Millions of Cats

This blog is hilarious.

2009-01-12T13:54:00.001-08:00

You should read it!

I should work on writing it again.

Shout out!

2008-08-19T20:02:00.001-07:00

Dear friend and college roommate Kendall now works for the city of Seattle and her (very important) job currently focuses on dealing with all the homeless pets in the city. While brainstorming, she came up with -- among other equally brilliant solutions, I'm sure -- this: "Option 4: Send all the homeless cats to eliz."

Unfortunately, I must decline. My lungs, you see, are full of cat hair, and I do not come equipped with a Hepa filter. But thanks, as always, for thinking of me and my furry addiction.

Enabler.

CoTW (Cat of the Week)

2008-05-27T14:49:00.000-07:00

New feature! Created exclusively to showcase the Hot Goss Princess's mom's cat, Cloudy.

Now, Cloudy may be HGPMom's cat, but she truly lives for the days the HGP spends in Boulder.

"She just follows me around everywhere! We sleep together, we eat together, we even pee together. I moved the litter box into the bathroom so that we may never part!" the HGP reports.

Sources close to the family report that Cloudy's affection for the HGP stems largely from the fact that she is often absent from home, resting the blame for Cloudy's "lion cut" hairstyle squarely on HGPMom's shoulders.

"Purrrrrrr purrrrrrr purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr," is all Cloudy will say about her dubiously stylish 'do. "Meow."

This is Luca's favorite spot

2008-05-15T22:52:00.000-07:00

On top of my head. Yes. She finds the perfect spot on the pillow between my head and the wall, taking great care to sit on my hair so I cannot move my head. She then kneads my head, which she may think relaxing but I find rather painful. And she must always be withing chomping distance of my hair, which is delicious. I'm pretty sure her eventual goal is to be able to sit on my head at all times. Like at work. Now that I think about that, I'm intrigued.

Gracie is a panda.

2008-05-15T22:49:00.000-07:00

Seriously. I'm pretty sure.

Pete rules! Go Pete!

2008-05-15T22:31:00.000-07:00

I love Pete. Pete is the bomb diggity (bomb kiggitty?). For reals, y'all.

Pete will let me do anything, I swear, and he just purrrrrrrrs and looks at me like, "God, you're so awesome." But like he means it! Not in that ironical cat manner.

Recently I tallied up all the reasons Pete is the awesome-ist cat around.

1. He lets me hold him like a teddy bear. Up to and including the squeezing. Purr.

2. You can pet him like a dog, with the thumping and the roughness and the biting. What? Biting? Purr purr.

3. I can pull on his whiskers. Why do I want to? I couldn't say. Purr purr purr.

4. He loves smooches. Purr! Smooch!

5. Yeah, he has a mustache.

6. Whenever I am sleeping, he sneaks up and rests his paw on my face. I find this gross, yet endearing

7. See most excellent Pete photo montage at top of post. Exhibit A: Purr! I will love your foot 'till the end of time. Exhibit B: Oh, hello. I was just taking a bath in this here sink. Exhibit C: This is how Pete rides. Dirrty. Check it... purrty. Hee.

2008-03-30T22:34:00.000-07:00

Gracie and Pete having a scary cat face-off.

Catus! New catus!

2008-03-30T22:13:00.001-07:00

Wow, it's been forever. I know this because my mother is constantly telling me, "Wow, it's been forever since you posted on your blog." She keeps me up-to-date.

Pete and Luca seem to have formed some sort of relationship. If you define a relationship as Pete calmly following Luca from room to room as she frantically darts around, trying to escape. I don't know if it's his impressive size, or what, but he seems to have no trouble maintaining a leisurely pace as she panics. No hissing or anything, either, he just seems really interested in what she's doing. Which, most of the time, is licking her butt. Or knocking things over. Pete has also taken to pacing around the apartment meowing his tiny head off. I think perhaps it happens when Luca is hiding. He luffs her! But it's annoying, so knock it off, Pete!

Besides avoiding Pete's advances (of friendship, I think it's safe to say, since Pete doesn't have his manhood any longer), Luca spends a lot of time kneading pinholes into my comforter and meowing like a bird. And sitting on my pillow and trying to eat my hair.

Gracie, on the other hand, seems to be getting crankier in her old age/increasing obesity. She now snores like a pug dog and lets loose with the scariest growls I've ever heard in my life. And when Sarah and Melanie came to visit, we rediscovered that Gracie says "Bless you" when you sneeze! And she knows if you're faking, too. She will only squeak when you let a real sneeze out.

Stuey is still white.

Cat counseling

2008-02-09T18:51:00.001-08:00

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

2008-02-03T15:15:00.000-08:00

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.

Re-entry

2008-01-30T00:38:00.000-08:00

So this morning I hauled about 20 pounds of cat up a flight of stairs and into the elevator. Maybe you think that sounds easy, but I am severely disabled since an inappropriate-to-mention-here incident broke the shit out of my back. Not to mention I have once carried both of my other cats in one carrier, which adds up to approximately 432 pounds of feline, total. But an inappropriately broken back complicates things a bit.

A play-by-play:

1. Set carrier down to strongarm my door closed (it's hard).
2. Pete greets me at the door, because he thinks it goes outside, even though despite his best efforts he has never gotten further than eight feet from the door, and I live on the fourth floor of an enclosed apartment building. No one said he was a smart cat. Pete's brain accounts for maybe .0009 ounces of his total weight.
3. Pete sniffs carrier.
4. Hear hissing from the vicinity of carrier.
5. Wonder where Stuart is.
6. Guestimate that Stuart is under bed.
7. Look under bed.
8. Stuart is indeed under bed.
9. Move carrier approximately 10 feet before I must set it down again because I might die of crippling pain.
10. Rest.
11. Move carrier into bathroom.
12. Shut door.
13. Cannot open door. Worry that I'm going to have to crawl through window between bathroom and kitchen (don't ask).
14. Pry door open.
15. Decide Luca can come into main room if she so chooses.
16. Luca so chooses.
17. Luca chooses to go back into bathroom, because under bed is only other place to hide, and Stuart has laid his claim.
18. Rest.
19. Check on G&L. Gracie is gone. Where could she be?
20. Ah yes, under the tub, curled up in the peeling linoleum, with old (probably lead) paint shavings chipping onto her fur.
21. Leave.

And now I am about to go home and assess the damage. I will report back tomorrow.

C.C.L. minus three hours

2008-01-28T17:48:00.000-08:00

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.