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.
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.
Or maybe he’s drunk.
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
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.
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).
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.
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.
If I recall my first encounter with manipulation, my memory will pull me back to swinging on the Lafayette Elementary School playground during recess. A pendulum of children occupied every seat, but Patricia and Amanda felt entitled to a turn. Among the dozen of peers, the two popular yet spoiled puppeteers of young boys selected me.
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Blind Murphy ruined my Sunday by attempting to gouge out my eyes.
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I was bored so I wrote a poem about a handy tool cat owners keep handy.
Shit Scissors: A Poem
I often worry that too many new cat owners have unrealistic assumptions when it comes to the expectations and responsibilities of sharing your home with one or more cats. Because of their romanticized preconception of cat behavior (and for that I blame cat food commercials that hire supernaturally unfinicky actors, cat litter ads that hire one of the few cats alive that actually cover their disgusting waste, and Sarah McLachlan), these stereotypically lonely yet good intentioned people quickly regret their decision. This can result in lashing out when the cat behaves as nature intended it to, returning the cat like an unwanted gift after Christmas, or re-homing the cat who thought it finally found its forever home.
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I often worry that too many new cat owners have unrealistic assumptions when it comes to the expectations and responsibilities of sharing your home with one or more cats. Because of their romanticized preconception of cat behavior (and for that I blame cat food commercials that hire supernaturally unfinicky actors, cat litter ads that hire one of the few cats alive that actually cover their disgusting waste, and Sarah McLachlan), these stereotypically lonely yet good intentioned people quickly regret their decision. This can result in lashing out when the cat behaves as nature intended it to, returning the cat like an unwanted gift after Christmas, or re-homing the cat who thought it finally found its forever home.
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Dear Journal,
Nine years ago, Mr. Tiddles was left behind when his owners moved away. As a matter of fact, the rumor was that when his former owners left, the cat was stranded inside the empty apartment with nothing more than an open bag of cat food. When the new tenant moved in, she kicked him out. With nowhere to go, Mr. Tiddles wasted his days roaming the apartment complex’s parking lot, crouching under parked cars for shade and lapping up the dirty water that collected in the potholes.
Nine years ago, Mr. Tiddles was left behind when his owners moved away. As a matter of fact, the rumor was that when his former owners left, the cat was stranded inside the empty apartment with nothing more than an open bag of cat food. When the new tenant moved in, she kicked him out. With nowhere to go, Mr. Tiddles wasted his days roaming the apartment complex’s parking lot, crouching under parked cars for shade and lapping up the dirty water that collected in the potholes.
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Dear Journal,
So this happened:
I understand if your brain is incapable of processing the oddity pictured, so let me explain. That is my deaf cat, Zoe. She has poor motor skills due to a mild case of cerebellar hypoplasia. Somehow she is face-up, tightly crammed into a bathroom drawer.
