my defunct dream. ONE MORE MILLION DOLLAR DREAM DOWN THE DRAIN!

It would help if the boys helped with the hunt for the million dollar idea, but they only search for bugs.

I also failed on the “marrying for money” idea. What can I say? I’m a sucker for love.

So if anyone knows how I can make my crazy cat stories into stacks of benjamins, hit me up, yo. I’ll be on that like a cheap suit. Until then, I’m going to see if I can get the cats jobs.

Taco is a petulant child. If you won't make room for him on your lap, he'll FIND room. Forcefully. Ah, the lie of a cat mom.

Taco is a petulant child. If you won’t make room for him on your lap, he’ll FIND room. Forcefully. Ah, the life of a cat mom.

January 16, 2013

Taco is rather unhelpful.

I brought work home tonight. This isn’t my favorite after-work activity, but I was determined to push through and get ‘er done, if you will.

It should come as no surprise that this was not to Taco’s liking, because, after all, WORK means NOT PAYING ATTENTION TO MEEEEEEEEE!

Here’s Taco LITERALLY sitting on my work.

I don’t know what kind of work you, dear reader, do, but mine involves being creative and thinking and concentrating. Not always the fun kind of creative, like blogging or photoshopping pictures of kitties, the kind that you’re glad that you get paid for. The kind of work that is really quite impossible when you have a cat sitting next to you HOWLING AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS. God forbid I make the mistake of looking over and making EYE CONTACT with him, as that is a direct invitation to jump on my lap (while continuing to howl at the top of his lungs) and step all over it, which sucks doubly because I maaaay have overdone it just a touch at the gym yesterday and my legs are currently unusable and untouchable (but I so oddly want a massage, go figure).

Here’s another angle after an aborted lap attack. Back on the work.

I managed to work through during the howl breaks and somehow get it done. Poor Taco couldn’t even get TOO excited, because immediately after finishing my dearly beloved mother called, hindering the speed in which his little mouth was fed. Fortunately for him, my dearly beloved mother is also becoming quite the technologically advanced lady and suggested I put her on speaker phone. So proud of your iPhone using, Mamacita! Props on the texting, particularly Emoji.

My workplace is very dog-friendly and I realize that is much more sensible than cat-friendly…after all, I’ve never actually met anyone allergic to dogs (although I’m sure they’re out there) but many allergic to cats and dogs are really much better with the vast population than cats…but I do wish sometimes I could work AT work with a kitty on my lap. Just one that’s not meowing. While I am the resident crazy cat lady there, I’m most definitely not the only one. Many would appreciate kitteh luv. Oh, but the chaos that would ensue if I tried to haul these freaks in my office. Sigh.

Speaking of cat-friendly workplaces, if you like lolcats and you haven’t seen LOLWORK on Bravo yet, you totally should. It’s highly amusing. I love the crazy cat lady gay guy whose sample of quotes includes “People tell me my cat is like a dog and I tell them to shut up.” It’s not the most amazing show ever but it’ll give you a giggle. They don’t get to bring their cats into work but there IS a homemade cheezburger cat mascot costume! I’ll leave you with THAT thought. Good night.

Moosh being the good son, as usual. Silent.

January 13, 2013

“Getting Back at the Cats” Day

Sometimes I like to switch things up a bit. Instead of annoying the boyfriend all day by singing rap songs (I’m super obsessed with 2 Chainz right now, because in a bad bitch contest, I’m in first place – if you listen to 2 Chainz you’ll get that, otherwise you’ll probably think I’m a misogynist or something), I get in the mood to annoy the cats. After all, they annoy the hell out of us all the time. I feel that they need to be put in their places on occasion. As luck would have it, I felt particularly annoying yesterday. So I spent the day throwing toys at them (this annoyed the boyfriend as well, he hates when I take out all 387458349 of their toys and throw them around the house), hiding them under blankets and saying “Oh dear, Taco disappeared! Wherever could he have gone?” and forcing them to sit on my lap.

HAI I’M IN UR FACE

Please leave us alone.

The best part is when you leave them alone for a bit and they settle in for what they think is peace and quiet…and then you poke them. And poke. And poke. It’s very satisfying to get them back, and the boyfriend is relieved that he’s not the target of my annoyance.

HAI I’M IN UR FACE

This morning I went back to annoying him. But there’s also beef stroganoff in the crock pot (this gives me extra points because I’m vegan) so he’ll put up with me for another day. Moosh is hiding in the closet anyway, just in case I feel like poking at him again. Taco is on the couch downstairs, but he never learns his lesson. The big dummy.

January 9, 2013

More cat hair?

Thanks to global warming, it’s balls hot this week here. You’d think that I would LIKE the heat, which I do, but I also dislike global warming (I also hate the people who refuse to believe that that’s not a “thing” – it is. Please check out maps of glaciers a year ago and the same maps now. Even the scientists are all WTF).

This is just adorable. I accept his fur.

I would also like the weather more if I didn’t so inconveniently have to go to WORK on nice days. I think it’s horribly unfair that my boss doesn’t accept “beach day” as a reason to not show up (I’m kidding, I’m TERRIFIED of breaking rules, I quite seriously have panic attacks when I attempt to, I blame catholicism in my youth).

I would ALSO like the weather more if it wasn’t a meat locker in my office constantly regardless of the temperature outside. It makes getting dressed in the morning rather difficult. I’m considering flip flops tomorrow, I guess I’ll just defrost my tootsies outside if they start looking black and dead.

I’m assuming the outside heat is going to send the cats into shed mode. I’m REALLY starting to think about shaving them now. Maybe I’ll take them to a groomer. I wish my cats weren’t so neurotic. Then I could take them places without worrying about scarring them horribly. So fragile. They certainly don’t take after their mother.

Evil plotting. Shoulda called em Pinky and the Brain.

December 22, 2012

Cold weather kitty snuggles.

Let me preface this by saying that I despise cold weather. I am NOT built for cold. My Florida native blood is thin and wussy. I’ll sweat my ass off any day of the week over being even mildly chilly. However, because I am on my new “Positive Sarah” kick, I’m going to examine the good things about cold weather, rather than the ones that make me miserable, like goosebumps and the fact that if it drops below 65 degrees farenheit my nose runs like a faucet and turns red and glowy.

One. Cute boots. Although my closet is jam-packed full of sandals and flip flops because honestly, I don’t really like wearing shoes if I don’t have to, I love boots. I’ve loved boots in all sorts of different incarnations, from my younger teenage years wearing Doc Martens and my more favored steel toe Grinders to my newest acquisition, fashion-y, knee-high riding boots. Man, I love them. Almost as much as I love my fake Uggs from Target.

Two. Extra kitty snuggles. You’d think with the fur coats, they’d be pretty well prepared for the weather. The temperature in the house doesn’t really drop a ton, but it’s like they KNOW the outdoors are chilly and they’re into snuggling just because. It’s a lot harder to wake up for your alarm when you have a Taco draped across you purring. So cozy.

Who wants to disturb this?

I know this is blurry, but it’s hard to act like a professional photographer with a kitty scarf.

That’s it. Two good things.

Now, I understand that many of you reading this live in much colder climates. The high here today is 60. I know that’s a drop in the bucket. A few days ago I was wearing shorts and sandals. But this is why I live in Florida. I dare any of you currently scoffing my lack of toleration to spend a few days driving in an un-airconditioned car in the middle of Florida’s August.

December 6, 2012

Cats. Shut up. Please.

So I started this new kick. Being positive. Because I realized that I have become a rather temperamental be-yotch lately. Which I don’t mind so much, but I’m even starting to piss off myself with my grouchiness. Therefore, I’m attempting.

Unfortunately, it seemed like everyone else around me was having bad days and being cranky, which is hard to overcome. And then there’s my stupid wrist, which is more crampy than it was before I went to the doctor and started wearing the damn brace, and then the rest of my arm started hurting too from overcompensating. And thanks doc, I know you said I was cleared to work with a brace, but have you ever tried to grab boxes coming down a moving conveyor belt, jiggle them around under a half-broken scanner and then place them perfectly tetris-style in a plastic igloo without the use of the thumb on your dominant hand? I was hoping my left arm would become magically useful and I would move into ambidextrism, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. It’s either very stubborn or it takes a lot longer than a week to teach one’s moronic digital half to pick up the slack.

Just call me gimp.

This is where I expect my cats to “poor you” me. But no! They still want to be fed. In fact, they seems to want to be fed more than usual. The non-winter Florida winter is making them ravenous. And I refuse to feed them more than they’re suppose to be fed. So guess what happens? MEOWING. SO MUCH MEOWING.

Usually it’s just Taco being a loud a-hole, but now Moosh is getting into the act with his high pitched MEEEEs. I came home from work tonight craving quiet, and Taco meowed for (and I’m NOT exaggerating here) a half an hour straight. At some point he was so worn out from meowing at me he actually stopped following me around and laid down to meow at me. They certainly weren’t starving. There was food in the food island. They know how to get it. Both of them. I guess it’s not as good as when you’re SERVED food.

Taco’s finally shut up, although he has a new, weird obsession with eating my clutch purse. The boyfriend is home and we’re sitting in football-induced silence, and it’s lovely. Yay.