Tagged: kitty mommy

Can you teach old cats new tricks?

My mom is redoing her bathroom. While that may sound very fancy, please keep in mind that it is actually her ONLY bathroom, and has never been updated the entire time she’s lived there, save for some well-meaning wall painting I once started and never finished. And it’s rather small. Despite the fact that it’s rather small, she also shares it with the kitties’ shitbox and food dishes. I’m not sure at what point we decided this was a good place for these (I was 16 and living at home then so I have to assume part of the blame), or how much smaller the bathroom must have felt sharing it with two cats and a teenager, but this is where it has remained for two cats and 15 years.

Fatty making the stinkface.

Fatty making the stinkface.

Now, Fatty is, well, fat. And gettin’ up there in years. He also has longish hair and he’s too fat to lick his butt. Little is just weird. One of them is peeing/pooping outside the box at random intervals. Clean box, no less. This is, of course, frustrating, but I think it’s a frequent occurrence

What’s my dearly beloved madre planning to do, she says?

Have a cat door built in the back door so that they have free access to the sun porch and put the box out there.

This, on the surface, seems like a splendid idea. Fatty always runs (he’s pretty freaking fast for his size) out the back door when it’s open and chills out there. It’s totally enclosed, and other than not being insulated or air conditioned, it ensures the kitties remain indoor ones (as they all should be).

But. The ages of these cats. I don’t know that you can just pick up and move a litterbox that’s been in one place for as long as they’ve been alive. And while I can see Fatty venturing out through this new door, Little spends all his time hiding. He’s really not very adventurous. I’ve been trying to think about what Jackson Galaxy would say, and all I can think of is that he would say something like humans live around cats, not the other way around, so don’t stress them out by moving everything around. However, he HAS had people on the show move boxes around. And wouldn’t the kitties feel better doing their business without a human doing THEIR business staring at them?

So what do you think? Are they too old to move the crapboxes around? Or will they adapt? Will they like the cat door? What happens if only one of them likes the cat door? How big is the cat door going to have to be to accommodate Fatty?

Lookit this giant fleshy mound of fur.

Lookit this giant fleshy mound of fur.

This is the first time I’ve ever had (yeah, they’re still mine even though I don’t live with them anymore) a cat this old, so I don’t know how set in their ways they are. I rely on you, dear readers, with your multitudes of cats and experiences. Don’t let me down.

Funny thing about cats. They don’t get daylight savings times. Neither do I.

Moosh reaching for all the sun he could get (it was a cloudy day, sunshine was in short supply)

Moosh reaching for all the sun he could get (it was a cloudy day, sunshine was in short supply)

I LOVE longer days. I don’t mind driving to work in the darkness, and I don’t even mind when a half an hour into work at 7am, the power goes out and it’s completely dark (well, except for the emergency floodlights). I DID kind of mind the power going out, because I was only a half hour into an 8-hour day of 16 hours of work. Yeah, don’t try to do the math on that, because it will never add up. But anyway, it came back on in like, 5 minutes.

I’m not a night person. I’m a morning person. By morning, I mean 8am or so, I’m not like, up at the crack of dawn. Except when I have to for work or because the cats are a-holes. So I love when the sun doesn’t go down until 8 or so. It’s Florida, what can I say?

Of course, losing an hour means that this past Monday was sucky. Because as much as you mean to go to bed earlier the night before, your clock is still off. As for the kitties, my alarm was even too early for THEM. Taco was asleep on my feet and refused to get up. Every time I attempted to force myself out of bed and rustle him off, he’d just lay back down on me wherever I rustled him and adjust back to sleepytime. This does not help one wake up. Meowing in my face helps me wake up. Not furballs draped over me, being so comfortable when I have to get up and all I really want to do is be a sleeping, comfortable furball too. Even the nighttime feedings are off. They’re usually up my ass at 7pm to get food to stuff in their fat mouths.

This was Taco 30 minutes ago.

This was Taco 30 minutes ago.

I couldn’t even get Moosh off the cat tree for food, so Taco ate it ALL. This resulted in Moosh being STARVED and sad looking in front of his food bowl at 8. I’m pretty sure this is an act. No cat looks that pathetic that’s as well-fed (except for Taco stealing food) and well-loved as dear Moosh Moosh looks when he’s decided he wants to be hungry and sits in front of the food bowl. It’s positively sad.

Of course, now they’re making a liar out of me because since I’ve started this post, they both woke up and started swarming around me. Guess their schedules are more easily adjusted than mine. I’m not feeding them yet. Brats.

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.

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.

HOW CUTE IS THIS??? It ALMOST makes me want a kid. Almost. Not really. I just want to wear it.

I may be a crazy cat lady, but not crazy enough to eat cat hair.

This is as close as I wanna be.

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.

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.

Not so patiently waiting.

I finally did it.

I bought a cat tree.

I’ve shared this fact with a few non-cat people, and their response is: “HA HA HA HA That’s a f*$#ing waste of money, you FOOL! You could MAKE that!”

Well, DUH. I’ve been saying this forever. And what HASN’T happened yet? It hasn’t been made. Which is precisely why I’ve waited until my cats are almost 5 and 3 years old to buy one. My poor, deprived kitties. All because Mommy is too freakin’ stubborn to go against her DIY ego and buy one. There’s also the fact that the nice ones are kind of expensive, and I’ve never really found one I liked. But I found one. Yeah, it’s a little more expensive than the traditional carpet-y ones, but it’s nice. It’s not AS nice as the ones I wrote about before, but it’ll do. Before I put the ol’ credit card number into the interwebz, I did way more research just to see if I could possibly find another one that I’d like better. Because it’s always my luck that as soon as I buy something, I find one much, much better. The only ones I found were, again, way out of my price range. Like this one from Urban Cat Design (in the NETHERLANDS):

Books and kitties. Two of my favorite things. (Real books, because this lady will NEVER own a damn eReader.)

Books and kitties. Two of my favorite things. (Real books, because this lady will NEVER own a damn eReader.)

So I bought the one that I talked about buying recently, the one that was reasonably priced compared to the ones I LOVED but couldn’t possibly justify spending so much money on. AND…this lady never buys anything on the interwebz without a coupon. So I got free shipping and $20 off to boot. Uh huh. I’m an awesome bargain hunter on expensive things. Like the $160 boots I got for $40. I really thought that one had to be a scam, but the boots are fabulous.

Now I wait. Because it’s coming from California. If I hadn’t held off for so long, I might have it this weekend to put together, but the boys are going to have to wait for next weekend, since I rarely have time or energy during the work week. Oh well. Moosh has been entertaining himself just fine with the silver ball of sparkles that are mostly strewn around the floor right now and I really should take away from him because Taco will eat the sparkles. Taco has a, um, sensitive butt, to put it nicely. The sparkles make it bleed a lil. Not serious, but unnerving. It’s so unfortunate because it literally is the ONLY toy that Moosh will play with, and he plays with it SO enthusiastically. Kitty mom is conflicted. Meh.

Now he can jump on his OWN furniture. HAH!

Now he can jump on his OWN furniture. HAH!

Kitty mommy problems, whatcha gonna do? Ooh, another rap song. Bam.

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.

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.

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.

Cat hair in my eye. WOO!

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.

Moosh spreadin' his shiz.

Moosh spreadin’ his shiz.

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.

More fur on my bed.

More fur on my bed.

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.

Nothing better to do than capture the brotherly love on camera.

Nothing better to do than capture the brotherly love on camera.

Every day is kitty christmas.

The boys didn’t get a ton of presents this year…in fact, they only got 3. Well, 4 if you consider our generous gift to house and feed them for another year. They really never seem to appreciate that one…

Anyway, our very nice and VERY religious next door neighbor left us a note saying something to the effect of WWJD (he would be neighborly, it seems), a bag of chocolates (a lovely gesture, but alas, not vegan – I’ll regift, though…the boyfriend isn’t really a “sweets” person) and a cat toy stocking.

So spoiled.

So spoiled.

Despite my atheism, I was able to look past the Jesus part of the note and focus on the intention and found it to be surprisingly heartwarming overall. The kitties loved the toys, although a few of them were the ones that Moosh absolutely LOVES (the ONLY kind of toy that he really likes) but that we cannot keep because Taco eats the sparkles, which in turn makes his poop sparkly AND bloody. I can’t just have normal cats?

The boyfriend bought them two bags of treats. He didn’t wrap them. In fact, he left them on the counter when we went out to a christmas eve party (I remembered this shortly after arriving to said party) and in the biggest christmas miracle EVER, they went untouched.

I bought them a new Neko toy. Moosh doesn’t seem to care for it (shocker!) but Taco goes apeshit for it. The first night we played with it he growled the whole time. Maybe not really a growl, that gutteral “rrrrrrrggg” that they do. The boyfriend, of course, missed this amusement and I have yet to accomplish replicating it. It’s just like when you take your car to the mechanic because it’s making a funny noise and the funny noise totally stops when you get there. Taco still loves it. I actually have to hide it in the pantry because otherwise he will find wherever it is, pull it out and drag it around.

So far, Taco hasn't figured out how to turn door handles. Yet.

So far, Taco hasn’t figured out how to turn door handles. Yet.

I personally had a good christmas, even though I was very PMSy and cranky on the actual day of. But I did get to spend it with my dad, mom, stepmom and boyfriend. I’ve never been jealous of people with big families. My little one is just fine. And I got stuff I asked for, like expensive anti-aging night moisturizer (I’m turning 31 in 2 months, it’s time to worry about this shit) and a tablet holder that confused my mom when I asked for it because I don’t have a tablet (I switched gyms because LA Fitness took over mine and I hate them, and my new gym’s cardio machines have no magazine holders – so baffling, but I HAVE to read magazines to get through cardio, I don’t like watching TV, and the tablet holder was my brilliant idea to remedy this). I also got kickass stuff from my friends, and in addition to the actual gifts, we we able to over our amazing wrapping talents (we have no shame in patting ourselves on the back and feeling superior to the lesser talented wrappers).

We have such good taste.

We have such good taste.

And I wish all of you a happy holiday season, whatever you celebrate and whatever you believe. And all of your kitties, too!

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?

Who wants to disturb this?

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

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.

Never a dull day…

Cats really make life interesting.

 

I mean, who knows how bored I would be without them? For example: Tuesday, I had a few minutes to sit on my ass in between work and the gym and more work. Taco was such a dear that he vomited food all over our comforter again! Stripping the bed and tossing it all in the wash (after removing the food particles, of course) was such a PERFECT alternative! Because I have a lot of time to do laundry several times over.

You’re welcome for the clean bed to sleep on.

I suppose it was better that I saw it rather than the boyfriend NOT see it and lay in it (it was all on his side of the bed), but cleaning up kitty puke is never my favorite chore. My mom’s cats (also my cats) puke on her bed all the time. Now I understand how she feels.

 

I’m starting to think that perhaps I should just cover every surface in plastic like an old lady. I mean, the couches are already covered in puppy pads and our mattress has a waterproof case on it (we bought a new, very uncheap new mattress not that long ago and decided for that sort of investment we should guard against possible Taco pee, even though he’s never done it there. So far, though, it’s only been tested by me falling asleep holding a beer. It worked. Phew.) so we might as well just take the extra step to encase it all. Shrink wrap?

Can you spot what’s wrong with this picture?

 

I love my boys and all, but don’t they know that I don’t get paid for cleaning up after them?