In three hours, I will officially be a crazy cat lady. I decided to start this blog because I think it is the only way I can deal with having four cats in a studio apartment that I am technically allowed to have only one cat in. This way it's funny and perhaps a bit ironical, or something, rather than sad and crazy. And catty.
Embo moved away to Costa Rica, leaving Gracie and Luca without a home. They stayed with my parents for a month, and finally found their comfort zones: Luca's was the four-inch gap at the top of the kitchen cabinets and Gracie's was anywhere with remnants of catnip. However, my mom and dad for some reason decided they couldn't keep Bessie the 80-pound Great Pyrenees, Trixie the tiny slutty cat, Westley the cat with fur in unusual places, Gracie the morbidly obese feline with a tiny head, and Luca the weird hermit who only eats dog food in their one-bedroom apartment in some old lady's attic. I know, ridic.
So G & L are on their way to Helena to become my maladjusted housecats once more. I have two cats already there -- huge, giant, enormous cats. Pete weighs 20 pounds and has a mustache, no joke (see photo -- told ya), and Stuart is pure white and has a genetic abnormality which placed his anal glands on the outside of his butt. I realize that's disgusting, but the vet said he was the only animal she's ever seen with that particular gluteal arrangement, so I feel it's worth mentioning. Anyhoo, I predict much hissing and scratching and threatening posture in the next week or so.
And there's nowhere to hide, because, as I mentioned before, I live in a studio apartment. So I'm leaving for a week, and I hope I don't come back to any dead cats, let alone four.
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