Archive for the ‘The Cat’ Category
There is a lot that I want to write, but I’m exhausted right now, physically and emotionally. I don’t have words for my frustration because it seems like every time I get a handle on it, another shoe, somewhere in the distance that I didn’t even see floating there, drops. With a life-altering thud. And I’ve decided to retreat back into denial where it’s a lot easier to pretend that these things don’t hurt.
So while I pack and try to get myself ready for what will hopefully be a whirlwind, life issue avoiding, wonderful time in New York, I leave you with my cats. Because I think we really just need some kitties all up in here.
Oh hi Karma, I thought since you were in the basket and I wanted to be in the basket, that I’d just join you.
You’ve got a little something there, just let me get it for you.
Mother. We do not like the flash.
I’m almost done.
Wait, where are you going?
So I think I’ve made no secret of the fact that I am a cat person. It started when I was fairly young and we got a kitten. A kitten who grew up into the meanest cat of all time. I’m not exaggerating. This cat loved nothing more than drawing blood on unsuspecting people. He was psychotic. My sister’s guy friends in high school would literally refuse to enter our house until someone locked the cat up, that’s how bad he was. He scared everyone. He also played fetch. I’m convinced he was an evil genius.
Anyways, one morning when I was in 7th or 8th grade, we heard a cat meowing outside our door. Since Arsenio (yes, that was his name, and sigh, yes, he was a black cat…) had the frightening ability to let himself out via the sliding screen door (by jumping on it, climbing up and then swinging his body weight, and with it the door, until it opened), we assumed it was him. So we opened the door and in walked a small black and white kitty. My mom was not interesting in having a cat and she told us to put it back outside, but we could give it some food. She said over and over again that it was someone else’s kitty.
That afternoon when I got home from school, someone else’s kitty was crying in the bushes, and it was raining. So I let someone else’s kitty in. And though my mother was hesitant at first (she insisted upon calling it someone else’s cute kitty, which we shortened to SECK, until the one time we made it plural. There’s something disturbing about your teenage daughter telling you that SECK’s in the laundry room.), but eventually she came around. And someone else’s kitty became our kitty. We named her Whiskers, but called her little kitty.
Mama Kitty was the SWEETEST cat. She never bit, she didn’t destroy things. She just loved everyone and everything always. She was one of those cats that converted non-cat people into cat people. When we moved into a new house a few years later, she developed this weird habit. Or ritual, maybe. Every night we would hear her making this bizarre meowing sound while she walked back and forth between the living room and right outside my bedroom door. And each morning when I woke up there would be a pile of pens and pencils outside my door.
And every afternoon, I would get home from school and there would be the same pile of pens and pencils, but then they would be at the chair where I did my homework. Because Mama Kitty? She was a helper. One time we heard her making the low pitched meow and thought she was dying because it sounded so much scarier than usual. When we looked around the corner we saw she was bringing me a small cylindrical flashlight. In her mouth. She decided that her job was to bring me things. Because she was an awesome cat.
A few weeks ago, I was just about to fall asleep when I heard a familiar cat sound. It was the strange lower pitched meow. I got up because I thought one of our cats might be hurt and I saw Karma, my husband’s cat, with a toy. She bellowed as she brought the (mostly unstuffed) pug doll into our room. When I got home from school the next afternoon, it was in the living room, where I did my homework. And every day and night since then she has brought it into our room while we sleep and then back into the living room for us.
And I know it seems silly, and yes, the pug toy is much less helpful than the pens and pencils were, but every time I hear that meow, it brings me right back to high school. Back to our old house. Back to Mama Kitty and her pens and pencils. And though the meowing wakes me up almost every single night, I secretly love it.
About a week ago, Slappy and I decided we had waited long enough to get our cats their yearly shots (don’t worry, this isn’t another vaccine post. My head hurts way too much to be controversial tonight) and that we needed to get them this week while he had time to take them both in.
And so it is only natural that they heard us and have been the very cutest versions of themselves all week.
Which is good, because it makes up for when they hissed and spit at both the vet assistants AND Slappy at their appointment today.
I can only imagine how much sweeter they’ll be after they hear that they’re going to be on antibiotics for a week starting tonight. Help us all.
A year ago last week, I finally wore my husband down and we went to a shelter to see about getting a second cat. Well, a kitten really, because there’s just nothing sweeter in the whole world than a fuzzy, purry, cat-nappy kitten. The kitten we picked at the shelter was calm and sleepy, he didn’t hiss at us when we picked up him and he groomed my hair a little (it probably needed it). We were sold on that tiny gray and white kitten.
When we finally brought him home, we were a bit surprised. Our tranquil kitten was, well, feisty as all hell. And our other, already slightly grumpy cat? Was the grumpiest creature on earth.
We finally gave him a name, Jacques-Imo, but the day we named him that may be the last time he was called that, aside from when he’s in trouble. He usually goes by Shmo, or Moses, or Shmo Bro, or Shmoses. Or Mos Def, naturally. To be honest, he probably gets called “little kitty” or “STOP THAT” more than anything else.
I know it’s hard to believe that this sweet face can cause trouble, but be ye not fooled. He is pure trouble. Adorable, adorable trouble.
With time, he and Karma made peace. Well, he still tries to mount her about thirty times a day. That’s normal, right?
His very favorite thing in the whole wide world is food. Any food, any time, any place. I’ve never been as excited about anything as my cat is about eating the exact same food, three times a day, every day. It would be cute if it didn’t involve so many early morning sleep disturbances. He also loves him some chips or crackers, which we never give him, but he hasn’t met a box or bag he can’t get into yet. And he has even been known, on occasion, to walk off with entire tacos while my husband isn’t paying attention.
He may be a year old, but he’s still a kitten at heart.
And also a ninja (that video is really a testament to my inability to be a normal person. I apologize for the crazy voice at the end. I have a problem).
But beyond being adorable, sweet, a little mean to Karma, and a ninja, he’s my cat. And I love him so much I sometimes worry about loving him more than my future kids.
Don’t judge me.
He’s my Shmo. You’d love him too, trust me.
Slappy and I got our first cat, Karma, in 2005. She was a teeny tiny kitten, and sweet as she could be. I loved her almost a ridiculous amount. Which is why it makes perfect sense that she’s mean and hates me. She’s possibly the grouchiest cat you’ll ever meet.
And from the day she became such a moody jerk, I begged Slappy to let me get a second cat. Because Karma? Loves Slappy. So I needed my own cat. And he said that when we moved, we could get a new one. So true to his word, about 10 minutes after we finished moving, we got a kitten. Jacques-Imo.
The transition with Karma was…loud. And stressful. Because the kitten so badly wanted to be Karma’s best friend, and Karma wanted to kill it when it slept.
Which was often, in case you wondered…
Thankfully, things have settled between the two of them. Because frankly, the kitten, who is really a cat now, is more than enough work. Never have I encountered a more mischievous animal in my life.
For example, easily half of the corners of carpet in our house have been torn up and shredded. Did you hear that? That was the sound of our deposit check being cashed. Or how he runs around the house at lightning speed knocking any foods or beverages that might be on a table top onto the ground. He’s especially gifted at knocking over the dark colored ones.
My personal favorite was the pomegranate juice. Do you know what gets pomegranate juice out of light colored carpet? NOTHING. Nothing gets it out.
He’s also food obsessed. He’ll eat any and everything, whether you offer it or not. He has stolen pears, chips, crackers, entire strips of chicken, tomatoes (which are horrible for cats, I KNOW), cookies (sugar and chocolate chip) and basically every food except the one thing the vet told me to give him for an upset stomach (likely related to one of the cookie incidents), pumpkin. Of course.
But mostly, he’s become the most loving cat ever. He snuggles and cuddles and purs, and unlike the other cat, doesn’t stand on you, commanding attention but then biting the ever living shit out of you when you give it.
And if you need proof that he’s really my cat, look no further. He’s already excellent at twitter.
Though he struggles with the character count. But then again, don’t we all?
This kitten has broken every rule that cats live by. He is an absolute love slut, he is not deterred by gravity, or as we’ve discovered recently, water. There are about 12 more videos just like this because this happens every. single. day. My carpet suffers the most.
What can I say? He’s super freaky…
(In the interest of sparing some of you from my oversharing, I’m going unembed the video and give you the option of clicking and watching the video only if you want to. It is a far bit of hilarity, but also involves a good amount of my husband’s unclothed legs. And that’s probably the kind of thing you should have a choice about checking out, eh? So click at your own risk/choice.)
So, um, I have nothing to write about.
I have many more twitterable thoughts that I could list as I did last night, like how my groceries were just delivered to my door for free. Or how my foot mysteriously keeps erupting in painful pins and needles. Oh how I didn’t realize that Michael Jackson was still alive (until today obviously), but nothing of any interest.
So I’m going to bombard you with pictures. Pictures of the tiny little ball of fur who has kept me from sleeping solidly for 11 days. The ball of fur I’ve chased back into the house twice, I’ve plucked out of the refrigerator, laundry closet, TOILET, bath tub and from underneath Karma’s fat flaps more times than I can recall.
In case you wondered, we’ve moved from hostility (which included growling and hissing 24 hours a day) to fighting, that sometimes seems like playing and sometime seems like Jacques might lose his jugular vein. We pull Karma off of him all the time, but frankly, I can’t blame her since he’s decided that her tail is the BEST. TOY. EVER. If you bit my ass, I’d probably bite your neck too. So far there have been no true injuries and he is entirely and completely unphased by being constantly smothered.
What he does more than anything else, however, is sleep. All damn day because how on earth could he bite our faces all night long if he slept then? Right?
And in case you wondered, he’s 100% boy.
Only, you know, sterile and stuff.
So, after days of pouring through your 51 comments with name suggestions, and after picking up our little ball of fur and energy, we have a name.
We decided that this little wonder cat…
should be named…
If you don’t know New Orleans, you probably won’t understand this, but it’s the name of my very favorite restaurant there. I had wanted to call him Crabby Jack (owned by the same person as Jacques-Imo’s), but the kitten who was calm and timid at the shelter is one rambunctious kitty. And not even slightly crabby. He does everything like it should have exclamation points! all! the! time! It’s pretty hilarious.
No one actually suggested this specific name here, but Stacey was the closest with Jacques, so Stacey, shoot me an email (firstname.lastname@example.org) and I’ll get your prize out!
In case you were wondering how Karma was reacting, the answer is NOT WELL. Jacques wants to be her best! friend! and she wants absolutely nothing to do with him. See for yourself…
And to keep yourself more entertained, a video. It’s very dark, but if you listen closely you can hear the sounds of loathing from Karma and the complete indifference to those sounds that Jacques has.
Okay, so in honor of the fact that I’ve FINALLY determined what to send to the last contest winner from, um, a year ago, I’m hosting a new contest. But before I get to the details, Robin, if you’re reading, send me your new address and I’ll get your prizes shipped out asap. I’m SO sorry that I’m such a jerk. If it makes you feel better, Slappy guilt trips me about it all. the. time.
Onto the contest. Today, Slappy and I adopted a new kitten. We can’t pick him up until Sunday because of some new rules that state that shelter kitties need to be spayed/neutered (or as they said, “altered”) before they can be adopted, so the new kitty will be having that done this weekend.
Before you can choose names, you need to know a few things. First of all, this is not our first cat. We have one already, a beautiful and amazingly obese cat named Karma. See for yourself…
He’s SO sweet and cuddly, but he is without a name. Slappy had come up with the most adorable plan for the new kitty. He suggested that we get a female and call her Annie. As in Annie Versary. I know. But, we ended up with a boy and while we could do Andy, I just don’t like it as much.
Your mission, should you choose to accept it, is to help us find a name for this critter. We do not want to match his name to Karma’s, so scratch Nirvana, Moksha and Shiva off your list now. We also want to differ from the standard names like Smokey and Buster. But other than that, it’s up to your creativity. If, by chance, we come up with the name ourselves, we’ll give the prize to our favorite entry.
Speaking of prizes, what are you playing for? Well, after unloading my kitchen, I came across my favorite non-registry gift from our wedding. It was thoughtful and fun and will probably be among all the wedding gifts I give from now on. I believe mine are from Williams Sonoma, but they don’t sell them online, so the winners (and Robin!) will be receiving 2 of these Cup-A-Cake Cupcake Takers!
You can pick your colors and everything!
So, go forth, think about it and then leave your suggestions in the comments. We can’t wait to sift through them and hopefully find a name for our kitten, who, for now is going by his sorcerer’s name: He-who-must-be-named.
(The contest will go until Saturday at 12:01 am, please only leave names on this post. Comment with as many or few as you want, and make sure that you identify yourself somehow, even if you’re commenting anonymously, so as to prevent my husband from cheating again. Because the pull of being ethical isn’t enough.)
So, about a month ago, Slappy and I were changing the sheets on our bed and Slappy put our cat, Karma, into a pillowcase. For whatever reason, I decided to videotape this endeavor.
When I watched this video last week after uploading it, I could not help but share this gem with the internets. Because, not only is it a video about our cat, but it is a true glimpse into our lives.
Things you should know before watching this:
a) I am a HORRIBLE photographer. And therefore, there’s like nothing to see. It’s really and audio glimpse into our lives.
b) I mumble. A lot. Turn your speakers up.
c) He did hit me. But not hard.
d) At the time, everything that came out of our dryer smelled…musty. Or sweaty. And frankly, a little like balls. Which is a horrible image, I know, but it did. And hence my comment and then Slappy’s signature song.
e) He’s not my mother.