Cat counseling

Ok, sorry to all my loyal fans out there (I feel certain there are at least three people who have read my blog). I only work four days a week, and I don't have the internet -- or a computer, for that matter -- at home.

The nice thing about having three days off is it gives me plenty of time to listen to hisses, growls, yowls, and bird-like chirping (that's another blog) -- as well as the delightful thud of 20+ pounds of cat hitting the floor every time the goddamn things take a lap --while I try to sleep. Not to mention the lovely tickle of sixteen sets of razor-sharp claws digging into my flesh as they attempt to hurdle the bed. They're not very good at it.

But with patience and a bachelor's degree, all things are possible (Wow. Sarah was right, I am profound after a night of tequila and also a lot of tequila, plus some tequila). Anyway, my point is that we've been doing some counseling -- cat therapy, if you will -- and I think we're making progress. And by counseling, I mean that I have the spray bottle handy at all times, so my apartment is full of four very wet cats most of the time.

So, by progress, I guess I mean that Gracie doesn't lie in wait and swipe at poor Stuey as much anymore, and Luca has expanded her horizons to the top of my bookshelf and my dresser, from which I subseqently had to remove all delicate and/or precariously balanced items. Pete is still too dumb to know what's going on, so we leave him out of the cat therapy sessions. But we love him.

OK, that's about my limit for coherent trains of thought for today, and I'm not even sure that train was particularly coherent.

Also, why does my pandora insist on playing, firstly, five techno songs in a row, and secondly, a reggae cover of the Police's "Message in a Bottle"?

Just asking.

Catus

Well, my three days in the Dive seem to have done nothing for my cats, but boy was it great for me to pretend I was neither crazy nor a cat lady for a short time.
Cat Status (heretofore known as Catus):
Pete: Still mustachioed. Still tipping the scales at >20 lbs. Would very much like to sniff Luca's butt, but she's rather uncooperative. Awkward!
Luca: Still furry. Still climbing to the highest possible perch she can find. Perhaps her reluctance to have Pete's mustache in the vicinity of her buttocks has something to do with the cut above her eye and a suspicious lack of fur in that area. Then again, maybe she got in a knife fight in Mexico. It's hard to say.
Stuart: Still one green eye and one blue. Curiouser and curiouser about our new houseguests. Not curious enough to approach them, however. He's a tidge sharper than Pete, and knows that "Curiousity killed the cat" is a saying for a REASON, people. However, he and Gracie are in the midst of a heated battle for the coveted under-the-bed territory.
Gracie: Still morbidly obese with a disproportionately tiny head. Also, a total bitch. She is not having any of this, and just to prove it she chased poor Stuart -- who, by the way, has at least 10 lbs. on her and lacks the belly-drag that slows his pursuer down -- all around the house. Well, not a house per se, but the 1.5 rooms of my apartment.

Stay tuned.