A few days ago, I stood on my patio and witnessed a stray, black cat vomit a live worm into the mulch under my neighbor’s hydrangea.

I told my husband about it immediately. How could I not? I had never seen a living creature vomit up another living creature before. It was remarkable and, I’m sure, burned into my long-term memory. I felt like I had witnessed a phenomenon only seen in sci-fi movies.

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When a Straynger Calls

August 28, 2020 — 9 Comments

There is a homeless cat that shares time between our and our neighbor’s patio. He seems friendly and loves belly rubs, but since the outskirts of Laura passed over our home this morning, he’s been sitting at our back door, staring in for hours.

There may not be any Micmac burial grounds around here (I don’t think), but that’s some Pet Sematary-looking shit right there.

Should I call animal control? The police? A priest?

If you don’t hear from me next week, please call the authorities and tell them that the suspect is an adult male (?) black cat with a wounded left eye.

Predator Face fell asleep watching squirrels this morning.

I understand that he was tired (Hell, he wakes me up at 4 am to be fed), but I didn’t realize he was face-against-the-glass-head-on-the-pneumatic-closure tired.

Sleeping cat

Or maybe he’s drunk.

The Caturday Report

August 22, 2020 — 2 Comments

Is it just me or does this pic look like we’re about to drop an album?

F*%k all y’all muthaf#%kin’ honkey-a$$ crackas! – Predator Face

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Predator Face partook in a little catnip abuse this morning, and his behavior ever since has been embarrassing and intolerable.

I made this post for you to share with your heathens because once they see the effects of catnip from an outsider’s perspective, maybe they’ll just say no (similar to how I said “no” after being scared shitless in the early 80s watching Helen Hunt snort something some guy made in chemistry class before she threw herself through a second story window and sliced her arm with glass shards in a lovely made-for-TV movie called Desperate Lives that the whole family can enjoy).

Now, you aren’t going to see Predator Face go Helen-Hunt-in-Desperate-Lives level of nuts, but maybe nuts enough to teach your heathens that drugs just aren’t hip or cool.

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Is My House Haunted?

August 17, 2020 — 11 Comments

Apparently, cats can see ghosts. I’m not saying it’s true. It’s just what I’ve been told.

I bring this up because I was scrolling through my cat pictures recently (looking for a few good ones of Reese for her memorial box) when I can upon this one:

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Happy Caturday

August 15, 2020 — 8 Comments

Just want to wish everyone a happy Catuday. I hope your home remains clean, your carpets hair ball free, and all litter remains in their respective box.

Please give some love to your heathens from me (if they deserve it).

Putting the Cat to Work

August 14, 2020 — 5 Comments

Predator Face said he was bored so I told him to do some filing for me.

His work either reflects his incompetence with basic alphabetizing or dislike of being told what to do.

My guess is a little of both.

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Reese’s health has been declining for a little over two weeks. Kidney issues. At this point she is no longer eating and can only use her back legs for staggering. Tomorrow, my husband and I will send her off after a good, long life.

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Other people cats are a more fun to watch than my own because cats belonging to other people don’t flare my temper by galloping through the house at 3:34 am or shitting on the floor. Other peoples cats don’t shed in my house or scratch on my furniture. I don’t have to put other people’s cats in timeout for chewing on their brother’s thigh (weirdos). I don’t have to beg other people’s cats to eat their dinner, reminding them that they liked the can of tuna and chicken yesterday. If you, too, have five cats in your home, you probably understand where I’m coming from. If not, you are a fortunate soul. Allow my life to be a cautionary tale.

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In case you’re wondering why I still consider myself a reluctant cat owner:

Fucking cat.

My Cat Caught Fire

April 2, 2020 — 5 Comments

[No animals were harmed in the making of this post.]

Judging a parent’s ability to manage their children used to be easy. While observing kids eating candy from a dirty floor, crossing the street into oncoming traffic, or cramming objects into an electrical outlet (to name a few), I’d smugly think, ‘If that were my kid, I’d never let it do that.’

Then I got cats.

As a guardian to five of them, I’ve fucked up, too. They’ve been locked in closets, kicked in dark hallways, and even lost in the attic that one time. Because of this, my priggish viewpoint when bearing witness to ignorant or unruly children has evolved to one of pity. Besides, who am I to judge since my deaf cat caught fire this past Sunday?

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To most, a cat owner is often stereotyped as being asocial or a solitudinarian. To these shallow cretins, people with cats are as pestiferous as the agoraphobic, online gamers, and those with an addiction to porn so severe it makes God ashamed for inventing sex organs. But 87% of you who are reading this know the truth: cat owners can be just as social as any average person; therefore, they bear just as much responsibility for preventing the spread of COVID-19 through social distancing as you.

But cat owners have an advantage, a built in defense against socialization that 74.6% of households lack: the combination of a lap and an entitled cat.

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Because of my cavus feet, I sat in a narrow waiting room of my ortho’s office this morning. I became anxious for the nurse to announce my name because the space embodied frowzy. The fluorescents in the ceiling cast a sickly, greenish tint onto the cheap, beadboard-panel walls. The dull, laminate floor tiles conveyed a history of abuse, marred by years of scuffs and scratches. The worn and frayed cushioning of the benches recalled a color palette from the Brady-era, indicating decades of negligence in upgrading the lobby furniture. There’s no telling how many stranger farts those passé cushions absorbed over the decades, and this troubled me.

To distract my attention, I pondered a recently-viewed episode of a documentary series about how our brain paints a picture of reality based on learned sensory clues such as shadows, light, and depth. What I found fascinating, though, is how the mind can be tricked into overlooking something right before your eyes until it is pointed out to you such as a spelling error or a stain or a series of poor life choices that result in a lengthy era of multiple cat adoptions.

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Predator Face

March 8, 2020 — 9 Comments

His foster name was Joshua. Not very clever, but I suppose if you were tasked with naming half a dozen new cats a day like the good people at Memphis Pets Alive, your well of memorable names would run dry, too. If it were up to me, I’d open a random page of the dictionary, close my eyes, and point. Some potential adopters may disapprove, but let’s be honest; you’d never forget a name like Froth, Pusillanimity, Nudie, or Hepaticocholangiogastrostomy.

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