What I accomplished today: very little.
But I did manage to do something that, while briefly lived, was immensely satisfying. This little miracle? Making a cat sit on my lap. MY decision.
Of course, this doesn’t sound like a monumental deal. After all, cats sit on laps all the time. Taco forces himself on my lap at LEAST once a day. But this time, it was my idea, and he submitted. HE SUBMITTED!
As all kitty mommies know, our children only do things that THEY feel like doing. How many times have you decided to feed your brats (when they weren’t meowing for it) only to have them take a sniff and walk off, only to return when they deemed it suppertime? Or had a bad day and wanted nothing more than a big, furry hug from your little one, but receive the cold shoulder. If they’re feeling particularly ornery, they’ll hide somewhere you can’t possibly extract them from.
So today, a day of accomplishing nothing but finishing season 3 of Breaking Bad (yeah, 2 weekends in a row – so irresponsible and flat-out lazy), I can take comfort in that for at least five minutes, I made a cat sit on my lap. Without struggling, of course, because heaven knows I’ve forced both the brats to cuddle for periods of time. No, the only glory is in a comfortably seated, even purry cat. And I did it.
Insert Rocky music here (Bill Conti’s Gonna Fly Now, if you weren’t sure which one).
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).
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.
I don’t know if anyone else have cats that seem to ADORE smashing their faces into yours, but I have one and a half. Moosh shows his love through borderline violent face smushing, hence his name, Moosh Moosh (he was Oz when we got him, renamed him Porkchop and again renamed when it became apparent he was indeed a Moosh Moosh). Taco does it when he’s REALLY REALLY craving attention, not just his usual meowing and stepping over to get attention. The face isn’t so much his target, though. Any part will do.
Anyway, I bring this up because I have had a piece of cat hair stuck in my eye ALL DAY. I can feel it with and without my contact in. It’s not super painful, but it’s annoying. I only know it’s a cat hair because I saw it and tried to get it out and it disappeared to wreak havoc on my poor eyeball all freaking day long.
This is not the first time. I’m always pulling effing cat hairs out of my eyes. I’m lucky that most of my wardrobe is black or I’d be furry all day long, thanks to my laziness regarding lint brushes. If it’s not in my eyeball, it’s right after I’ve applied the stickiest lip gloss ever. Try fixing THAT without getting hairy, sticky lip gloss all over your face.
So can I shave them? I think i could handle the claws but they’re both so jittery (I don’t know why they like us and hate new people so much, WE’RE the ones that torture them) I think I would scar them horribly with a loud razor. At the very least, Taco’s stress levels are of utmost concern, as we currently (get this) have couches FREE OF PEE PADS! CRAY, as the kids say these days. Taco sleeps on the couches a lot lately, which the boyfriend sees as a concern but is exciting to me because the vet said they won’t piss where they rub their face. “Sleep on” is close enough to “rub face on” for me. So exciting.
This is what my life has been reduced to. Complaining about cat hair in my eye and being enthralled about cats not peeing on my couch. And writing a blog about it while my boyfriend watches Shahs of Sunset, which despite my love for horrorshow reality shows, does nothing for me. Oddly, I’m ok with all of this.
Day 2 of interesting week. Woke up with crusty eye. Made the incredibly smart decision to not put contacts in. My eye didn’t ITCH, though. I vaguely remember having pinkeye when I was younger but I thought I remembered it being horribly itchy. Anyway. My boss requested that I not wait to go to the eye doc in case it was pinkeye, which I honestly did not consider as a more than 30% chance until my eye doc declared that I did, in fact, have pinkeye. I don’t have kids! I’m not around kids! There are no grubby little fingers around me to spread schoolchild germs. But alas, I have contracted it.
I thought I had a scratch, and THAT I could blame on the cats, since Moosh sometimes sleeps on my head and I’m constantly pulling pieces of fur out of my eyes.
But I can’t. So now I’m banished home, where I can’t infect my co-workers. I had to disinfect everything for the boyfriend, but he washes his hands every 5 minutes and never touches his eyes anyway. And I’m stuck with whiny Taco, who I think ate the frog (or at least something he wasn’t supposed to) because he had green poop. Green poop that he tracked into the kitchen. Bad enough that I have to disinfect my own filthy germs, I have to take care of Taco’s ill-fated meal.
Hopefully the antibiotics start working super fast and I’ll be symptom-free enough to go to work tomorrow. It’s not that I don’t like a day off, but I like it on my terms. Sitting home with the kitties and my new toys is ok, but not as enjoyable with a burning eyeball. Eh.
I’m kind of looking forward to see what new, interesting thing happens tomorrow! I hope it’s good.
So we’d had the same duvet cover for like 4 years, and I was getting bored with it. It’s nice enough, brown and tan in a damask pattern, but I was bored and ready to change things up a bit.
I wanted some sort of gray comforter, but it would seem that those are rather hard to find, and as the story of my life goes, every one that I found and liked was astronomically priced. I swear, it really is a curse to be blessed with such amazing taste and no riches to back it up. Thanks a lot, parents. Geez. If you were relying on ME to make the millions, you would have been better off trading off some of the smarts for a little more drive. Not to toot my own horn or anything, but I’m just talented enough at things that I feel I don’t really need to work on them as well as not driven enough to exploit said talents.
I digress. This is about our comforter. So anyway, I ended up settling on a nice black duvet cover. I was KIND of disappointed with it because the fabric was so thin, but that’s besides the point. It’s also rather disgusting what they charge for duvet covers. It’s basically buying a oversized pillowcase, yet they rape your wallet. Honestly, I could have made one with two sheets, but I gave up that idea based on the margin for error involved. And the aforementioned laziness.
The black comforter. It seemed like a good idea. Moosh is black and Taco is mostly dark.
NOT DARK ENOUGH. It wasn’t really that noticeable with the brown duvet, but HOLY CRAP my bed is a freaking fur coat. I don’t know if the fabric catches the fur better or I can just see it more, but there is more cat hair residing on my bed than 2 weeks of vacuuming the entire house yields. Again, HOW ARE THEY NOT BALD?
I guess it’s just one of those things where you live and you learn. Or, it’s the perfect time to start shaving the brats. I could even spin that idea by saying it will cut down on hairballs and therefore improve their quality of life! I really should have been in PR. My gift for justification knows no bounds.
But first, I’ll probably have to either figure out how to put mittens on them or encase myself in full body armor.
So I’m just posting more pictures of Moosh Moosh’s wacky hi-jinx.
Ok, so it wasn’t just Debby’s outer bands that hit us…Debby has been a bitch for 3 days now. I put too much trust in the CONE OF UNCERTAINTY (I freaking LOVE saying that, even better if you say it through an empty paper towel roll), as I discovered shortly after my last post. I ventured out only to the grocery store Sunday, and had we not been out of beer and needed something for dinner, I wouldn’t have gone out. It is, however, a good thing that I went when I did, because it got a lot worse and there were pictures of submerged cars in the parking lot of the Publix I went to. As it was, I was doing 35 the whole way. Yesterday all the bridges were closed, which didn’t really affect me because I didn’t need to leave my little peninsula. But a lot of people were seriously inconvenienced, which is, I suppose, better than submerged.
Other than being really good snugglers, cats have this to offer over dogs (yeah, I know dogs snuggle too, but that’s not the point here): THEY DON’T NEED TO BE WALKED. Although I complain about the litter boxes constantly, during 3 days of gusting wind and sideways rain, I appreciate it very, very much. This is not to say that I don’t feel bad for the dog people. I am friends with many dog people, and I have heard all their stories and sympathize appropriately. Unfortunately, nature calling does not trump Mother Nature, which if you think about it, is really a conundrum.
So for this, kitties, I am grateful that you take your nasty dumps in my living space. I also have to give credit to the Litter Genie, it works splendidly and worth every dime.
I talk to my cats. This may make me wacko, I understand this. This is ok with me. All in all, it’s probably a lot like talking to one’s self.
I do know that both Moosh and Taco respond to the sound of their names.
If I coo “Mooshymooshmooshy” real low, Moosh gets all lovey, and will come smush my face, but first he’ll “mrrrp” at me.
Taco, as per usual, will respond to his name loudly. A conversation between Taco and I goes something like this:
“WHAT DO YOU WANT???”
*jumps on lap, usually at an inconvenient time*
I will discuss things with them as if they understand. I tell Moosh that if he doesn’t finish his food, his brother will eat it. Then I tell Taco not to eat his brother’s food (neither takes my advice).
When Taco takes a dump, I tell him how much it stinks, and ask him what the hell he ate to produce such disgusting waste, as if he has a choice in the matter of his food (somewhere, subconsciously, I think he’s stealing shit from the fridge, I guess). He ignores me.
When they’re fighting, I tell them to cut it out and be nice to each other, or to play nice. They stop to look at me for a split second, then immediately resume fighting.
I ask them why they’re not bald, since their hair is EVERYWHERE, mostly stuck in my eyes. Also met with ignoring.
I alert them when there’s another cat or a bunny outside: “Ooooooh it’s a bunny! Look at the bunny, kitties!” while pushing them toward the window to look. This sometimes gets a response in the bunny’s direction, or prompts them to rub on my legs.
Most embarrassing is snuggle talk. This is when I talk to them like they are little babies while making myself sound incapable of brain activity. “Who’s my boo-bear? Who likes a snuggle? You’re my cute-face snugglebunny. You love mommy, don’t you? Mommy loves YOU. Look at that belly! You’re so silly.” As hard as this is to admit, I can go on like this for hours. You know your relationship with your significant other is solid when you can do all of this in front of them without care, and without them batting an eye.
The point of this is, science tells me that they don’t know what the eff I’m saying, that it’s the tone of my voice, blah blah blah. But then, science also tells me that cats only meow at humans…so isn’t that equally as futile as me talking to them? Taco doesn’t have tones in his meows. It’s either WHINE or OMG EMERGENCY. If there was an actual emergency, I would have no idea, because I gave up on running out to find out what’s wrong with him when he makes that cry, because there is never anything wrong with him.
It’s not like people really listen to each other anyway. At least my cats cock their head and give me the impression what I’m saying is important. And for that, I thank them.
I bought my cats a 6-pack of those real-fur mousies. This is not a great vegan purchase, but they love them. This is why I have to buy more of them, because they disappear. Every once in awhile, we’ll find a cache of them hidden somewhere, like a closet or under the sofa, but when I LOOK in those places I never find them.
Taco will go apeshit over them. He spent an hour stalking, throwing and batting them.
“Go get the video camera,” I said to myself. “This would make a lovely video blog post.”
Except when the video camera goes on, all action stops. As far as I can tell, there is no way for the cats to actually know they are being recorded. There’s no flashing red light. No whirring of a shutter. It’s effing digital.
Taco went from “whoa dude, I’m totally stoned” to “methed out mouse fiend” the SECOND I put it down.
They’re such a-holes.
Not that I’m allowed to get another cat. The boyfriend has made it clear that if another cat moves in, he’s moving out. He does really useful things, like taking out the trash and using a toilet instead of a litter box. He’s also there for me to annoy incessantly when I’m bored with doing that to the cats. I guess there’s the whole “love” thing, too.
But every time I see adoptable cats, I want them. They are calling to me. I was at PetSmart today (I only shop there because I can get Taco’s prescription food there, which they SO INCONVENIENTLY put next to the adoptable cats) and these kitties were CALLING to me. One literally was, I told him I couldn’t have another mouth in the house. Taco is deafening enough. But there is always one that really really gets me. This time, it was a 10-month-old tabby/white mix. I generally don’t even like partly white cats (I like them all, I just usually don’t find them attractive). This big guy was so cute. I am a sucker for big paws, and he stretched those big mitts out at me, just BREAKING my heart.
This is where my moral dilemma comes in, even though it is a hypothetical one, since I can’t get another cat.
The kitties at this PetSmart were from the Pinellas County Animal Shelter. The animal shelter is NOT a no-kill facility, meaning if these guys don’t don’t find homes, they’re euthanized for space. I know it’s logistically not possible for a state-funded operation to avoid this, but I don’t particularly want to support it, either. So how can you choose between saving an animal that might otherwise be “put down” or supporting a facility (through your adoption fee) that makes every effort to not euthanize?
All of my cats are strays. Except Taco, his mom was rescued while preggers, so he’s never really known the streets. As much as I dream about having full-blood Bengal or a Cheetoh or a Toyger, there are so many stray, unwanted and unloved babies out there without it being necessary to breed more. Besides, Taco is part Bengal and if I pretend he’s bigger, Moosh is almost Panther-like.
I guess the end result is what really matters. You save an animal, no matter how you do it.
And when I can, I assuage my guilt by donating when I can, and taking my old clothes over to the Friends of Strays thrift store. I wish I could volunteer but two jobs take up most of my time and I doubt I’d be much help crying over wanting to take them all home. It would be like putting a drug addict in an evidence room.
Just in case anyone feels like donating…these are really good no- kill shelters that can always use the help: