Category Archives: Cat lady

We’ve been remiss at keeping in touch.  Please forgive us.  We  are very busy.

We have shed our kittenish appearances for full fledged cattiness.  But we still get up to much in the way of antics and wanton destruction.

 

This is me, Rocket.  Cat #1. I have a flair for the cantankerous and enjoy biting.
But when the mood strikes, I like to make with zee snuggle.  If we snuggle too hard, though, and I get really happy, then I drool.  It is charming and grotesque all at once.  My favorite time to tell you about my love is in the pre-dawn gloaming, around 4 am.  After that, it is time to have fisticuffs with my cat-at-arms, Luna.

 

Yeah, that’s me, Luna, the lovely lady lump.  When I am not cooking my rump in front of the radiator, I would like to come sit on you and then get up and turn around and then sit on you that way.  And then put my right paw in and sit on you.  And then shimmy coco puff sit on you some more.  And because I am badass, I will also purr like the mother fucking dickens while doing all that squirrelly sitting.

We are friends sometimes.  Except in the bathtub, where we are sworn to be mortal enemies.  Commence scuffling!

Just try to be so awesome.  Try it and be disappointed.  Your belly is far too unfurry.

And your tail has got no stripes.

Until next time, humans.  Enjoy all that being awake you do.

 

 

 

 

The kittens are not kittens anymore; they are small cats.

Small, mostly horrible, cats.

I have time-for-love with Rocket, every morning around 4 am. Love makes him drool, and he dabs his saliva snoot all over my sleeping face.
Luna hollers at me until I pick her up and carry her around. Many mornings, I am putting on mascara while holding a cat on my shoulder.
They fight in the bathtub and try to climb up the shower curtains. They jump on the counters and knock things off onto the floor. All of the houseplants have been exiled to the outside world, in order to save them from untimely cat-induced deaths. One of them likes to hold her ass over the edge and poop outside of the litter box.

But I love them like crazy. Leaving them every morning to go to work is gut wrenching. I leaked a few tears when I had to say goodbye to them when we left for vacation. It is a love bigger than previous cat-loves.

I have a hypothesis that the cats are playing the role of “baby” that is ubiquitous in my social set these days, and that may have something to do with the extra love. They’re making me feel like I might not be as ambivalent about babies as I might have thought. The crazy-love is rather fun.

Kitten #2.

She’s some kind of Siamese-y mix, with blue eyes, a bit of an elongated moose-face, and a lotta meows. Her purr machine is dialed up to 11 if you even think of looking in her direction.

Sometimes she and Rocket are like this:

But most of the time it is a tussling rumpus over here.

Which means our plan was a rousing success! Instead of biting people toes and and hands and faces, now Rocket has a little friend to bite instead! It’s kind of like that movie in which some parents have a new baby specifically so that it can be a donor for older-sister-cancer-girl.

Six weeks since we decided to let an animal come live in our apartment with us.

He decided to tell me about his obsession with nursing on the very first night. Although I will not let him suck on my ear lobe, lip, or in the crook of my neck (which would be his preferences), he will gladly suckle away on my hand. I sleep a lot less than I used to.

He’s a bit bigger. Looks more like a tiny cat than a kitten.

Sometimes our quality time involves cuddling. More often than not, though, it involves biting and shouting.

Please note the bottles that are tipped over in the background.

Also, please note that this plant is now outside of the apartment building, as I don’t think it can bear to be wrestled with by a clawed, fanged little monster any further.

The vet and the interwebs have suggested that a second kitten might help to divert some of the evil. More fun to bite someone of the same species. So that could be happening on Sunday. Or we could just be escalating the lunacy exponentially, and you shall never hear from me again, because cats will never not be walking on my head.