Tagged: money

Cats and cars. A comparison.

You may not think that cats and cars have ANYTHING to do with each other whatsoever, save for being one letter different. You’d be wrong. See, they’re both money pits.

You know the old adage, “when it rains, it pours” – I’ve found this to be true about both.

Let’s start with cats.

Why are you in the shower? What's wrong with you?

Why are you in the shower? What’s wrong with you?

Most of the time, my boys are healthy and thriving. However, I know that we’re always one sneeze/puke/bloody poop away from a vet visit. Something that is absolutely essential is to have a vet you can trust and ask a bazillion questions to and get informative answers without even a hint of an eyeroll. Someone you truly believe has your babies’ best interests at heart. I have one. This being said, while I do believe veterinarians should be paid handsomely for the work they do, my wallet says otherwise. The bills add up and up, even if you have an excellent vet who is honest about whether certain procedures are necessary. If you’re a worrier like me, you tend to fall on the cautious side and get the tests that are maybe 55% necessary, “just in case.” Then you walk out with a giant bill, and presumably, a healthy cat. Or, like me, you could go in for a simple checkup and walk out with the knowledge that one cat’s pupil is markedly larger than the other, possibly indicating a problem (this requires more tests, of course, and if I really wanted to get serious, a visit to the CAT EYE DOCTOR). It’s never just one thing. And lets not forget the constant maintenance of cat food, which seems to be getting more and more expensive.

Now onto cars.

That's my hunk o' metal golddigger right there. I don't know why I blurred out the license plate. It's what they do on TV. But now that I think about it, thousands of people a day see my license plate when I'm driving, so it's not exactly a secret.

That’s my hunk o’ metal golddigger right there as seen through jungle foliage. If you’d like to know what my bumper magnets are, one is a sad kitty face that says “Republicans Hate Kittens” (and they never seem to get the joke) and “There’s no excuse for animal abuse” – because there isn’t. I don’t know why I blurred out the license plate. It’s what they do on TV. But now that I think about it, thousands of people a day see my license plate when I’m driving, so it’s not exactly a secret.

Unless you have a brand spankin’ new car with a fancy warranty (in which case you’d also have a large car payment and the headache of the immediate depreciation driving off the lot), you have car problems. Having a trusted mechanic in your arsenal is equally as essential as having a trusted vet (I have one of these, too, and I went through a LOT of mechanics before finding Sam, who’s my godsend). Especially if you have a Volvo, which is like having a cat with special needs (okay, that’s a BIT of a stretch, but work with me here). Yesterday I went in for a new headlamp assembly (used, actually – new was a bazillion dollars) because a rock or a BB gun put a nice lil hole in the one I had. And a new hood latch, because the boyfriend broke it opening the hood to look at the headlight assembly when the hole was noticed. While I was there, I discussed having him fix a very slow oil leak that I’d been able to put off because of the very slowness of it. I’d recently noticed more oil where I park my car so I figured it was time. As he pulled my car out, there was a puddle of oil. NOT SO SLOW ANYMORE. So we bumped up that appointment. When I left, I noticed my dashboard light indicating a light out was still on. Brake light, this time. Oh, and my tires are bare. AND it’s almost time for timing belt replacement. And like the constant supply of cat food that’s needed, the car requires a constant influx of gas.

So I’ve come to the conclusion that I basically work to support my cats and my car. Neither of them appreciate it.

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I’ve invested more in my cats than in my 401K.

Part 2 of vet visit. The bill. The one that made me faint.

My vet is not a bargain vet. I could find a cheaper one. But I’ve been to a few, and I’ve learned that the peace of mind that comes with having a vet you have complete confidence in and really like is worth its weight in gold. And I don’t just like my regular vet, either. I like the other vet in the office, and the staff as well. No one talks down to me, everyone patiently listens to my bazillion questions and my overanalyzing. I find that I like women docs more, too. I can probably chalk this up to the fact that I’ve only had interactions with 2 male vets and I didn’t feel like either of them were particularly affable. I’m sure there’s plenty of really awesome male docs. I just haven’t met them. In conclusion, when your cats are your children, nothing is more important. So I’ll happily pay a lil more for their care.

I’d expected a decent-sized bill. I just didn’t expect HOW much.

1. Exam. Expected.

2. Bloodwork. Expected. Not expected? Adding the charge to recheck Taco for FeLV and FIV. Suggested because one of his pupils was noticeably bigger than the other. Apparently, even kitties have been screened for this as babies, it’s recommended that they’re screened again 2 months after moving into forever home. Taco wasn’t, and either of these could be a cause for different sized pupils. This is where paying extra for a good vet comes in…Upon your kitty’s first visit, they take his or her picture for their records, as well as make a little laminated tag to put on the carrier. My vet compared the picture to the live Taco and noted that his pupils were fine in the pic. DETAILS. I LOVE THEM. I haven’t gotten the results back yet. Also another reason I love my vet? They’re super up on technology. They email.

3. Rabies vaccine. Expected. Don’t necessarily agree with this one, but it’s required for his kitty license and if we need to board them on vacay.

4. License. Forgotten about, but expected. Stupid, because they’ll never get out. Of course it’s possible, but my cats are terrified of the outside world. Twice the door has opened accidentally and not noticed for a few hours and no one went near it.

5. Kitty probiotics.

Ask your vet about this if your cat's poop makes you gag.

Ask your vet about this if your cat’s poop makes you gag.

Don’t laugh. Taco has the MOST rank-smelling poo in the world. It’s impossible for me to understand how he and Moosh eat the same thing but comes out SO much more foul from his ass. Adding the probiotics helps a bit. Worth the money. I promise.

6. Revolution.

Die, fleas, die.

Die, fleas, die.

Not expected. Was reminded it’s coming up on flea season again. Wish to avoid an invasion. And yes, I know there’s natural options for fleas but I’ve tried all of them, and trust me, they don’t work in Florida. It’s all dirt here, which is flea heaven.

7. Kitty food.

Urinary health cat food. Yay.

Urinary health cat food. Yay.

Taco’s stupid prescription food. I suppose it’s not horribly expensive but in my eyes, it is for crap food that’s not natural or organic or byproduct-free. But it helps him, so who am I to complain?

And that, my dears, is why Mommy is eating PB&Js for awhile. I never thought I’d spend so much on a vaguely healthy cat. Sigh.

Still waiting for my brats to start working. The slugs are sleeping at the moment.

Get up and make me money.

Get up and make me money.

I’m about to send them out with resumes.

Furballs need to earn their keep.

Lil Bub has had me thinking. Maybe I CAN make money off my cats.

Granted, my boys aren’t internet sensations, nor do they possess such cuteness that comes from having a smushy face and a tongue that constantly sticks out, but I have a ton of marketing savvy at my disposal and at one time I did, in fact, consider myself an artist. Applied to art school and everything. I didn’t actually pursue it farther than that, despite having an excellent portofolio and letters of recommendation (not to took my own horn, but I wasn’t half bad except for painting — colors, argh), though, because I was an idiot at 18 (whoever allows 18-year-olds to make decisions that will affect them for the rest of their lives and results in wasting their talents for 13 years at Big Brown is also an idiot).

I'd wear this. Look at those photoshop skillz! I'm a genius. Of course, I'm banking on the fact that everyone loves neon as much as me.

I’d wear this. Look at those photoshop skillz! I’m a genius. Of course, I’m banking on the fact that everyone loves neon as much as me.

So there’s all kinds of crap for sale on the internet. And apparently people make money off these things. Lil Bub, however, has hip, fun, quality merchandise. It sets him apart. His website is attractive and aesthetic and his pictures are always high quality. He’s not the only famous internet cat, but he’s the one with the documentary. So I need to start merchandising. Get off my retired artist ass and make MeowHearThis a brand. High fashion couture. I could even get the cats doing slave labor and make unique products with paw prints. Just put some paint on their paws and let them run around shit. I can charge more for one-of-a-kind items. God, this is brilliant. I think. Is it?

I probably shouldn’t be writing about this in the event that someone of lesser moral character steals my ideas, but it’s such a wacky pipe dream that I highly doubt anyone will feel it’s viable enough to even poach.

On the other hand, how much does a trademark cost?

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.