Tagged: kitties

Birthdays and vets and kittens and fat.

Took Taco to the vet yesterday. Just the yearly checkup, which I think was 2 months late. Anyway, both the boys just had birthday, Moosh is now six and Taco four…and apparently 4 is the year to get FAT. Because according to the vet, that’s what Taco is. Tell me how I’m supposed to reduce his food when he eats all of the food? I can’t starve Moosh to cut back on Taco. I got a grazer and a gorger. Guess who wins?

Layin' out

Layin’ out

And seriously, 13 lbs for a cat is NOT that bad. Sure, he was 11 lbs for the majority of his adult life but 2 lbs in a year isn’t THAT bad. As much as he runs around I cannot believe he’s getting fatter. Plus, I discovered that we’ve actually been buying “moderate calorie” food, which explains why we’ve been running through it so fast — and why the cats have been begging for food 3 hours after morning feedings.

It also is a two-man job to even get Taco into the carrier, despite careful planning. I had attempted to carry out the kidnapping without waking the boyfriend up but alas, it got too loud, which was fortunate because he heard enough to shut the bedroom door just in time to avoid Taco running in and hiding under the bed. Then came down to help, since I got Taco in but couldn’t close with one hand.

They have kittens for adoption at my vet. These kittens were adorable. I threatened Taco if he didn’t shape up, I was trading him in for a new model. His performance didn’t improve, but the vet rejected my trade offer. Go figure.

As all cat owners know (I assume all, every cat I’ve ever had is MISERABLE in the car) I endured bone-chilling howls all the way there. Slightly muted on the way back. And, upon arriving home, feeling horribly guilty for all my evil doings, proceeded to give Taco all of the treats in the world. Including turkey, which he meowed incessantly for, but didn’t know what to do with upon receiving. Shrugh.

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Furry luff on a ruff week.

Some days, the cats make me want to leave home.

And some days, I luff them more than I can bear.

My kitty snuggle tonight is better than a beer. Cheers, Moosh Moosh.

My boo.

My boo.

Smelly cat, smelly cat, what are they feeding youuuuuu

We have 3 litterboxes. Both cats prefer just one. That one happens to be the one in the living area, conveniently located next to the open-concept kitchen.

I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that this can make for some uncomfortable living circumstances. Even if I IMMEDIATELY place the poop in the Litter Genie (which is AHH-MAY-ZING), the potent smell of poo lingers. And lingers. And for some reason, my cats’ shit seems to be of the extra smelly variety. Adding to that is the airflow in the house, which somehow manages to disperse the disgusting aroma to all areas, even upstairs.

I’ve tried baking soda in the box. I’ve tried kitty probiotics. And my most recent foray into eliminating the foul odors emanating from my boys’ “outbox,” I bought a package of “Stool Deodorizer” treats. All-natural, of course.

Well, that was a disappointment. They might work. I wouldn’t really know because I can’t get my little brats to eat them. Moosh refuses them outright, while Taco can be tricked into kind of eating one by stacking another regular treat on top of it. I even tried burying them in the food. Moosh ate all around it and Taco left most. I hate them sometimes.

Anyone know how air purifiers work? Do they take out smells? If they don’t, the name is misleading, as a smell is really just TINY LITTLE MOLECULES of an aromatic object drifting into your nostril where it is received as a smell so in theory if the air is truly being purified, it would remove the tiny physical molecules of poo from the air. Are you disgusted yet? I’m gonna go vomit now.

So cute for being such a foul beast.

So cute for being such a foul beast.

The graveyard of uninteresting cat toys.

Ya’ll know what I’m talking about. The toys we so excitedly buy on a whim, imagination filled with visions of kitty splendor…only to be ignored entirely, not even worthy of being batted under a couch. In a twist of irony, in fact, the BEST toys get batted under the couch. I feel like these toys can never be found when you’re looking for them, but turn up in a giant stash under sometime that you only clean under once a year and then think “Oh, so THIS is where they all went!” BUT. When you look in this place at a later date to find what you now think is the honey hole of missing favorite toys, you find nary a one.

The basket of unwanted toys. Toy Story 9 Lives? I gotta call Pixar.

The basket of unwanted toys. Toy Story 9 Lives? I gotta call Pixar.

This rant is brought to you courtesy of an impulse clearance rack buy at PetSmart today. I only stopped in there to see if I could find a replacement wavy chaise longue (1. it’s really nothing like a chaise longue, it’s just a carpeted wave shape thing but the cats lie on it like I imagine I would on a chaise longue and 2. yes, I am spelling “chaise longue” correctly, it’s not “chaise lounge” as most people pronounce it – fact of the day)  but alas, it was $30. Since I’ve never spent more than $20 on one, I refused to buy one for ten dollars more today, even if Moosh is out of a seat since Taco always shoves him out of the way to take the one remaining one. See, we HAD two, only someone’s fat ass broke one.

The two waves in happier times...

The two waves in happier times…

Now there’s one, and Taco keeps puking on the sisal part (ever tried to clean puke out of woven sisal?).

There I go again, wandering away from the point. The POINT is that I ended up buying some sort of natural treats that are supposed to “deodorize” your cats’ shit. Considering that the boyfriend and I actually send each other texts to warn of impending poop smells, I would have paid a small fortune for them, but to my delight they were only SIX DOLLARS! This, to me, was worth standing in line for. It was in this line that I discovered the clearance rack. For a mere 2 something I could have a TREAT DISPENSER.

It's even creepy looking. What was I thinking?

It’s even creepy looking. What was I thinking?

I don’t know what I thought this was, but it seemed cheap, and the cats like treats, so why not?

Yeah. No. This is what it does: you put treats in it. You wind it up. Put it on the ground. It spins a few times. Scares the cats. Spits out a few treats. Stops. Cats stare. Notice treats. Hesitantly walk toward them. Eat them. Ignore the spinny thing.

I hate the brilliance of whomever discovered these impulse lanes. I know that the grocery stores have employed such tactics for years, but only recently stores have discovered that putting in a veritable MAZE of goodies and calling it a “checkout line” is highly profitable. Forever 21, Marshalls, PetSmart…I hate you.

Voice recognition software.

I could google this, but for the sake of this post, I’ll allow my curiosity to fester.

“This” is the phenomenon of my cats seemingly recognizing my (and maybe the boyfriend’s) voice. I know that I’ve read that cats respond better to women’s voices, something about the tone. Moosh and Taco seem like they respond to our voices, particularly by their names. Taco is less of a sure thing, he just talks all the time, and to whatever variation of his name we use. But he at least looks like he knows that he’s being talked to. Moosh, on the other hand, knows his name like the back of his paw. Maybe it’s just the tone that we say it in, or the way that “Moosh Moosh” sounds. Saying it sometimes gets him all worked up, like I’m petting him without actually petting him. He’ll close his eyes, purr, and look like he’s in ecstacy.

He's a happy boy.

He’s a happy boy.

It’s funny what you discover from years of co-existing with your animals. How you can figure out what their triggers are. Why do they have the triggers they do?

The best response I can get from Moosh is by shaking my head back and forth while saying his name in a deep, cooing voice. He’ll come running almost every time. Unless he gets distracted.

Taco’s ultimate call-over involves more energy. He responds best to an excited voice. Less coo-ey, more OMG, but still in a deeper voice. He gets all jacked up and runs over. If I’m laying down, combining that with patting my chest plate loudly will get him up and on my stomach purring.

This is what happens when you're bored and have too many apps.

This is what happens when you’re bored and have too many apps.

So…am I crazy? Does anyone else know quirks this intimate about their furry children or do I just look waaaaaay too far into things?

 

It’s the little things.

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!

Victory!

Victory!

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).

Sharing my pillow.

Here I go, blaming the cats for things again.

My neck has been killing me since Monday. The kind of hurt that makes it almost impossible to turn one’s head. It’s been really fun checking my blind spot while driving. It’s feeling a little better today, but as I was going through my photos, I realized that I captured PHOTOGRAPHIC EVIDENCE pointing the finger straight at Moosh Moosh.

Yes, my “good son” is apparently to blame for my latest injury.

Exhibit A:

The photo below was taken last Saturday night. At the time, I thought, “How adorable. My son loves me SO MUCH. I’m so very lucky to have this lil snugglebunny in my life!”

mommy and kitty snuggle

I see now that this was step 1 of the evil plan.

Exhibit B:

Sunday night. Gettin’ all up in my bidness. I still vaguely found it cute, but I was wondering if he was trying to take over my pillow entirely. It was a bit uncomfortable for me, but he’s my kid, and mothers have to sacrifice for the greater good sometimes.

cat owning pillow

It was all part of the master plan. The way I see it, this angel-faced devil hatched up this plan in order to force me to sleep in an awkward position which he knew would result in a stiff neck, keeping me out of my night job so that I would be home to spend time with them and feed them at an earlier time.

On the other hand, he’s not that smart. Maybe Taco was behind it all.

New tool for crazy cat ladies…#INSTAVID

So I’m not sure how many of you out there are into all the “hip” new apps that the kids are using these days, but as a 31-year-old who still thinks she’s 12, I sure am. Most recently, my (slightly) younger and hipper friend introduced me to Snapchat, which, if you’re not a pervert or horny teenager using it for more risque purposes, seems to be a tool to send your friends stupid, goofy faces. Needless to say, I was an immediate convert. I also recently jumped on the Vine bandwagon. If you’re not familiar with this one, it’s just a way to share short, looping videos, mostly compiled of even shorter clips.

But NOW…Instagram, in all its Facebook-owned glory, quite smartly jumped on that shit. Yes, Instagram just put the short-lived Vine out of business in one fell swoop by now including videos. This is ok with me, I didn’t get close enough to Vine to feel mourn-y or anything.

What does this mean for you, you may ask?

It means now, not only can you browse millions of adorable kitty pics, you can now browse millions of kitty VIDEOS. Honestly, if any more technologies come out aiding my crazy cat lady-ness, I’m going to have to make it my full-time job.

And, of course, one can also post millions of one’s OWN kitty videos. I’ve held myself back so far and only posted 2. Should you care to see them, you can always follow me on instagram.

And if not (but you should), here’s a cute pic for the road.

Moosh says "Follow me, beyotch"

Moosh says “Follow me, beyotch”

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!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

My babies. They sometimes fill my heart with joy.