Tagged: meow

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.

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I’m annoyed.

My cats are being assholes today.

Sure, he LOOKS cute.

Sure, he LOOKS cute.

Taco slept on my stomach like an angel, up until about 5am when he puked on the bed. Then I woke up again at 7am because I heard him eating plastic. I don’t even know where he gets this crap. Discovered the puke on the bed also contained plastic. Thanks.

Moosh Moosh has been meowing all morning. Except since he doesn’t really meow, it’s more like whiny chirping. I’m trying to work at my desk for once (instead of on the bed with the laptop) because I really don’t feel like working and I have to work because I need to finish this work before tomorrow and finish it early today because I’m going to see Jim Jeffries tonight. (I am SO SO SUPER EXCITED about this! And even more excited because it’s a 6pm show, perfect for an ol’ lady who has to work in the morning. He’s really funny, and also really offensive, so if you don’t like offensive Aussies, don’t bother looking him up. I happen to love everything as offensive as it can possibly be.) But Moosh is jumping up on my desk in my face and getting cat hair in my eyes and dander in my nose and I’m already allergy-crazy today. Dick.

Have also caught Taco on the counter today, trying to get into the box of Cheerios. I can’t possibly imagine that he thought this was a good idea.

Shortly after, he was caught on the wire shelving we have in the kitchen. This is quite tricky, as he doesn’t have good footing there. Again, not sure what he thought he was going to get out of this.

He's no angel either.

He’s no angel either.

And I still don’t feel like working. BAH.

The road to the vet is not a quiet one.

Yesterday was Taco vet day. Just a yearly checkup thing. He’s been fairly healthy. Annoying, but that’s not a health issue. Only in regards to my mental state.

Getting Taco to the vet is a two-person job. I knew he wasn’t going to go quietly, so I asked the boyfriend to do the prep work and have him ready to go. However, the little MFer immediately ran under the bed when the carrier came out, at which point it required both of us to tag team the effort. Upon getting him in the carrier, he immediately began thrashing about. Not even out of the house yet. Then the meowing started. Then the meowing didn’t stop.

It’s a 15-minute drive. Of loud.

Big Mouth in action.

Big Mouth in action.

Of course, I then began embarking on the futile effort of soothing him with calming words. And I continued to despite the fact that it did absolutely nothing. Although I did discover that he answered me in different tones here and there, which amused me. It seemed that saying his name resulted in a slightly lower volume, but only the 1st two meows. The 3rd went back to gutteral. We continued like this all the way into the vet, where he announced himself loudly upon being carried in.

Thus begins part 3 of the vet experience. The shakes. For all of Taco’s bravado, he’s a big freaking baby. He scrunches into one corner of his carrier and shivers. With an occasional loud meow, attracting all onlookers to comment on what an adorable cat he is, which at this point, doesn’t even fill me with mommy pride because now everyone can see what a wussy cat I’ve raised.

Part 4. The exam room.

Here he is on the exam table, refusing to look at me.

Here he is on the exam table, refusing to look at me.

Still uncooperative. Still meowing. The vet and the vet assistant have trouble holding him. He is really quite a talented squirmer. I will give him credit for not lashing out with claws. Except that would kinda be less wussy. Despite his best efforts (and a loud, random meow on the scale), I learned that he was healthy, that he gained an ounce (this I don’t understand, he eats everything) and that he runs hot at the vet from all the shaking and flustering. Oh, then the vet noticed one pupil was larger than the other and suggested I take him to an animal ophthalmist (however the hell you spell that. I’m not looking it up.). I’m not overly concerned about this. My eyes do that too. My eye doc said it’s unlikely I have a brain tumor because I’d know it by now. But nonetheless, we threw on FeLV and FIV testing into the bloodwork just in case, because he’s only been tested for those once.

Then I paid the bill. Now I’m broke. That’s a whole other story for another post (although I will add that I wasn’t OVERcharged, he’s just expensive). And Taco still hasn’t gotten a job to pay his way. I’m not taking him to a cat eye doc until he earns his damn keep.

There was, however, this lovely view from the exam room. That cat looks quiet. Jealous.

There was, however, this lovely view from the exam room. That cat looks quiet. Jealous.

What will YOU do with your tax refund?

For many, tax time means paying money. For me, it means a fat refund. See, I know that it’s just giving the tax man interest-free monies, but I suck at saving, so really, that money is in far better hands, interest or not. A few years ago I got screwed (they changed the tax laws, as usual, and those of us with two jobs who were unprepared for it got surprised) so now I take out extra every week to avoid such unpleasantries in the future. So I’m getting a refund. Most of this refund will go in the bank, but this year, I think I’m going to splurge on the kitties.

I’m finally buying a cat tree.

It’s a little expensive, but I never did get around to building the one I threatened to (see my post about it here) and I found one I like that’s not in the thousands of dollars.

Does that cat have 6 toes??? I love Hemingway cats!

Does that cat have 6 toes??? I love Hemingway cats!

It's got sisal in the bottom nook and a pad on one part.

It’s got sisal in the bottom nook and a pad on one part.

This is the Sebastian something-or-other. It’s not that much more expensive than the traditional trees of this size (I use the term “tree” loosely here) and it fits with my modern Ikea look. I’m excited. I already filed my taxes even though the IRS doesn’t start processing them until the 30th.

I showed the boyfriend last night. His response was the “dismissive head nod/half eyeroll/smirk.” This pissed me off. For someone who is always complaining that the cats take over the house, I thought that he would LOVE that I’m taking his feelings into consideration and buying something that looks more like furniture than a tacky carpet tower. I had already had a few adult beverages at this point (it was Friday. I had a long week.) and so of course, I felt compelled to respond with something like “way to be passive aggressive,” he said “don’t the cats already have enough shit” and then I stomped outside. By the time I finished my smoke, I’d already decided to leave it be and continue on with my plans. My best friend once told me the best way to get things done around the house is to just do them and then act as if whatever you did has always been like that. It works. To my surprise, the boyfriend APOLOGIZED for not being more excited about it, and told me that he just didn’t want to see me waste more money on crap the cats will ignore. I was very touched by this. A significant other recognizing FEELINGS! Even after almost ten years. I almost cried (seriously, but I’m also PMSing, so I think hormones had a little to do with the threat of tears).

Even if the cats ignore it (which I doubt, Moosh’s new spot is on top of the bookcase attached to my desk, on top of a scanner he probably shouldn’t be sitting on – Moosh is a serious tree dweller), it’s still useful as furniture, and for about the same price as a bookcase from Ikea. So really, what do I have to lose? My Mooshie gets to climb something he’s actually allowed to, and Taco, well, Taco’s favorite sleeping spot is anywhere that I wanted to sit. His other favorite spot is in my face, and I don’t think there’s a cat toy in the world that can replace that. He’s just annoying.

Am I crazy?

Moosh on my desk. In my face. As I'm writing this.

Moosh on my desk. In my face. As I’m writing this.

Taco is rather unhelpful.

I brought work home tonight. This isn’t my favorite after-work activity, but I was determined to push through and get ‘er done, if you will.

It should come as no surprise that this was not to Taco’s liking, because, after all, WORK means NOT PAYING ATTENTION TO MEEEEEEEEE!

Here's Taco LITERALLY sitting on my work.

Here’s Taco LITERALLY sitting on my work.

I don’t know what kind of work you, dear reader, do, but mine involves being creative and thinking and concentrating. Not always the fun kind of creative, like blogging or photoshopping pictures of kitties, the kind that you’re glad that you get paid for. The kind of work that is really quite impossible when you have a cat sitting next to you HOWLING AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS. God forbid I make the mistake of looking over and making EYE CONTACT with him, as that is a direct invitation to jump on my lap (while continuing to howl at the top of his lungs) and step all over it, which sucks doubly because I maaaay have overdone it just a touch at the gym yesterday and my legs are currently unusable and untouchable (but I so oddly want a massage, go figure).

Here's another angle after an aborted lap attack. Back on the work.

Here’s another angle after an aborted lap attack. Back on the work.

I managed to work through during the howl breaks and somehow get it done. Poor Taco couldn’t even get TOO excited, because immediately after finishing my dearly beloved mother called, hindering the speed in which his little mouth was fed. Fortunately for him, my dearly beloved mother is also becoming quite the technologically advanced lady and suggested I put her on speaker phone. So proud of your iPhone using, Mamacita! Props on the texting, particularly Emoji.

My workplace is very dog-friendly and I realize that is much more sensible than cat-friendly…after all, I’ve never actually met anyone allergic to dogs (although I’m sure they’re out there) but many allergic to cats and dogs are really much better with the vast population than cats…but I do wish sometimes I could work AT work with a kitty on my lap. Just one that’s not meowing. While I am the resident crazy cat lady there, I’m most definitely not the only one. Many would appreciate kitteh luv. Oh, but the chaos that would ensue if I tried to haul these freaks in my office. Sigh.

Speaking of cat-friendly workplaces, if you like lolcats and you haven’t seen LOLWORK on Bravo yet, you totally should. It’s highly amusing. I love the crazy cat lady gay guy whose sample of quotes includes “People tell me my cat is like a dog and I tell them to shut up.” It’s not the most amazing show ever but it’ll give you a giggle. They don’t get to bring their cats into work but there IS a homemade cheezburger cat mascot costume! I’ll leave you with THAT thought. Good night.

Moosh being the good son, as usual. Silent.

Moosh being the good son, as usual. Silent.

Cats. Shut up. Please.

So I started this new kick. Being positive. Because I realized that I have become a rather temperamental be-yotch lately. Which I don’t mind so much, but I’m even starting to piss off myself with my grouchiness. Therefore, I’m attempting.

Unfortunately, it seemed like everyone else around me was having bad days and being cranky, which is hard to overcome. And then there’s my stupid wrist, which is more crampy than it was before I went to the doctor and started wearing the damn brace, and then the rest of my arm started hurting too from overcompensating. And thanks doc, I know you said I was cleared to work with a brace, but have you ever tried to grab boxes coming down a moving conveyor belt, jiggle them around under a half-broken scanner and then place them perfectly tetris-style in a plastic igloo without the use of the thumb on your dominant hand? I was hoping my left arm would become magically useful and I would move into ambidextrism, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. It’s either very stubborn or it takes a lot longer than a week to teach one’s moronic digital half to pick up the slack.

Just call me gimp.

Just call me gimp.

This is where I expect my cats to “poor you” me. But no! They still want to be fed. In fact, they seems to want to be fed more than usual. The non-winter Florida winter is making them ravenous. And I refuse to feed them more than they’re suppose to be fed. So guess what happens? MEOWING. SO MUCH MEOWING.

Usually it’s just Taco being a loud a-hole, but now Moosh is getting into the act with his high pitched MEEEEs. I came home from work tonight craving quiet, and Taco meowed for (and I’m NOT exaggerating here) a half an hour straight. At some point he was so worn out from meowing at me he actually stopped following me around and laid down to meow at me. They certainly weren’t starving. There was food in the food island. They know how to get it. Both of them. I guess it’s not as good as when you’re SERVED food.

IMG_2837

Taco’s finally shut up, although he has a new, weird obsession with eating my clutch purse. The boyfriend is home and we’re sitting in football-induced silence, and it’s lovely. Yay.

Meowwy christmas!

Meowwy christmas!

I was minding my own business. Then a cat came along.

Here I am, minding my own business, sitting on the bed with the laptop. The boyfriend has been laying in the same bed almost all day watching football. Taco is nowhere to be found.

 

Then the boyfriend decided to get up and shave. This apparently triggered Taco to appear from underneath the bed, filled with vim and vigor, meowing. Of course, this means he wants attention. So he jumps up on the bed and prances all around me meowing, rubbing his face on my laptop and stepping over me.

 

Where does he end up? Forcing himself on my lap, or rather, on my stomach, in the space that my laptop isn’t.

This space will do.

After only a few minutes of seeming as if he’d settled in for the long haul, he looked up at me, meowed, got off and laid down with his head on the laptop.

HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYY

That wasn’t working, so he moved to the opposite corner of the bed where he is currently watching me intently. I don’t know what he thinks I’m going to do that’s so interesting. Or perhaps he’s trying to play coy. Cats are weird.

Mommy instinct is fallible. And…I think it’s gonna be one of those months.

In case you were waiting with baited breath to find out how Moosh is…

 

He’s fine. This has been confirmed with a vet visit. He did pee on Monday so I wasn’t worried about crystals anymore but since hanging out in the bathtub randomly isn’t always a good sign either, I decided to take him anyway. This decision was partly based on the fact that he was also overdue for his yearly visit. That fact made me feel like much less of an overreacting freako crazy cat lady.

 

Listen, if there’s one really good thing you can say about crazy cat ladies, we know our kitties. (Well, that and we take an awful lot of cat pictures.) When something’s off, it’s off.

Such an angel.

But in this case, whatever was making Moosh more weird than normal had run its course by this morning, because he was acting perfectly fine. I rushed home from work, lured Moosh out from under the bed with treats and tried to stuff him in the carrier before he was fully awake. Didn’t work. The boyfriend came home just as I was attempting this lovely task, guess who got to help? And guess who got clawed? Sorry baby, thanks so much for the help though!

 

For a laid back cat, Moosh sure hates the cat carrier. He NEVER meows, except for when he’s hungry, and then it’s a wussy ass “meeewp” but in the carrier, he’s like Taco times 10. He’s really got quite a range.

Escape while you can!

Anyway. He’s all normal. Including his weirdness, he’s back to his normal weird, instead of the weird weird. The vet pointed out that it may be the changing weather or changing furniture. Probably has something to with the glass breakage too. I found another giant chunk of it tonight. Not quite sure where that was hiding. These boys are lucky they’re not sliced to hell. Taco, on the other hand, didn’t even eat tonight because he’s too busy hissing at Moosh. This will last 3 days. Come ON, Taco, it’s only your freakin’ brother that you see every freakin’ day. He can’t possibly smell THAT different. Starve, then. See if I care. You eat your brother’s food all the time anyway. It’s about time you know how he feels.

Taco hiding out in the closet from Moosh. THAT’S a switch.

My boys are crazy. Just like their mother.

 

Oh, and then I got home, and decided to check my coolant levels because it smelled like burning antifreeze. Surprise! There’s a leak. I just got a new radiator, I am going to assume that is the most expensive thing that would cause a leak and I can rule that one out, so we’ll pretend for now that it will be a cheap fix. See? Power of positive thinking in effect. At least my babies are healthy. And I have a boyfriend willing to take a claw for me.

 

And I got to gush over these adorable babies at the vet!

Squeal!

Day 3 of Interesting Week. Ignored.

So here it is, day 3 of my interesting week, and nothing even remotely interesting has happened.

Taco supervising as I work from home. He should be fired.

Of course, that’s probably because I’m quarantined to the house to avoid infecting my co-workers and other outside life with my germy eyeball, but that’s another story. SOMETHING could have happened. I was on a roll there.

 

Instead, I have been ignored all day, abandoned by my furry flock. Rejoice, kitties, Mommy is here ALL DAY! So where’s Moosh Moosh? Under the bed. Where he’s been all day. Taco? He’s been intermittently annoying, mostly sleeping but occasionally getting up to meow fiercely for a few minutes at me and then retiring back to slumber. Not man nor beast wants to be around me today.

No help at all.

I did, actually, infect the boyfriend, it would seem, despite my efforts to the contrary. I washed sheets, disinfected surfaces and made pointed efforts to not touch my eye, at least not without a thorough handwashing afterwards.

 

I did google to see if I could give it to the kitties after a friend jokingly suggested that I’d never get rid of it if I passed it on to them. Didn’t really get a solid answer, so I’m not going to worry about it. They’ll be fine. I think.

New cat drama, yay!

Like I really want new cat drama.

These little devils cause gray hairs.

 

Today, Taco has puked 5 times. All throughout the day. There’s really nothing in the house that he could have gotten into and he’s acting perfectly fine otherwise. We’ve taken him to the vet before for the puking, and she said that based on his age and the normal tests, it was likely just upset stomach and prescribed him Pepcid AC. Yes, the human kind.

 

Only Taco, being the smart little asshole he is, figured out Pill Pockets, and refuses to eat them anymore. So when he stopped puking so much and started ignoring the Pill Pockets, I just gave up. Since then, here and there he’s been pukey, but really, what cat isn’t? Even Moosh pukes sometimes. Mostly hairballs, I mean, it IS Florida and all, and I see how much hair they have. It’s only natural. I hear pumpkin puree is supposed to work for that, has anyone tried it?

 

Anyway, I don’t think it’s the hairballs today. He’s puked up all his food AND some Greenies (which will turn your beige carpet a lovely shade of green!) and even did the weird MEOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOW thing that cats do right before they puke…only MY cats have never done it right before they puke. In fact, the only reason I know about the MEOWOWOWOWOWOWOWOW “I’m about to puke” noise is from Jager…who was sick with FIP. My vet said that the noise was normal, but I now associate it with a dying kitten (which I know, logically, isn’t what’s wrong with Taco as it’s really only a disease that hits cats under 2, and usually way younger than that) and that’s extraordinarily unnerving.

 

And this is supposed to be my vacation week and I was looking forward to “me” time tomorrow (by vacation week I mean I have the week off one job and 1 and a half days at my day job which may not seem like a vacation week to you but believe me, it is to me) but now it looks like I’m going to have to take Taco to the vet, which also makes me feel like a horrible cat mom and horrible person in general for lamenting the loss of my “me” day for what could be a sick kitty. But something always happens on my days off. And I don’t get a lot of them. Plus, the vet costs money. Money I don’t want to spend at the vet. I love my vet, but really, I would like to see less of her. Just got the “Time for Moosh vaccinations!” postcard in the mail the other day. I should really get a volume discount.

 

But I suppose I should be happy I’m not getting hit with a hurricane and using my day off to evacuate. And although the RNC is going on just on the other side of the bay, I haven’t had any run-ins with crazy republicans. I did, however, put my “Republicans Hate Kittens” sticker on my car (it has a sad kitty face on it too) in hopes that I offend someone. I reason that any republican who actually does not hate kittens is probably an ok person and wouldn’t be offended by such a sticker anyway. I see the bright side. I guess I just feel like wallowing today. In addition to worrying about the kitty.