Kitties

In my quest to reconnect with my pets this week instead of resent, I’m going to take the next few blogs as opportunities to find the good, funny things about my pets.

As I stated on Facebook earlier, I’ve had cats my whole life, many different cats.  Tonight, as I gathered a cat up in each arm to carry them away from the mouse cage, I realized one thing:  Every single time I have ever picked up two cats at the same time, one of them finds it to be a prime opportunity to beat the holy living crap out of the other one.  “Haha, you’re trapped, just like me, and you’re MINE now, sucka.  Make sure you dig your claws into mom’s back fat while I slap your face mercilessly so she can drop you on your head again.”

I’ve slammed doors on heads, hips, tails, and they still run like there is a fire to get out the front door before it shuts.  I mean, I feel their pain, I can totally relate sometimes but what is so enticing about racing out the front door and down the stairs, just to get the heebie jeebies and race back up the stairs and back into the house again?  Nemo however has gotten over being scared.  He sits down there and waits for one of us to pick him up so he can turn into a noodle and shift all 15 of his gelatinous pounds to his head, causing us to drop him on his face.  Emma, who has lived here for 4 years, races back to the top of the stairs and then moseys over to the wrong door every time.

They say cats are born knowing what the sound of an electric can opener means.  What is weirder is my cats eat only dry food and I have a manual crank can opener.  I’ve tried the electric ones but have pretty much destroyed them going all ballistic because I don’t have the patience for the moon and stars to correctly align so it will open my can.  However, my non electric can opener is relatively silent and they can still hear me crank open a can of peas from the other side of the apartment.

I am very strict about the cleanliness of the litterbox, and so is Nemo because if I don’t shovel it out at least twice a day he starts his own personal turd collection behind the TV.  He’s found that they are safer behind the TV because if he puts them somewhere else, like say, in front of the TV the dog steals them.  ‘Nuff said.  Anyhow, the box is located next to the water heater, which Emma tries to use to bury her waste when she is done.  Yes, I’m talking about the water heater.  8 lb cat vs. gazillion pound water heater.  After years of this not working, she still spends five minutes digging at the side of the water heater before she is satisfied enough to walk away from it.

Nemo is completely unaware of the danger of small children.  You see pictures of little girls stuffing 20 pound cats into doll dresses, and the cat has this look of complete resignation and general ticked offed-ness on its face.  Not Nemo.  Nemo’s expression never changes.  No matter what torture Shelby is putting him through, he always looks like he just spotted a rainbow, or a plate of cupcakes.  The only other expression he sports occasionally is of complete exhaustion after spending the evening being mauled and humped by the dog.

These are the things that have kept those cats safe in my home for all these years.