Archive for the ‘The Cat’ Category

While I have been having massive quantities of awesome wine fun with Daisy (still not a serial killer), Slappy has spent about 30 emotionally draining hours holding vigil for Karma.

He placed fliers around our neighborhood, he spoke with a local restaurant that feeds strays, he slept on the couch downstairs with both the front and the back doors open waiting for Karma to come home. He walked around the neighborhood whistling (because Karma cannot help but come to you when you whistle. She’s not part dog, but the way she looks, she might have eaten one once) and all to no avail.

And then tonight, as it was getting cold out, he stepped into the back yard to see if any of the catfood outside had been eaten, he whistled and she responded.

She was under the house.

She’s found.

She’s home.

She’s fine.

And tomorrow, when I get home? I’m kicking her ass. And maybe telling you about the wild antics of the blog meet up in Chicago, wherein like 32 bottles of wine were consumed and I’m pretty sure I almost got my first concussion.

Things are SO looking up. You know, minus the big-ass lump on the back of my head.

Karma (the cat) has joined the wedding diet. Besides forcing the cat to eat less and get her to lose a pound in 4 months, apparently we also have to check her butt for pulsating lumps that could signify worms as a result of her ingesting any of the fleas that were found on her today.

Um yea, that’s just all different kinds of never going to happen.

Our cat is a hunter. A mean, ferocious, hunter. About 3 or 4 months ago she was downstairs doing her hunting thing and we heard her make that victorious trip up the stairs (it sounds vaguely reminiscent of a herd of elephants thumping up the stairs). She ran into The Fiance’s room, where we were sitting on the bed playing video games (yea, we’re that kind of dorks), and she dropped her catch and rubbed against us triumphantly. So we prepared to dispose of whatever carcass she brought, only we genuintely couldn’t figure out what it was. It looked a little like a cat turd, or a hair ball, and then eventually, we realized it had arms. And legs. And a tail. It was a lizard. By far the deadest lizard there has ever been (in relaying this story to my sister on the phone she thought I said “bed wizard” instead of dead lizard, which, I think is an ironically good description). It was so dead it hardly even resembled a lizard at all, but I think that about 2 weeks before that point, it was one. Yep, our cat is a hunter.

About 3 days ago, I spotted a lizard right off our front porch. I did my usual run up and try to spook it away so that we didn’t step on it (and because really, I enjoy freaking them out a little), but it didn’t move. The Fiance said it had been there the day before and surely it was dead. We got home a few hours later and the lizard was there, but it had turned 1/4 of a turn to the left. The next morning, it had turned another quarter. And this ridiculously slow movement has continued. Yesterday I caught it in action and saw it’s foot move, so it’s not dead, it’s just moving REALLY REALLY slowly. Our new housemate suggested that we put it out of it’s misery, which I hadn’t even really considered. It doesn’t seem to be in pain, I think it’s just officially adopted the sedentary lifestyle of a true New Orleanian. That’s a lizard I can get behind.

Excuse me while I eat my apple fritter on the couch. The wedding diet doesn’t begin until I leave the state…

I was awakened at 2:45 this morning by what I can only describe as an apocalyptic storm. And no, I’m not even exaggerating one bit. Really, the world may have come to a halt briefly around 3 this morning. Or perhaps it was just the top of my blood pressure reaching the 3000 mark. Whatever it was, I woke up this morning and toyed with the idea of constructing my own ark. Only, you know, without the animals. I’m pretty sure God would frown upon the situation, but frankly, besides my cat, I have no desire to save any animals around here.

The native creatures here include the biggest cockroaches on the face of the earth. They’re roughly the size of my freakishly big foot and oddly, I’m the only person in the house capable to dealing with them. Last night, some unnamed adult male FREAKED out because there was a cockroach in the trashcan (which to me seems like a pretty great place for one). So I went to close it and a tiny little infant cockroach fell on the floor, which I squished and threw it into the garbage bag. No harm, no foul. I had no sooner grabbed the bag when the queen mother of the cockroaches emerged and made a break for my hand. I don’t know much, but I’m pretty sure the cockroach was developing opposable thumbs. And claws. And poisonous fangs. After regaining my composure (and finding a new pair of underwear), I sealed the bag and threw it away, bugs and all.

Another native species we’re currently dealing with are caterpillars. Yes, you heard me right. They’re very cute and fuzzy looking, but they sting like a bee. Not in the metaphorical way either, they literally sting you. It’s sort of confusing. It’s like if Snuggles the fabric softner bear had vampire fangs.

And finally, the last, and perhaps most demeaning native animal is the neighbor’s cat, who comes over to flaunt his thin frame in front of our extra extra wide cat. For the record cat, our cat doesn’t need to see you, she’s not “overweight”, she’s just big boned. And has a large frame. And LOVES cat food. And people food. And bugs. And dust bunnies. And virtually anything small enough to be ingested, and a few things that are too big. Sigh, I’m sure we’ll never figure out her weight problem.

I suppose this is all part of the beauty of the South. And by beauty I mean super pain in the ass-ness.