get a basset. or a b.collie

the cats needed food so yesternoon found me in the catfood aisle, which always makes me grumpy. why should i spend MY money on animals that, when they're not sleeping, are puking up half-digested small mammals, fighting in the middle of the night or shitting in the flowerbeds? where is the return on investment here?

standing in the catfood section inevitably brings up these sorts of existential questions and i was cranky as jean paul when a couple rolled up, she in Chanel sunglasses, he in a McNabb jersey. they were talking about how to stock up for her parents who'd be house-sitting this weekend.

- and we need catfood - she said as she breezed by fragrantly and stopped in front of the Fancy Feast. ha-fucking-ha. as if.
- i got catfood last week. it's in the basement. remember?
- oh no. that's not good enough for my mother.
my man grabs that pass...
- well, she ain't gotta eat it. does she.
...and runs it into the endzone.

i give him the victory-sign; he grins over her shoulder and she turns around, curious, but i'm already sliding away with my $3.99 bag of NutraCat. ON SALE bitches.

- why do you buy this shit? - D asks later - the cats won't eat it.
i'm unrepentant.
- good. they're too fat anyway.
- seriously. why can't you just buy the stuff they like?
- they'll eat it eventually. quit worrying.
and the evening went downhill from there.

cats. so not worth it.

they call me the Eumenides

last night during dinner D looked out the window and frowned.

- what the... oh. look. skankyAsshat's eating a creature.
and so she was, nom nom nom, an indeterminate creature too far gone to save. still racked by a persistent fever with, as FMC put it so well, the strength of no kittens, i could only simmer with resentment at yet another wrong perpetrated by snorgoyles.
- hates them... i murmured. D tut-tutted disapprovingly and then filled me with venison roast in a valiant man-attempt to make me feel better.
by the grace of extra-strength TylenolPM i was sound asleep at 2am, less so at 2:30 when i was yanked into consciousness by the unmistakable sound of a cat puking. under the bed. with all the boxes i've shoved under there i don't know how a cat could fit, but one of them did.

- fuck ME - i moaned and struggled out from under my 8-blanket strata. i turned on the light and peered under the bed. it took me a while to find her amid all the boxes, but there she was, down by the foot of the bed where the blankets pooled in a big soft nest. no wonder my shoulders were always so cold; fucking skankyAsshat was stealing my covers. and there in that big soft nest were the rejected, partially-digested remains of the indeterminate creature.
- you miserable fucking bitch - i snarled through clenched teeth. OH i HATE you. 

i received a hostile "enhh" in response. Asshat doesn't meow; she punctuates. it's one of the more unpleasant noises you'll hear in your life.

i stumbled into the bathroom for a roll of toilet paper willing myself not to hurl. the cat was gone by the time i returned, and i swabbed and swept up the chunky pool of indeterminate creature with a lot of pissfuckshitcuntsuck-ing. if i'd any spare blankets i would have tossed all these into the wash, or burned them, but it's not like i can smell anything right now anyway.

i settled back in bed and read for the half-hour it took my heartrate to level. i turned out the light and was dropping into that lovely fuzzy state of sleep when i heard it. enhh. whatthefuck. ENHHHH. louder. you have fucking got to be kidding me. i vaulted out of bed with the warp spasm upon me and pulled up the covers to peer under the bed. she was hunched up against the wall at the head of the bed.
- ENHH - she challenged.
and it was war. i shoved boxes and slid books at her -- it was like Kitty Curling -- and even brandished a pair of scissors.
- i'll cut off your ears you fucking cat! - i yelled, before collapsing into a coughing fit.

- everything okay in there? - D called groggily from his own bed free of decaying-animal-cat-puke.
- FINE!! - i sang.
- ENHH! - said skankyAsshat.
- GIT - i growled and scuttled to other side of the bed. there i assembled a line of boxes and staged an advance much like the Duke of Cumberland's forces at Culloden. bitch didn't have a chance, and we routed her like a stinking swamp fox from her hole. she was a blur of black motion passing through the doorway.

'twas a pyrrhic victory, however, as it took me another 45min to get back to sleep. so today, yet another day spent working from home trying to kick this bug, i'm returning the favor. the Asshat settles to sleep by the kitchen door; jack and i gently nudge her aside so we can go out. she curls in the sun on the kitchen rug, i rearrange the oven pans (very noisy) until she leaves in search of someplace quieter. she takes refuge under the rocking chair, and not very long after her eyelids shut i am poking her out of the way as i sweep up dust mice. i'm not cruel, simply insistent. it will be a long day for the snorgoyle, but what comes around goes around. 

reason Number Two why i hate my cats

still buried like the wicked witch except that it's work not a house atop me and my shoes aren't nearly as cute. D off leading a XC ski trip somewhere where there is snow -- not here sob -- and whilst packing last night made a disturbing discovery.

- i went down to the basement to get my skis and while i was there one of the cats walked past the litter box, right by me, and then squatted in the corner of the boiler room and started to take a crap.
- right on the bare floor?!?
- on the bare floor. it wasn't the first time either. i've been finding the odd cat turd here and there, but i thought it was because the litter boxes weren't clean enough and the cats were pushing the old poops out. but it's not.
- fucking cats. oh i hate them. so what did you do?
- i picked her up mid-poop and threw her outside. she keeps doing this she's going to be LIVING outside. or in heaven.

i lobby for the latter, but if it's heaven she's going to i'll take the low road.

many thanks to E for reminding me that natalie dee loves cats too.

spam subject lines + HD image search

Your Secret Expectations Will Come True

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       - are you going to zingos?
       - yeah.
       - can you get cat food?
       - i got some last week. they ate all that??
       - they ate all that.
       - why do we even have cats?
       - don't worry. they'll die soon.

Miss Von Teese requests the Kitteh with Fennel & Onion

from Cute Overload, of course.

my suspicions are confirmed

- D, come here and check this out! - i'd just dismounted in the driveway and was checking my bike computer.
- what? you rack some killer average speed?
- no, no, i went easy. but this is my time elapsed, see? zero-three-zero-zero-zero-zero. i rode for EXACTLY three hours, no minutes and no seconds. isn't that crazy?!? - i'm awash in the freakiness of pure coincidence but D trucks in practicalities, not mysticism.
- what's crazy is that 3.

yes, i rode for 3 hours, but it was a nice day and i rode with E, who explained the reason he dissed me all last week was complications from taking in a stray cat that bit him when he tried to give it a bath. after i stopped ROFLg he added - and i've lost count of the number of people who've asked me in the past week, "don't you know cats don't like water?"

did you know, also, that
-- it's not cat fur, per se, that triggers allergies; it's that cat spit they constantly coat themselves in. eeeew.
-- 30-50% of cat bites result in infections (with dogs you've got a 15-20% shot) because cats have sharper teeth and can therefore inject their bacteria deeper into your flesh. the day after his cat bit his finger, E woke with a swollen, locked hand, even though he'd already started antibiotics.
-- cats ARE the durty, nasty creatures i always suspected they were. (there's my college-taught, deductive critical reasoning at work.)

i've got to revel in my right-ness. it's so rare.

(don't ask me about the Tour. i don't know WTFs going on. next i'll hear lance was doping the whole time and there's really no santy claus.)

cats arse sharpener

Mother's Day is just around the corner!

Introducing the Cat's Arse Sharpener. Sigh. There are no words that readily spring to mind to soften the blow. It's a cat, you stick your pencil in its derrière, it meows, and it sharpens your pencil.

purr-fect.

put your thinking caps on people!!

now, what rhymes with sock??

ooh i know!!

MFHT

fucking awesome. thanks crammit.