Tagged: fur

My cats need more than 9 lives.

Maybe it’s just that mine are overly rebellious, but they seem to do things that will ultimately put themselves in harm’s way.

Examples.

Jager ate my hair ties. He also would play with shoelaces, get his claws stuck in them, then frantically try to jerk them out, getting himself more tangled and more freaked out, then retreating to an area I couldn’t reach him making it impossible for me to help him.

Moosh Moosh sniffed a lit candle and singed his whiskers.

Taco will scoop needles out of my pin cushion if I leave it somewhere accessible. He also finds it fun to pounce on my scissors while I’m in the middle of cutting fabric.

A few weeks ago, Taco went after a hornet that got in the house and got stung in the mouth. Today I found him with a spider that I have never seen before and had to google a bit to assure myself it wasn’t a brown recluse. I’m still not totally sure, but I guess I’ll find out if his flesh starts rotting away.

Taco had blood in his poo and when we took samples to the vet, they discovered pink sparkles. He had been eating the pink metallic fluff toy that Moosh Moosh loved. The ONLY one he really loved. Apparently pink sparkles will make a cat’s a-hole bleed. More than you wanted to know, I’m sure.

Of course we’re not about to fight.

I guess this is why they have 9 lives? Why can’t they play with the toys made for them to play with? There can’t be much nutritional value in a spider or a hornet. Why is there a cat toy for sale that causes bloody poop? WHY DOES TACO HAVE TO EAT THAT TOY? I don’t think Moosh really ever got over that loss.

I, on the other hand, do not have nine lives. These cats, they’re giving me premature gray hairs, I swear.

Cat food for thought.

Disclaimer: No hot dogs were harmed in the making of this picture.

I’m vegan. This is partially because I have never really been a big fan of meat, partially because I find slaughterhouse stories revolting, partially because I really like animals and helped along by reading Skinny Bitch.

It is absolutely AMAZING to hear the reactions from people when I tell them I am vegan. Sometimes they feel the need to defend their meat eating, as if I care. Some ask me “Well, what do you EAT, then?” Dirt. I eat dirt. What exactly do you think I eat? What do YOU eat that you think meat, dairy and eggs are the ONLY sources of sustenance?

My favorite is when people ask me if my cats are vegan.

You’re feeding me WHAT?

I am a lover of science. A devotee of evolution. A student of logic. I understand, know, and appreciate that cats are carnivores. Their little bodies are made to eat meat. I probably know more than I should about how they have different enzymes than humans do, to help process all the flesh they eat. How their stomachs are longer to digest, but have a smaller intestinal tract. Why would I buck the trend and try to perfect what Mother Nature already perfected? There’s a food chain. Some things are meant to be eaten. Some things are meant to eat. I could make the argument that humans are meant to be herbivores, but I’ll refrain here. Vegan conversion is not my goal, it’s my personal choice.

So yes. I feed my cats what they are supposed to eat. I am a little too squeamish to do the raw food diet, and with Taco’s Feline Idiopathic Cystitis, he’s on prescription food anyway.

Here is where I will rant. Cat food is CRAP. Total and utter crap. Grocery store brands? You might as well serve your cat roadkill that’s been sitting out for days and crapped on by other half dead animals. It’s disgusting. I’m sure there are plenty of people who think I’m ridiculous for only wanting to feed my cats organic food without chicken meal and grain and fill, but I wouldn’t stuff myself with fast food pink slime, so why would I do it to my cats? This prescription food he has to eat, it helps him not form crystals, avoiding a very expensive-to-fix blockage, but it is made with CRAP. My vet had an amazingly long discussion with me about my aversion to feeding him this ick. Because I trust her and because she had this amazingly long conversation with me about my aversion to feeding him this ick, I listened. In the end, he’s eating the ick. I’d rather not rush him to the emergency vet or have him die because I am too stubborn to feed him what is apparently the ONLY scientifically proven thing to help him. I tried feeding Mooshie the good stuff and Taco the prescription, but Moosh is a stupidly picky eater and will only eat the crap. He won’t even touch wet food, which I know is bad but I can’t FORCE him to eat it. I will shamefully admit that I have, once or twice, KIND OF smushed his face in it a little, just to nudge him into eating it. It doesn’t work. I just give them lots of water and leave it at that.

But I can tell the difference. Their coats aren’t as shiny. It’s amazing what they allow in cat food. It’s also amazing what they allow in human food, but hey, that’s why I’m vegan.

She works hard for her money — then spends it on cats.

As any kitty mommy and crazy cat lady knows, one’s purchases revolve around one’s cats.

For example. I went to Target yesterday for kitty litter, among other things (I never leave Target without spending far more than I’d planned to).

I spotted this.

Despite not having any human children of my own, I’m familiar with the Diaper Genie and its place on the “must-have” list for human parents. WHY DIDN’T I THINK OF THIS??? Literally everyone I know with cats saves their bags from the grocery store and uses those for litter. This normally would create a problem for me because I (try to) use reusable bags at all times. Fortunately, my boyfriend is not as environmentally savvy and never uses the reusables. (Side note: I also collect plastic bags from people I know for my mom to use at her used bookstore, if you live in the Tampa area or even if you don’t, check out Sam’s Books. Thank you in advance for allowing my shameless plug for mi madre.)

Litter Genie. Really. And it was cheap! 15 bucks to avoid the spillage that usually occurs when I try to scoop the TONS (I do mean tons, I cannot fathom how my 2 cats expel SO MUCH) of used litter into the plastic grocery store bags.

I realize that many of my purchases are done with my cats in mind. For example, my fancy vacuum cleaner. I would have bought a Dyson except this one came just as highly recommended for a lot less money. I love it. It’s changed my life. You wouldn’t BELIEVE how much fur this thing picks up. Every time I dump out the canister I wonder how my cats are not bald. WHERE DOES THE FUR KEEP COMING FROM???

Shark. Highly recommend it.

Bucket of cat toys. Filled with all the toys the cats only mildly like, because the ones they adore inevitably disappear into the abyss of I-don’t-know-where. Like those mousies with the real fur. Those are pretty much universally adored, right?

Other various cat things.

They like these.

One of the rare occasions this piece of furniture meant for the cats is used by one of the cats.

I have yet to buy a cat tree, though, I can’t find one that I like enough to spend that much money on, or I find ones that I like that I can’t possibly afford. I keep telling myself I’m going to make one but haven’t quite gotten around to it yet.

There’s also the useless purchases, like the beds they won’t sleep in, or the litter mats that do absolutely nothing to keep litter from getting everywhere. But there’s more used than not.

Had you told me, say, 10 years ago, that any of these purchases would one day excite me so, I would have laaaaaaaughed and laughed. But now I am a grownup, sorta, and a full-fledged kitty mommy. So I’ll just shrug. I did it all for the kitties.

I like my vet more than I like my own doctor.

The only reason I go to the same doctor is because I’m too lazy to find a new one, even though I don’t care for him very much. But vets, those are a different story. I am a veterinary snob.

Jager was my boo.

Jäger was the uber lemon cat. I say this lovingly. But he ALWAYS had something wrong. He had cat herpes. Yes, cats get herpes. It’s not like people herpes, it just had something to do with his immune system. He was always getting eye and nail bed infections (and it didn’t help that he got his claws stuck in EVERYTHING). I was like BFFs with my vet. Then he got really sick and in the process of figuring out what was wrong, I was there more than I was at home. The only reason I think I stayed halfway sane was because my vet was the shit. I ask a lot of questions. I want to know everything. And the kind of vet I like is the one that answers them and doesn’t treat me like an imbecile just because I google. Yes, I know I don’t have a veterinary degree. So sue me if I like to arm myself with information.

Also on the qualification list: must be a cat person. I have nothing against dog people. Dogs are fun and adorable. I’m just not a dog person. If I was a dog person, I’d probably want a dog person vet. We’re just different breeds.

Moosh, good son that he is, rarely has anything wrong with him, other than being a weirdo. So we went a long time without a vet visit after Jager died and we got Moosh. When it came time for his yearly exam, I found out my vet was gone. The new vet, he just didn’t do it for me. It’s not like he was a horrible vet — the bar is set very high and he didn’t quite measure up. The “it” factor wasn’t there.

Then I went on a new vet search (actually, first I tried in vain to find my old vet). I lucked out. My current vet meets my high standards. She answers my questions before I even ask them. And she ONLY treats cats.

Maybe I’m crazy. In fact, I’ve been told this a lot. But even if I don’t like my own doc, I can fend for myself. My babies can’t tell me what’s wrong with them.

Crazy is more fun than sane, anyway.

Crazy momma, crazy babies.

Taco, the Cat Jekyll and Hyde. Part 2.

So now you know why Taco is the devil incarnate. But for every evil, there is a good. Taco kinda takes both sides to the limit. He’s not big on moderation.

Taco’s saving graces:

  • He doesn’t just sit down. He hurls himself onto the floor. It’s a melodramatic “WHUMP!”
  • He melts. I have never seen a more melty cat. When he lays down he BECOMES whatever he’s laying on.

    This is one of his deep sleeps.

  • He snuggles with me at night. I’ll wake up to find him stretched alongside me, at which point I have to start petting him because he’s so damn cute. Then he starts purring, which wakes Jason up because he’s like a motorboat. This is a point of contention between us, I find it soothing. Last night he melted on my chest. This MAY be why I am so tired today — who can sleep with a PURRING KITTY PUDDLE on you?
  • He purrs all the time. I love it.
  • He happy meows. Whenever you touch him, he does this thing that is a mix between purring, meowing, and that weird “MRRRRP” noise cats do. My favorite is when he does it when he’s half asleep, it turns into a gurgling yawn.
  • When he sniffs the floor, he comes back up with his mouth slightly open.

    This kitty is “special”

  • He can jump chest high. Literally. And when he does, he hurls himself into the air with absolutely no control, getting sideways and shit. He once hit his head on the bottom of the counter. It also makes for some very awkward landings.
  • We think he’s part bengal. His fur is, as my vet called it, luminescent. His colors are so vivid. From afar he looks like a regular brown tabby but when you get up close you can see how beautiful he is (I realize I am like every other mother in the world who thinks their child is the best, don’t care, I’m right).

    Both cats love my closet. Go figure.

  • He’s the alpha male of the house, even though Moosh is bigger and older.
  • Despite his alpha male status, he’s a pussy at the vet. He shakes the whole time.
  • When he and Moosh fight, it’s like watching the Matrix.
  • He can catch bugs like no other. Sometimes even at the expense of a stinger in the mouth.
  • He is chock full of personality.
  • He has a little freckle on his left temple.
  • He hates when Moosh sniffs his butt. I do too. It’s so unbecoming.
  • When he jumps on the bed, he usually does it with a full running start, a meow and a leap. Sometimes he overshoots.
  • He has a brush-like thing shaped like an arch that is meant for the cats to rub on and therefore remove loose hair, but Taco puts his head upside down (JUST his head) and chomps on it. No clue why he needs to do it upside down or how it could possibly feel good in his mouth.
  • Did I mention the melty thing? God, he’s cute. I mean, really cute.

    SO PRETTY

    At the end of the day, the cute thing is probably what saves his ass. Oh, and I love him. Jason does too, when he’s not giving him the silent treatment for peeing on the couch.

Cats as props.

I like to justify things. This is how I make myself feel better about decisions. I feel that my morals are fairly centered, so these decisions aren’t really earth-shattering.

I like to fuck with my cats. If you’ve ever put scotch tape on the bottoms of your cats’ paws and watch them run around (don’t lie, everyone I know well enough to admit this to me has done it), you’ll know what I mean. Look, I’m a vegan. I’m all for animal rights. I would NEVER do anything to harm an animal. But I’m not totally against using them for amusement here and there.

My justification? I feed them. I love them. I give them a home. I scoop their shit out of a box. No one disposes of MY waste like that. So every once in awhile, they get to dance for their dinner.

Exhibit A:Props in photos. They look miserable. But it’s a TINY moment of their lives and cats can’t recognize themselves in mirrors or in pictures so they don’t know to be embarrassed. That’s a scientific fact. At least the part about the not recognizing themselves. Lack of embarrassment is my own correlation.

Black cats make the picture.

He loved it.

Pose for the camera, bitch!

Exhibit B: Dressing up the cats. Who DOESN’T like to play dress up occasionally?

Pissed? Nah.

I know, white’s not slimming.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Exhibit C: I have no photo proof of this, but I can exact hours of entertainment throwing stuff around for them to catch. Sometimes pretending to throw them, that always throws Taco for a loop. Always good for a laugh. This one is EXTRA justifiable, because as Jackson Galaxy says, you NEED to play with your cats for them to be happy.

PETA would probably have a shitfit about this, since they refuse to even call them “pets” — they’re “companions” — but I’m a good crazy cat lady and if I sometimes want to put a piece of harmless tape on my cat and watch him run like he’s on hot coals, I will, dammit.

Fat Fatty McFatterson

He’s large and in charge.

Fatty’s the OG black kitty. I was 16, totally into punk rock and rebelling (while still being a mostly good kid as far as teenagers go) when my mom and I were at the thrift store for Friends of Strays. So convenient that they had kittens there as well.

I don’t remember why Mom relented and was so easily talked into a kitten, but Fatty (his name was Ernie then) was a tiny black fluffball with fu manchu whiskers and a purr that would melt ice.

I decided Chaos was his name, because, as I said, I was into punk rock and rebelling. It didn’t strike me at the time that this wasn’t a particularly great cat name. Not until we got another kitten two years later and he somehow morphed into Fatty while the kitten morphed into Little (CREATIVE ALERT).

Fatty likes to eat. Like, REALLY likes to eat. In fairness, he is a medium-haired cat so some of his bulk is fur. Aside from that, though, I have, on occasion, caught him laying on the floor with a bag of food knocked over and a fat paw casually scooping morsels into his mouth.

Sure, you fit in that.

He’s also a momma’s boy. In retrospect, I guess they all are. I take a certain pride in that. He’s been there for almost half of my life. When I moved out of my mom’s, I visited every weekend for months even though he was so pissed at me he wouldn’t come near me, resulting in months of weekends of tears and wailing “My baby doesn’t LOVE me anymore!”

He’s had his share of costly vet stuff, like the oh-so-common-in-male-cats crystals, but last week got really sick with severe anemia. It heartbreaking to see him so lifeless. So he got a blood transfusion, buying him some time for his body to start building up his own blood cells again. This is not a guarantee. Fortunately, he’s made a lot of headway getting better, so much so that he fights off his pills with claws of fury. Here’s a million-dollar idea: start a mobile “cat pill feeding” service. Taco figured out the pill pocket trick and won’t touch them and Moosh is such a picky eater that he turns up his nose at the pill pockets anyway.

Mom and the getting-better Fats

I luvs me some Fatty, even if he does love food more than he loves me. I never thought I would be so happy to see him wolf down food.