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.
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.
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?
I had kind of a crappy day. Not the kind of crappy day where something goes horribly wrong, leaving one devastated and forlorn — just the kind that leave you feeling like your brain just put on little brain running shoes and participated in a triathlon. The kind where you start out like “Oh, it’s Friday, whatever happens today, it’s still Friday!” and ends with zombie-walking out an hour late, hoping no one who has another question sees you before you can make your escape. The kind where you’re not even finished putting out a fire when another fire jumps in. So by “bad,” I suppose I should say “challenging.” In the long run, I don’t mind these days. I work best under high stress, oddly enough, so although I may look frantic, I’m actually operating in my element. But at the time, all I can think is “WTF WTF WTF” and “No, I don’t have time to look at the YouTube video of my proofreader doing the Harlem Shake, are you crazy?” (It was made by my work, in case you’re wondering. We have a very strict policy encouraging FUN at work. Crazy, right? I still haven’t watched this. Memo: watch that.)
After I zombie-walked out, successfully avoiding any further work, all I wanted was a quiet drive home (I’d already decided to skip the gym…I already felt like I ran a marathon). However, this is FLORIDA, and every old hag who shouldn’t be driving at her advanced age is driving here. As I was stopped at a light, a lil ol’ lady HIT MY EFFING CAR. I mean, she just bumped it. She was shoving herself in my lane from the other lane, for reasons I still do not know. As I looked back screaming, I saw that she was totally clueless. But then, the light changed, and everyone started going. As I pondered what to do, I saw that the lady next to me had seen the whole thing and understood what was going on, so I made a motion asking if there was any damage to my car (I honestly have no idea what motion I made to convey this, but whatever I did was spot-on) and she looked back and shook her head. Then I had to stop again because the car in front of me did (this is what normal people do) and I swear to jeebus she must have been millimeters away from my bumper yet again. I decided that it was unlikely that it would be worth it to stop, as she seemed to not understand what the hell was going on and I figured that being arrested for elderly abuse would really put a cap on the ol’ day. So I turned left. She did not. Which was funny, because she SO needed to get in the left lane a mile back that she HIT MY CAR.
Then I got home. And Taco started meowing. And meowing. And meowing. And meowing. This is hard to admit, and I would never ever ever ever actually do it, I kind of wanted to boot him across the room. I know. I’m a horrible person. But I didn’t, and that counts, right?
I flung myself on the bed with a dramatic flair. Two seconds later, a meowing Taco-rocket came barreling in, almost overshooting. And…he sat on my lap.
I dare you to feel sorry for yourself when a kitten puddle melts on your lap, purring. Warm, cuddly love. The best part? He shut up.
Yeah. My day really wasn’t so bad.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
As you all may know, today was the first day you could pre-order the new iPhone 5. I currently have the 4 (not 4S, pre-Siri) and it’s about time for an upgrade. Why? It just is. Because I’m an adult and I can. So despite the fact that I ordered it before most people are awake, I missed the first boat and will have to wait 2 weeks instead of just one to receive it. Apparently they sold out in an hour. I would have had to be up at 3. Too early for me. I COULD wait in line at the store, but I’m not THAT crazy. I don’t like people and I don’t like waiting. Sounds horrible.
So as I sit here in between jobs (I would normally be at the gym but my leg is incredibly sore, I think I pulled something as usual), I have Taco on my lap purring, and it occurs to me that I could have bought my boys a very nice cat tree with the money I just spent on a cell phone. I barely even use it as a phone. Everything else, yes.
Moosh Moosh needs his shots, too, which is about the price of the phone, that I will be putting off, since I just bought a phone that is better but not incredibly different than the one I currently have (except it’s bigger, thinner, the front facing camera is 720p now, that’s a big deal, if you’ve ever used the front facing camera on the iPhone you will know that there is NO flattering angle even remotely possible).
Beyond the cats, I could have used the money to buy a laptop, which I actually NEED, or rather, I NEED in order to do work while watching football instead of being chained to the desk away from TVs. Which in itself makes me a bad kitty mom to WANT to do that because Taco only sits on my lap when I’m sitting at the computer (like right now – he’s so purry and cute!). He’ll probably feel so alone if I have a computer on my lap instead. He’ll be heartbroken and run away. Moosh will be fine, I suppose, he likes my shoulders better anyway.
But yeah. I’m an iWhore. We all have our vices. Don’t judge.
Yet here I am, writing a blog with a purring Taco curled up like my lap is the only place in the world that’s remotely comfortable. And even that’s a stretch, because he keeps getting up and readjusting and flopping down like his legs are broken. Taco’s a funny cat. He doesn’t do anything halfway. I give him mad props for that. When he loves you, he REALLY REALLY REALLY loves you. When he’s playing with a giant moth, he’s going to play with that hideous thing until…well…until I pick it up and throw it outside. I couldn’t find it half the time, and the few occasions that I did, it was in Taco’s mouth and that just plain grossed me out. I’m really not sure how that thing was even alive, but it was flap-flap-flapping away. Wasn’t really going anywhere. But it sure was fun for Taco. Moosh just kind of tagged along when he felt like it. I guess it was too much work for him to have any real part in it. Besides, Moosh’s specialty is attacking moving lights. He’d starve in the real world. I think he’s a little “special.”
Cat is off my lap. That’s good, because he made a horrible armrest. Too furry.
It’s a rainy, crappy day today and I don’t feel inspired by anything. So this is just some random musings. I didn’t even get to do my weekly retail therapy at Le Boutique Target today. There was thunder and lightning. Lots of it. Sure, I’ve got galoshes for the rain part, but I’m not willing to test out my lightning strikeability anytime soon.
So. Lazy boyfriend, lazy cats, lazy me. Anyone doing anything fun and sunshiny? Don’t tell me, I don’t wanna hear about it. Sigh.
We aren’t TECHNICALLY getting hit with the tropical storm, although it wouldn’t be my first. As a girl born and raised in the SUNNY (hint, hint Mother Nature!) state of Florida, I’m used to it. In fact, where I live is actually a peninsula ON the peninsula of Florida, so I’m really effed if a hurricane comes a knockin’. But it hasn’t…yet. One of my first memories is Hurricane Elena, she came around when I was 3. The eye never really came on land here but most of it did, so we evacuated to what would later be my high school. Fun times.
Back to today. Tropical Storm Debby may be going to Texas, but she is dropping a lot of her back end over here. It hasn’t stopped raining all day. The kind of rain that isn’t even worth venturing to the grocery store in, even if you have really cute pink leopard print galoshes like me. It’s floody, windy, nasty rain. Every time I think it’s getting lighter, it starts deluging again.
So really, perfect weather for doing the work that I am supposed to do this weekend anyway. Oh, and laundry. Supposed to finish that too. But I haven’t started it yet, because Moosh decided he wanted to cuddle, and I can’t say no to a cuddle. I guess he doesn’t like rainy days either. He headbutted me so hard it hurt. Violent snuggler.
So I have wasted a large part of my day already in bed with a book and a cat. But really, is there any other way one SHOULD spend such a craptastic day?
I bought my cats a 6-pack of those real-fur mousies. This is not a great vegan purchase, but they love them. This is why I have to buy more of them, because they disappear. Every once in awhile, we’ll find a cache of them hidden somewhere, like a closet or under the sofa, but when I LOOK in those places I never find them.
Taco will go apeshit over them. He spent an hour stalking, throwing and batting them.
“Go get the video camera,” I said to myself. “This would make a lovely video blog post.”
Except when the video camera goes on, all action stops. As far as I can tell, there is no way for the cats to actually know they are being recorded. There’s no flashing red light. No whirring of a shutter. It’s effing digital.
Taco went from “whoa dude, I’m totally stoned” to “methed out mouse fiend” the SECOND I put it down.
They’re such a-holes.
I’m vegan. This is partially because I have never really been a big fan of meat, partially because I find slaughterhouse stories revolting, partially because I really like animals and helped along by reading Skinny Bitch.
It is absolutely AMAZING to hear the reactions from people when I tell them I am vegan. Sometimes they feel the need to defend their meat eating, as if I care. Some ask me “Well, what do you EAT, then?” Dirt. I eat dirt. What exactly do you think I eat? What do YOU eat that you think meat, dairy and eggs are the ONLY sources of sustenance?
My favorite is when people ask me if my cats are vegan.
I am a lover of science. A devotee of evolution. A student of logic. I understand, know, and appreciate that cats are carnivores. Their little bodies are made to eat meat. I probably know more than I should about how they have different enzymes than humans do, to help process all the flesh they eat. How their stomachs are longer to digest, but have a smaller intestinal tract. Why would I buck the trend and try to perfect what Mother Nature already perfected? There’s a food chain. Some things are meant to be eaten. Some things are meant to eat. I could make the argument that humans are meant to be herbivores, but I’ll refrain here. Vegan conversion is not my goal, it’s my personal choice.
So yes. I feed my cats what they are supposed to eat. I am a little too squeamish to do the raw food diet, and with Taco’s Feline Idiopathic Cystitis, he’s on prescription food anyway.
Here is where I will rant. Cat food is CRAP. Total and utter crap. Grocery store brands? You might as well serve your cat roadkill that’s been sitting out for days and crapped on by other half dead animals. It’s disgusting. I’m sure there are plenty of people who think I’m ridiculous for only wanting to feed my cats organic food without chicken meal and grain and fill, but I wouldn’t stuff myself with fast food pink slime, so why would I do it to my cats? This prescription food he has to eat, it helps him not form crystals, avoiding a very expensive-to-fix blockage, but it is made with CRAP. My vet had an amazingly long discussion with me about my aversion to feeding him this ick. Because I trust her and because she had this amazingly long conversation with me about my aversion to feeding him this ick, I listened. In the end, he’s eating the ick. I’d rather not rush him to the emergency vet or have him die because I am too stubborn to feed him what is apparently the ONLY scientifically proven thing to help him. I tried feeding Mooshie the good stuff and Taco the prescription, but Moosh is a stupidly picky eater and will only eat the crap. He won’t even touch wet food, which I know is bad but I can’t FORCE him to eat it. I will shamefully admit that I have, once or twice, KIND OF smushed his face in it a little, just to nudge him into eating it. It doesn’t work. I just give them lots of water and leave it at that.
I wake up to go to work earlier than a lot of people, 5:30ish. I’m not that far from work and I don’t take too long to get ready (unless I’m having a fat day, in which case I will put on a million outfits and hate/feel like a sausage in all of them) so I can hit snooze a few times. It’s still early. Lately the cats have been sleeping with us. This is a fairly new thing, before, they only liked sleeping with us when it was cold. We live in Florida, so that’s not a lot.
Moosh either sleeps on my feet or on my pillow, giving my head very little space. This is mostly ok with me. At any given point, Taco will be draped over me, stretched along my side, or also at my feet. Also mostly ok with me. It’s kind of odd that they sleep on my side because I am not a still sleeper. The boyfriend has complained myriad times about getting kneed, punched and elbowed (until we got a king, SO NICE!).
This is all besides the point. On mornings that I have to wake up to go to work, everyone is extra snuggly, making it much harder to get out of bed. Purring furballs vs. work — I love my job and all but nothing beats kitty and bed.
I’m pretty much a morning person anyway. But I would like to sleep in a LITTLE TINY BIT on the weekends. Not asking much. 9? Even 8?
The cats are transformed into monsters on weekend mornings, generally around the time I would wake up for work. They crawl in and out of the window, disturbing the drapes and letting in light, knocking things over loudly, stepping all over me and meowing.
I understand that cats are not capable of rational thinking and spiteful actions, but sometimes I wonder…