Tagged: kitty

Bad kitty mommy again.

This picture of Moosh in a kitty bed on the human bed does not relate to my story at all. Just felt like throwing it in here.

I have been a bad kitty mommy this week. I’ve been so busy and cranky and having to deal with a bazillion things that I didn’t notice the litter box was at capacity. The other night, Taco loudly made his displeasure known. When I realized the cause of his discontent, I went over to deal with it. But the Litter Genie was full, so that took some extra time to re-set.
I noticed Taco had stopped meowing. Why? Because he was peeing on the couch. Yes, we have puppy pads there for this very reason, but he TRIED to hold it. From the sheer volume of pee there, I assume he’d been holding it for quite awhile. Those puppy pads kinda suck, too, his paws were wet — so I panicked and did what everyone (I think everyone, anyway) would do…I marched him to the bathroom to attempt a paw washing in the sink. This did not go over well. I got a couple of vague rinses in and gave up, tried to dry them off with toilet paper and promptly locked him in the bathroom for what I thought would be an appropriate amount of time for him to clean himself up and not get cat pee smell everywhere. As I did that, he meowed weirdly, in a way that sent me into yet another panic that I had hurt in somehow in the sink struggle.

 

I think he was just traumatized, because he seems to be fine now.

 

It’s been awhile since he peed on the couch, but it’s just as frustrating and even more so because I could have prevented it. I mean, living your life with a shower curtain and puppy pads on your couch is hardly a way to live…and I didn’t need to make matters worse. Of course, it pissed off the boyfriend too (who yes, could have cleaned the litter box as well) which I do understand…after all, he did buy the couches and all. But he’s a cat (Taco, not the boyfriend), and it’s mostly my fault anyway.

 

This week has just been unpleasant overall. But this always raises my spirits:

Furry bed.

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.

Moosh hoggin’ up the old duvet cover

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?

Moosh furrin’ up the new duvet cover

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.

MEOWlympics.

As most of the world is, I’m currently fascinated with the olympics. At the tender age of 30, I realize my athletic prime has passed and it’s unlikely that I’ll find my niche to win gold. But I think about the sports and activities that passed me by…like gymnastics. I’m 5’8″ now, and I’m broad. If I stopped eating, I’d still be a large skeleton. So that wasn’t a sport made for me. Rhythmic gymnastics? I remember having some cassette tape when I was a kid…it came with the stick with the ribbon and you were supposed to do twirlies with it but that’s about all I remember of it. Obviously rhythmic gymnastics didn’t make that much of an impression on me either. I did swimming for awhile, I wasn’t bad but I wasn’t Natalie Coughlin or anything. I took diving classes, I was terrified. Not of the height, but the flippy flips. I think I saw the Greg Louganis faceplant too early in life. Never been much of a runner, so that’s out. It’s just flat out amusing to watch me play tennis. I manage to hit the ball over the fence repeatedly. Fencing sounds fun but I never had the opportunity. Weightlifting, in theory, sounds like something I would be good at. I build muscle easily. But I’m also prone to injury and “clean and jerk” sounds like waaaaay too much opportunity to pop something out of place.
Now SHOTPUT. That is something I could have excelled at. Except I don’t recall them offering that in high school. Where does one go to start shotputting? I’m excellent at throwing things. Aiming, that is a different story. The safest place to be is where I am trying to throw something.

Which brings me, in a VERY roundabout way, to the subject of my post. Throwing mousies. I am SUPER KICK ASS at throwing mousies.

Unfortunately for the boyfriend, as per the above-mentioned aiming abilities, I usually hit him with the mousies. Face, crotch, the exact place on the floor where he will immediately step on it and curse me…this is not on purpose. The cats, bless their hearts, will come to a screeching halt when mousie lands on Daddy. They know better. It would probably be worse if he got hit with cat, too. I’m also one of those people who laugh at inappropriate times…which makes him even madder. My own ineptness at aiming and the hilarity that ensues brings on a giggle that can’t be controlled. The inappropriateness of it makes me giggle more, and well, you can see where that goes.

I’ve always thought that the cats lose the mousies under things and in closets and such…but after writing this I’m questioning that conclusion.

To be fair, there ARE cat toys everywhere, and it’s just the mousies that seem to go missing.

Seriously, though, if being a crazy cat lady was an olympic sport I would win gold every four years. I realize I have stiff competition, but I’m pretty crazy. I exercise my crazy cat ladyness EVERY FREAKIN’ DAY.

 

UPDATE: I just found the thing that I did with the cassette tape (and by that I mean I searched the interwebz) — GET IN SHAPE, GIRL! OMG I totally remember this! I wish I still had this. I sense a youtube 80s fest.

Florida loses one crazy cat lady. TREAT HER WELL, SEATTLE!

I’m having a sad week. One of my most very dear friends is moving. Really far away. Pretty much as far away as you can get and still be in the contiguous United States. We are bonded forever through our love for Bloodhound Gang, Leslie Hall, crafting, spending money and above all, kitties. Yes, she is just as crazy cat lady as me. She has spent an equal amount of time at the vet (OK, maybe not EQUAL, mine are lemons, after all…but close) and equal time on google searching cat things. We have spent a great deal of time relating kitty stories. I can’t even remotely begin to count the number of lolcats we have sent each other over the years. And she’s leaving.

Sigh.

So this, my Polish sister, is for you. A tribute to you through your furry kid, Aleister. The cutest ginger I know!

May you and the hubby fare well in the long, long, long, long meowing car ride. And past that, I hope all three of you adjust quickly and love your new adventures in Seattle. Just like Milo and Otis. Oh, and I hope you finagle adding a kitten to the fam too =)
I stole these from her facebook because I suck at remembering things, like sending myself the kitten pics of Aleister I have on my work computer. Enjoy anyway.

She likes to dress up her cat too.

Aleister is very chic.

artsy cat

Artsy pic of kitty? Check.

I miss you already!

Pussycat polka. Meow, meow, meow.

I’m a dancing machine. Watch me get down.

I really love “So You Think You Can Dance.” A long, long time ago, I was a child. A child who took dance classes. Ballet, Jazz and Tap. I took gymnastics for a while too, but the gymnastics people told my parents I was going to be too tall for gymnastics so maybe I should focus my efforts elsewhere. I sucked at back walkovers anyway, and my balance beam balancing was vague at best. Being that it was a long, long time ago, I don’t remember an awful lot about my dancing skills ( I DID just buy a discounted deal to transfer VHS to DVD, and I’m super stoked about digitizing my old recitals) but I do know that I wasn’t up to par with the kids on Dance Moms (yeah, I watch that too, I’m sorry, I really like to watch dancing).

Anyway, my parents divorced and I think dance lessons were not feasible financially anymore (neither was catholic school, YAY) and that’s why I stopped. I suppose I should ask my mom, she has a much better memory than I do. However, there IS a dancer in me that is yearning to get out. I’m more flexible than most people and I have rhythm.

The reason I’m writing about all this is because I had a lightbulb moment. One of the first dances on SYTYCD was to the tune of The Lovecats by The Cure. Awesome song. I love it. And I thought the dance was adorable as well, even though the two dancers dancing it are not two of my favorites. So I put it on last night while the boyfriend and I were playing mini golf on the Wii and having a few frosty adult beverages. As I was dancing around, I started thinking about how much of dance is cat movements. The slinkiness, the speed, the agility. Because I love connecting the dots, I continued this thought process. My first recital was to the song “Pussycat Polka” and we all had kitty faces on costumes and big kitty paw gloves. (I just googled this song, holy crap. It’s a super old Mousketeers song.) That led me to look at my iTunes.

Adorable, right?

Stray Cat Strut. That song always makes me feel dance-y. Cat Daddy. Which is both a song AND a dance (and I can totally do the dance). It’s not really about cats, I don’t think…in fact, I’m not really sure what it’s about. “Call me Sponge Bob, stackin’ crabby patties, bitch I go to work, doin’ my Cat Daddy.” …what? Whatever it all means, it’s a fun dance. Then I also have “Cat Dancer” by Leslie Hall, which perfectly fits my point but I’m not sure if it counts because I’m reasonably sure she’s a crazy cat lady too. In fact, all of her songs are about things I like, like crafts and shiny outfits. If you like crafts, shiny outfits and overall awesomeness, PLEASE check out Leslie Hall here.

Leslie Hall is A-MAYZ-ING.

I have no real conclusion to this, except that I like cats and dancing, and cats make good song subjects, I guess. Anyone have a better correlation?

Dance, Mooshie, dance!

Now I have to go ice my hip flexor because I pulled it trying to do a split last night (I should have warmed up more first, but injuring myself stupidly is MY THING).

Too busy for cats???

It seems like I never have time to write anymore. And when I do, I’m too tired. Both jobs have been busting my ass lately. Usually I would get out of the part time job early at least a few times a week, but this hasn’t been the case lately. Adding to that, I’ve been renewing my vows with the gym lately. No more “Eh, I’ll just go sit on my ass and mess around with my blog” between jobs. Only sweat. And pain. So sore. And I keep injuring myself. That’s normal, though, I am the super klutz. I will, however, take this opportunity to show off my new shoes, which I LOVE!

My sweet Asics. Too bad I suck at running. But they make me think I can! I tried. My knees hurt. Love you, elliptical!

So I think the cats have been feeling a tad left out.

Putting your nose in your brother’s butt is NOT gonna get you attention.

After all, there’s no treadmill for kitties at the gym, and they’re miserable when they leave the house, anyway. The upside to all of this is that they’ve been extra needy when I AM home, which makes me feel super loved. They have been so snuggly while I sleep. I woke up in the middle of the night to Taco giving himself a bath while curled up on my stomach. I thought it was an odd place to take a bath, but in a weird way I liked that he was comfortable enough there.

Moosh hasn’t slept on my head in months, but has the past few days. Taco’s been sleeping on my feet when I sit on the recliner, even. So cute.

Sleeping kitty…IN YOUR FACE

It’s also very buggy outside. Like, a lot. They keep flying in. Fortunately, Taco is a master of the hunt. Last night, one flew in and within 30 seconds he had it down and eaten. Lower food bills, to boot!

This is Taco eating his catch. Yum.

So I have no exciting cat insights today because I have been too busy to pester or enjoy them. What a sad life. Sigh.

So sad and alone!

All black cats do not look the same.

I love black cats. I don’t know why. I also love the color black. I’m not goth or anything, it just matches with things so well. And it’s slimming.

Fatty, he lives with my mom, he’s rotund (as the name implies). He’s got medium length hair so he’s extra fluffy, and he’s got big, wide greenish-gold eyes.

Large and in charge.

Jager, he was our little kitten that we lost to FIP (I always want to write about him but it’s too personal to a story for me to share just yet), he was wiry and had amber colored eyes.

Jager, my boo.

Moosh, he’s a big boy (like a panther, not like Fatty) and his eyes change color, but they’re mostly midway between Fatty’s and Jager’s.

Lurkin’ like a panther.

They all look completely different to me. When we lost Jager, the boyfriend didn’t want another black cat, because he felt like it would remind him of Jager too much. To me, this is like saying all girls with blonde hair look the same. That’s ridiculous. Moosh won him over anyway, so that was a moot point. When I talked him into a 2nd, I wanted another black one, but he thought it would be confusing. This is why we don’t have children. What if we had twins? Chaos would ensue. Also a moot point, because Taco came along, and although he has a black brother, I didn’t have much choice in the matter, because Taco was up for grabs, not his brother Zorro.

You can barely see Zorro, but that’s brotherly love.

So because all cats have slightly different facial features, eye shape, eye color, etc., it greatly surprises me when I browse around other cat blogs to see pictures of kitties that look strikingly similar to my own. This is not to say I couldn’t pick mine out of a lineup. Moosh has one little fu manchu whisker on his chin and stray white hairs here and there that I know the exact placement of. Taco has a freckle on his head and a little one on his chin.

I can usually even tell which one of them is sleeping on my feet at night, just by moving. Moosh is more bulk. Taco is more snake. He just melts into wherever he is.

Last night I was out with some friends, including the one who gave us Taco. She still has Zorro, and the momma of the two. We often compare kitty stories, but her boyfriend hadn’t heard them before and was amazed to hear that they’re so similar even though they’ve grown up in two totally different environments. Granted, my friend is one of the awesomest people that I know and a fellow crazy cat lady, so I’m sure the parenting skills are on par with my own, but cats do form their own personalities so it is pretty interesting that their genetics have such an effect on them. They’re both loud, jump chest high and get into EVERYTHING. Zorro doesn’t pee on their couch though. I got the lemon. But lemon cats are my THING, apparently, so I roll with it.

Sigh. This makes me want another black cat.

 

 

Cats in the wild? Nah, they’re pussies.

Sometimes I’m half tempted to let my cats out just to see how they would really interact with other animals. They’ll spend hours cackling at a non-moving lizard just outside the window. Taco stares down Stella, the big Boxer that lives a few houses down (she’s actually afraid of him, this amuses me).

Notice the tail thwacking.

The other day there was a random turtle on the sidewalk. Snapper turtle.

Those things have bigger claws than the cats do and a dinosaur tail. The cats didn’t see it, but Stella sure did. Her owner was holding her back while we studied it, and probably for good reason. I think “snapper turtle” is an apt name.

Stella has no idea.

Anyway, I occasionally wonder how my spoiled little brats would react without a window barring them from actual contact and smell. Would they be so big and bad? Or would they cower in the corner like Taco does when people he doesn’t know come into the house? The bunnies that eat the grass outside in the morning don’t look all that concerned. Nor does the giant neighborhood stray that comes by to ‘bow up every once in awhile. My guys act all big and mighty but I’m guessing they really wouldn’t know what to do with themselves. I’m fairly certain they would starve within days. Their natural instincts have been replaced by recognizing me and the boyfriend as the giver of food. I’m certain they have lost all intrinsic knowledge of how to catch their own food. With how much they fight, they have a better chance of catching and eating each other. I think Moosh would win. He’s bigger, even though he lets Taco push him out of the way to eat his food.

I will give them this — they are excellent bug chasers.

Taco is not, in fact, admiring the fine velvet painting of kittens I found at a thrift store. There’s a bug in the light.

But, as the crazy cat lady and overbearing kitty mommy that I am, my fear of them getting outside FAR outweighs my curiosity, so they’re safe…for now. Until someone pukes on my brand new sneakers. Then their asses are on their own.

Imma be lazy like a cat.

So I’m just posting more pictures of Moosh Moosh’s wacky hi-jinx.

Maybe he wanted a beer?

Overzealous moosh-facing.

So kind of Moosh to allow Daddy to put his head on the pillow.

This is Moosh after accidentally snorting drywall dust. Drugs are for losers, kitty.

My million-dollar idea. Bottled kitten love.

Hi! I’m a kitten. Love me!

There are very few people on this earth that can look at a baby kitten and be disgusted. Even the hardest of individuals can’t look a kitten in the eye and not at least THINK “awwwwwwwww.” There are, of course, the people who are unfeeling towards kittens, Moosh Moosh having been the victim of one of them, and I say this without a sliver of joking, they should be maimed. Death penalty is not even good enough. Not the point today, though. Today, I’m sharing my million-dollar idea. I’m sharing this because it’s an impossible million-dollar idea, so if someone actually takes this idea and makes it work, I tip my hat to you. You deserve the millions.

No one can resist this.

Bottling kitten cuteness. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but there are a lot of jerks in this world these days. I can be one of them, but I usually like to reserve it for people who deserve it, like the people who don’t use turn signals or who grab my arm without warning to “look” at my tattoos. So if I could just bottle the “awww” factor kittens have, and spray it like mace, the world would be a much better place. “What’s that, Bin Laden? Terrorism? Have some kitten.” Boom. Problem solved. We might even be able to save America this whole healthcare debate. Who can possibly get sick when you’ve been dosed with kitten?

LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE

So you see, this is an amazing idea. However, without putting an actual kitten in a spray bottle (as a vegan and animal rights activist I can see this would be a very bad way to go about it), it is an impossible one. How sad.

Hey scientists, how about you stop making expensive prescription drugs that no one can afford anyway and get on this? Except for you Hadron Collider people, you stay on that. That’s good stuff. Keep it up.