for J.D.'s love of cats...

I was thinking about it after your comment here yesterday and I wanted to point out your deep love of cats and celebrate it with a tribute.

Roadkill* as a baby, which I know you're horribly sad you missed:


Her laying in my lap because I'm her freakin' personal comfort chair apparently:



And that cute little innocent face that I know you'd just fall in-love with as soon as she was done attacking you because I'm sure she can sense your hatred for cats from here!

Roadkill*/Jupiter/Pookie Bear

I'm not sure if she's brilliant - or a moron.

The cat is getting big.
She thinks she's still little - but she's NOT.

This is evident by the fact that her fat ass hangs off the window ledge behind me. It is also evident by the fact that she thinks I'm her personal lounge chair and that it's somehow my responsibility to keep her fat ass up on me when she falls asleep, moves, and proceeds to fall off of me.

You're on your own there, nutjob...

To further build on my empirical evidence - she hasn't been able to fit in my shirt for two months now. Not that she doesn't try, but it should be apparent to her that this is an impossibility when I pick her fat ass up and have to practically drape her over my shoulder.

She's not a cat, she's a moose.

She was picked up and held like a baby all the time as a kitten. She never fusses when you carry her around like that. I thought she'd hate it after awhile, but come to find out, she's a lazy slug and would rather be carted around by the human servants.

I can no longer sit down and have her lay on her back in my lap looking up at me when I do anything now - she's too long. When she tries to stretch out, she will fall off. And while that's funny, because she hasn't quite figured out that it's by her own doing - it does make me make a mental check in the moron column.

When she lays across my lap when I type, her legs are over one side of my chair and her head rests on the other arm of the chair - and she does have the nerve to look offended when her head slides off and winds up in between the arm of the chair and the chair's back.

I look at her like she's on the slow side.
She looks at me like, "HOW COULD YOU LET THAT HAPPEN?!"

She can catch practically anything in midair. Throw up two feathers that are half eaten and viciously ripped out of any number of her toys and she will catch them both before they hit the ground.

She's a ceremonious bug eater.
She likes to torture her food first.
She's a sadistic bastard.

She knows exactly what's expected of her when you go to give her people food. She sits. She's not very happy about it because she'd much rather stick her face in whatever food you've got and cut out the middle part - but she knows.

She knows that she'll get the look.

Yes, I will stare at the cat like she must have fallen down and hit her head or something to think it's going to go any other way.

She immediately sits down and waits while looking up at you with her whole, "I'm doing what you freakin' want me to do - pass me the ham already" look. This look is usually followed by, "if I was bigger, I'd eat you instead and then raid the fridge" look.

Yes, I enjoy assigning thoughts to animals... I may need a new hobby...

My newest thing is to teach her, "Bring it back!"
Why?
Because she fetches.

If you throw one of her squishy ball things across the room, she will take off after it like she's a bullet out of a .357 and bring it back. If she catches up to it while it's still in the air then she will jump up however high she has to, grab it with both paws and smash it to the ground to ensure that it's dead.

Don't start this game unless you have time enough to stand there for 35-50 rounds of this.

It's the equivalent of taking a two year old and tossing them into the air and them saying, "Do it again!" - you know how that game never ends until you think you're going to have an aneurysm.

After awhile, she'll bring it back - but she'll drop it about a foot away from you and then run up to you, minus the ball and stare at you like, "Well? I'm waiting. Throw the stupid thing again."

This means that you have to get up and get it.

I'm uncertain if this makes her a moron or brilliant. She's making me get up and work too now. I'm unclear as to if she's now trying to train me.

So, this has resulted in a race to see which one of us is lazier.
Welcome to the birth of the "Bring it back!" command.

I assure you that I'm lazier than she is.
I will win.

Or maybe she is just a moron. This is also a cat that likes to stick her head in Grant's shoe while hugging another one of his shoes and going to sleep.

She has a shoe fetish.
It's a little unnerving.

When he came home from his trip to Maryland he had two pairs of shoes lined up in the living room and she lost all sense of reality. She went insane. It was too over-whelming for her. She couldn't decide which shoe to stick her head in and which other shoe to hug to sleep.

It was like giving an A.D.D. child a TV remote and 1100 channels and saying, "pick one" after withholding their medication for two days.

She doesn't go after my shoes.

She must understand that they might as well have police tape around them and that she will end up living in the shed if she damages my shoes.

Animals instinctively must know when their way of life is in jeopardy.

Of course, I say that and then have to admit the following:

She's discovered the kitchen sink.
twitches

And there is nothing in her mind that says to her, "This is going to get my ass beaten..."

She actually has the nerve to look all proud of herself. It's like, "LOOK! NONO, LOOK! SEE WHAT I CAN DO NOW?! SEE WHAT I'VE DISCOVERED?! HEY, DID YOU KNOW THIS WAS HERE THE WHOLE TIME?! IT'S INCREDIBLE! THIS MAY BE THE COOLEST THING - EVER!"

wtf...

I walked into the kitchen this morning to find her sitting in one side of the double sink. Sitting IN it. Not walking around it. Not standing on the counters staring at it. SITTING IN IT.

I said the same thing to her that I do to my kids when they do something stupid in front of me, "I'M... RIGHT HERE!"

Good God.

"Get...the fuck... out of... the sink..."
blank look
"Get.... OUT... of the fucking SINK!"
moving closer because her dumbass isn't moving...
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?! GET OUT OF THE FUCKING SINK!"

I swear to God, she crouched down and gave me this, "Oh my GOD. I will SO NOT get out of the fucking sink! It's MINE. I found it fair and square and I'm not giving it up!"

I did the only thing I could think of without beating her ass.
I turned on the water and sprayed her with the sink hose.

Yes, I will flood my entire kitchen before I'll let her live in my sink.

I have zero issue with that.
I hate that room anyway.

This is the part in the story where we discover that she's really not all that moved by water.

Oh, sure. She jumped out of the sink - AND THEN SAT ON THE FLOOR IN FRONT OF ME WHILE I DOUSED HER.

All that leads to is her looking down at her fur and going, "huh... well, that's new..."

Again, brilliant for devaluing the effects of water - or moron for not getting that she's a cat and isn't suppose to like water.

This is where we also discover the true value of canned air. Point any bottle of canned air at the ceiling and hit the nozzle and she will run from a room like she's on fire.

I figure one or two more times of doing that when she even looks up at the sink and that little issue is taken care of.

She's been to the vet three times now and has all her necessary shots, been tested for leukemia and kitty HIV. She's clear for everything.

As for the cat carrier, it was probably a really good idea to take her on a road trip when she was only 8 weeks old or so because if you put it on the floor - she just walks right into it and lays down.

like Cleopatra sitting on her throne waiting for her loyal subjects to carry her off somewhere...

All in all, I still like her and she amuses me.

again...

...Not dead.
Tons of stuff done around the house, hope to have a few pictures to show soon.

Grant is still alive even though he still likes to torture me when he's up on a ladder.

Roadkill*/COME HERE/Jupiter is still alive too and learned how to give kisses.

She also likes: rice, bread, potatoes, chicken, Chinese food and the squishy part of popcorn (minus the kernel part so she doesn't chock to death on me) - and mustard, much to Grant's dismay since he hates mustard with a passion (weirdo).

She hates tuna fish.
Go figure.

She's also a felon.

I found a box of Jelly Belly candy canes (don't ask) and any time she sees one of them she grabs it and leaves.

Yes, leaves.

She has also stolen my insurance card out of my wallet (which, to her credit, was not easy since my wallet was CLOSED at the time), receipts, bills and anything plastic she can find.

I have no idea where she's taking them (though I did save my insurance card since she did it right in front of my face).

In this house is a rather large stockpile of junk that she has thieved and is squandering away somewhere.

She's like a little homeless person.

I have this mental picture of her sitting on top of it all playing King of the Mountain and laughing maniacally while we're asleep and she's plotting her next caper.

The other day Grant and I were watching a movie together and heard this, I can even describe the sound... this loud... sckirch-sckirch-sckirch noise. We looked over and see the animal HALF WAY UP THE FIREPLACE.

She climbs... BRICKS.
freak...
BRICKS!
Not the drapes (of course, this is also why I can report that she's still alive)...BRICKS.
I didn't even know that was possible.

My living room looks like someone is having a cat toy garage sale.
Spoiled.
Little spoiled indigenous felon.

why?

a recent conversation regarding the cat...

My daughter: "How come she never bites you?"
Me: "Because she knows she'll get beat. I've warned her."
Grant: "How is it that you sound so mean when you call her and she just comes prancing in like it's nothing?"
My daughter: "Yeah, how come she listens to you?"

this went on and on for about 15 minutes... why this, why that... why does Roadkill* even like you... how do you get her to listen to you... how can you teach her tricks, she's a CAT... blahblahblah... so I said the only thing I could to get them to move on to something else...

Me: "Stockholm syndrome"

no towel is safe

When Roadkill* was a baby (you know, a month ago...) - she use to lay on my desk above my keyboard. It looked so uncomfortable to me, so I got a thick white towel and folded it for her to rest on verses the hard wood.

She follows me everywhere.

While I was in the bathroom doing my hair one day, I watched her jump up and yank down the towel off the towel rack. Then she peacefully laid on it and stared at me the entire time.

No towel is safe.
She's deemed them all her personal beds.
Oh, that and I have absolutely no privacy to speak of anymore.

Roadkill* has a new name according to my daughter... it's now, Jupiter... we'll see how long that name lasts...

impaled

Just to give you a visual about what I was trying to say in this post.
Impaled.
And it STILL makes me laugh.

Come Here!

This animal thinks she's a dog.
That's probably my fault...

We've only had her two and a half weeks now, and she's only 10 weeks old - but to her credit, she's learned a lot of stuff already.

Like the value of ham.

What I've learned is that her knowing the value of ham, makes her easy to train. I said it before, nothing gets to live in this house unless it's trained. That includes a cat.

So far she's learned that in order to get the ham that she feels she so richly deserves, is to do what she's told. That means when I say, "Sit!" she has to sit her ass down and stay there until I say, "Up!" and then she sits up on her hind legs and without touching the ham with her paws, she can have it.

I'm fully convinced that if she ever sees a wild boar, she will totally wrestle it down to the ground and eat it.

When there's ham out, you can just see her little mind ticking away. I imagine all the things she has running through her little furry head, like, "What do you want me to do? Take out the neighbor so we can end the great Lawn War of 2009 - or maybe you want me to shred the jacket that Grant never seems to hang up in the dining room? What?! Just tell me and I'll do it! I'm all yours! Just issue the command!"

Ham, the miracle motivator.

The way she's learned to come when called makes me laugh too. I will boom out this loud, really mean sounding, "COME HERE!" - I sound like I'm two seconds away from declaring WWIII when I do it. Within seconds, no matter where she is, you'll see this little black tuff of fur bounding in the room all happy without a care in the world to her step.

It's hilarious.
That or I'm just easily amused.

At first, the girl child and Grant were utterly horrified, "Why are you yelling at her?!" - BECAUSE IT'S FUNNY! WATCH THIS!

"COME HERE!"

The kitten, on the other hand, couldn't care less. All she knows is that it means she has to follow the voice - after all, there might be ham. That or she thinks her name is Come Here. Whichever. Whatever. I don't care the reasoning as long as she does it.

Sometimes I do that to the kids too for good measure. They think they're in a world of trouble. It keeps them on their toes and it's good for them.

We're learning how to play without claws and teeth too.

Grant argues with me about this one. "She's just a baby" - I don't care! That "baby" will eventually turn into a cat and if you think I'm going to find it cute to be bitten and scratched, you're out of your everlovin' mind.

She might as well learn that now.

That's working too. She will crouch down in attack mode and run full force to you and then dead stop right before she touches you. You know she wants too, but - she understands instinctively that it's not a good idea.

That or she's learned what the word asshole means.

I was laying on the floor this morning and she was in crackhead mode and she kept running up to me and getting right in my face and then kept doing this - stop, drop and roll thing. This is much preferred to the pouncing I know she wanted to do.

She's currently happy as a clam, having had some ham this morning. She's sitting on my lap trying to eat a button off my shirt while I type.

Grant plays with her with that toy in the picture. For the life of me, I don't know why she likes it, but she does. It has, well, now only half its feathers on it because the lunatic ripped off and tried to eat the other half of them.

I don't know how many times I've said, "Get that out of your mouth!" to her.

just like having kids...

She dragged it over to me one day and I was playing with her until I got bored and then decided to throw it across the room. She ran over to it, picked up the stick with her mouth and dragged it back to me.

All I could do was laugh.

Alright, then! So, we play fetch. I throw it. She drags it back. I throw it. She drags it back. Sometimes I'll interject with a, "Come on, lassie! Go get it!" - because, again, it's funny. I have to give Grant the credit on this one though. He's the one that started playing fetch with her. I just took the idea and ran with it.

When she attacks something, she shakes her head back and forth with it in her mouth too - just like a dog.

Can you tell I want a dog? This isn't even my cat. It's Grant and the girl child's....

She does NOT like when we're out of her sight for very long though. She has to be in the room with us. When she's on Grant's lap, she's looking at me. When she's on my desk, she's looking at him.

just like having kids...

If we're sitting together on the couch watching a movie, she has to sit between us stretched out so some part of her body is touching both of us.

just like having kids...

Grant is a softy when it comes to small children and animals. A few times a week he'll come home with some toy or another for her. This week was a laser light so he can drive her insane trying to catch the red dot and one of the ugliest things that anyone can attach to an elastic string.

Me: "What in God's name is that hideous thing? And why does it have a Mohawk?"
Grant: "It's cute. It's an interactive toy"

Right.
So I tied it to the doorknob.

Grant: "It's suppose to be interactive.
I n t e r a c t i v e.
You're suppose to play WITH her, with it"

Me: "That's too much like having kids. If I wanted to interact with something 24/7, I'd have another kid."

So, he and the girl "interact" with this animal by trailing it around. The cat attacks it and they ignore my comments of, "I bet she's just trying to kill it because it offends her with its hair style choice."

What ends up happening though, because she thinks she's a dog - is she bites it and tries to drag it away (again, I think to go bury it because it's so offensively ugly) and it winds up looking like she's walking THEM.

Which is hilarious, so that's okay.
Especially since she's about 6 ounces and Grant is 6'2".
Take a minute to see that mental picture in your head.

I already told you that she finds pens offensive and they all must die a horrible death. Her new obsession is plastic. Plastic from a straw, plastic from a fortune cookie. Plastic, plastic, plastic. I never realized exactly how much plastic there was in the world until she decided that it all must die.

I'm constantly taking it away.

just like with kids...

She does not possess a deep love for buttons either.
She's quirky.
Or insane.

The one thing I'm dying to teach her is, "Impale!" - I know that sounds wrong, but really, how freakin' funny is that?

She has a short scratching post with a ball attached to it. She INSISTS on jumping on it and trying to balance herself perfectly on the 3" diameter top of it. She achieves this by jumping up on the papasan chair, balancing herself on the rim of it and then launching herself AT the scratching post.

Sometimes she makes it.
Sometimes she doesn't.

Many times I've walked into the living room to see her draped over it on her stomach. It LOOKS like she's impaled on it. She gets all still and she'll lay there for awhile - as if to say, "for fuck's sake, I'll get this right at some point!"

Hilarious.
She's not right.
And I'd like to capitalize on that.

She talks to Grant. He's the only one she speaks to. Every single morning he'll come downstairs and she'll sit up at my desk to face him and he'll greet her and then she's all talk. Everything he says to her, she has to reply to.

He gets all animated about it too.
"Really? What else?" and she goes on and on.

just like kids...

Since we both work from home, the day is filled with us passing her back and forth. It's like having a toddler!

One that loves ham.

When she's at his desk, she's either on his lap or on the back of his chair or on his shoulder like a parrot. One day he was wearing a baseball hat and she freaked out. She climbed up ON his hat. Only she's not big enough to actually touch the ends, so she was sort of just flopped over it with her limbs dangling.

IMPALED!

He was all, "Wha- the?!"
And all I could do was laugh.

That was short lived though because not long after that, she tried the same maneuver - only he wasn't wearing a hat at the time and he lost it.

she's currently trying to eat a string cheese plastic wrapper...sonofa-... I threw a pen at her...

It has come to our attention that she can sleep anywhere and in any position too. Grant can hold her up in the air and she'll be all spread out on her back - sound asleep. She doesn't care. When she's out, she's out. Sometimes he puts his hand on her stomach to make sure it's still rising and falling because he's convinced she's dead.

See why I call her Roadkill* now?

She has an affinity towards blueberries and strawberries too.
Don't ask.

Really though, would you want to eat the same dried cat food every day for the rest of your life or would you every now and then want a blueberry? Come on! It was just ONE... okay, maybe two...

The last cat I was left in charge of for a week when my ex-husband went on vacation learned to like peas.

I needed someone to like peas! I pick them out of my Chinese food because I hate them. Someone has to eat them. It's only logical! Sheesh.

She also works part-time as a lint brush.

I have yet to have to pluck black hair off of any of my clothing, but she seems to gather any bit of anything that she can find in some random corner or on the floor. The day that Grant traipsed wood chips in here after cutting down the tree in the backyard was an experience. She rolled around in all of them and they all stuck to her.

What she hasn't learned yet is that her tail is actually attached to her.
She's going to have to learn that one the hard way.

And with that, I'm going to go make some more coffee and toy with her since she's trying to climb up the back of my chair, unsuccessfully. She has the social grace of an ingrate sometimes.

you know, just like little kids...

Aries = maniac

For whatever reason, it seems people want to see pictures of the new kitty.
Please don't make me turn into the crazy cat lady on the site.

That said, my little bundle of fur is, indeed, an Aries - and proved it on our road trip to Grant's mother's house earlier in the month. Grant's mother has a 6 month old (or so) cat. A 6 month old cat that's really not use to other cats. She's use to having the run of the house all to herself.

Which was more than fine with the kitten, because the kitten couldn't have cared less about her when we got there. She was, to put it mildly, totally unaffected.

Grant's mom's cat's name (did you follow all that?) is Punkin.
No, not puMpkin - I can spell... puNkin...

Punkin was not very happy with Roadkill* when we arrived.
Our cat was too oblivious to notice.

That's when the stalking began.


The stalking wasn't very efficient either.
Our kitten just sat there without a care in the world.
Unmoved.

After a day or two of this, our kitten had had quite enough. Whenever the big cat was out in the room with her, she would.............Growl.

Yeah, you read that correctly...I said, "Growl"...my cat thinks she's a dog...

It took a lot of time and a few close calls in the swiping department for our kitten to get to that point. She did though. She went from indifference to full on offense.

Remember the movie, Tombstone"?

When they're all getting shot at in the swamp and everyone with any sense is hiding down low and trying not to get their face blown off and someone goes, "Where's Wyatt?" and some guy casually says, "Oh, he's over there walking on water." and the scene cuts to Wyatt Earp plowing through waist high water with his shotgun on lock and load and he's advancing on the enemy fire without so much as a leaf of cover...and he couldn't care less... because he's pissed...

That was our cat.

All of my, "Animal - you're going to get your ass kicked" comments didn't mean a thing to her. They fell on deaf ears. That's quite impressive too. I'm pretty creative with the one-liners when it comes to describing, in the most horrid way humanly possible, how whatever stupid thing you're about to do is going to kill you.

My life would be easier if English was her first language.

Instead, she just sat there, perfectly calm, and sized up the enemy that she clearly thought was a moron. I don't think it ever once crossed her mind that the big cat was four times her size.

My daughter is the same exact way. She doesn't know she's small either. For that matter, I don't give it much credit myself either...

Roadkill* just picked a spot, sat and continued to stare.

As you can see above, our little terrorist wound up making the big cat back up and lay down. All by a few growls and some barely audiable hisses.

At one point, the big cat walked by her and the little one caught a glimpse of her tail and LUNGED. I flipped out. I saw the whole thing happening in slow motion and I couldn't do a thing about it except to yell, "ARE YOU INSANE?!"

I scooped her up and we had our first spelling lesson.

L-I-T-T-L-E
T-I-N-Y
...Y-O-U!

Roadkill* has no concept of, "Gee, this action might make me -- dead"
None.

Then Roadkill* played with every single one of Punkin's toys, took over her chair, her climbing post, the loft, her blanket, her cardboard box... basically, the whole house and everything in it, save one room (punkin's only sanctuary).

Great.
My cat is a bully.

-------------------------------

* Name subject to change to whatever I feel like calling her at any God given moment... such names include, but are not limited to: roadkill, prancer, hopper, HEY YOU!, animal, cat, kitten, sparky, baby, angelface, lunatic, maniac, weirdo, death wish, roo, lassie (which I will explain later), bunny (there's no questions at this point why she's going through an identity crisis, is there?), killer, crackhead and dork... (yes, I have called her a dork, I don't want to hear about it - she totally deserved it)...

Roadkill*

That's exactly what this animal looks like laying on me.
Roadkill.
pictures to come...

I swear to God, when she sleeps on me - it looks like her neck is broken and her spine is severed in three different places.

Roadkill...
That may be her new name.

Erm... and I've discovered that she loves ham.
LOVES IT.

She has deemed pens evil. If there's one around within her little kitten paws, she must be trying to eat it.

I am also fairly certain that she's going through an identity crisis.
I'm confident that she believes she's a dog.
She.. fetches.
and I do nothing to discourage that because I find it funny... Fine, honey, you be the best damn dog you can be!....for a cat...

I got the Navigation bar back too - so I'm happy now.
It took deleting a piece of code instead of trying to alter it.
like I couldn't have done that in the first place 20 hours ago, right?

Grant is out job hunting and I'm on UPS duty for him, since they never seem to bother knocking on the door when they show up.

He's all dressed up in a suit today.
He barely made it out the door.
Suits are good!

I bought some Impatiens seeds yesterday, the dwarf mix - because for some stupid reason it makes me laugh when it grows 4' high. I got a package of Four O'clock seeds too. I'm not sure if either of them is poisonous, so - it's not such an impressive purchase.

Grant insisted on cutting the grass when we got back from Maryland. He insisted on cutting it right before we went. It's only had five days to heal!

He informed me that he's in a cold war with the neighbor behind us because the neighbor behind us has to cut his lawn whenever Grant does ours.
this must be a guy thing like Ponti Mython said...

The neighbor, we'll call him Cory... because that's his name. Cory apparently tried to one up him and cut his whole lawn on an angle.
the horror

Grant made perfectly spaced lines with ours.
I have no idea why this matters, but clearly it does...

I didn't know what the proper protocol was when someone tells you they're in a cold war over grass, so I simply said, "Screw him! Make it all zig-zagged! That will show him!"
hey, if whomever you're with is insane, it helps if you act like you are too, right?

Grant just stared at me with that, "Why do I even bother to talk to you" look on his face and went back to mowing the lawn.
Well, *I* thought it was funny...

WHAT WAS I SUPPOSE TO SAY?!

Maybe something like, "You know, the new car has a trunk that will easily fit a body in it..."
is that more acceptable, Ponti Mython?

I've just decided that I'm going to destroy the whole area to the right of the garage that's over-grown with...stuff...because I'm tired of guessing what things I like there and what things I hate. So, I think I might just keep the ivy and murder the rest.

Of course, I say keep the ivy like I have a real choice without setting the yard on fire. which, as you all well know by now...I'm hardly above...
The stuff is EVERYWHERE.

It's like the plague and eventually, if not attacked on a regular basis, it will run across the entire length of the flagstone patio.

Let me make this comment about flagstone patios...
Don't do it.
It chips.

I have an archway and one of our many wind storms/snow storms/rain storms blew the stupid thing down a dozen times and ripped apart the Clematis that was growing up it. So, my archway is barren.

I need to trim the tree over the patio too before it gets out of hand.

I have a tree "topper" that I use to trim branches that reach up to 40 feet. I've got to look ridiculous doing it too. I'm 5'3" without heels and I always make the sign of the cross before I cut something above my head and pray I don't sustain a concussion.
I'm pretty quick moving though, normally.

for the love of God...
Okay, I was trying to type and had my feet up on the top of the computer and roadkill just climbed up on top of my knees to stare me straight in the face until I finally said, "We are not a parrot... now get the hell off of me, psycho."

When I say, "straight in the face" - I mean it literally, she couldn't have been a half an inch away from my nose.

I'm not the one that wanted a cat!
How is it that she's always following me around?!

That said, I'm out to do battle with radical thinking ivy - as soon as I can gracefully remove this cat off the top of my left shoulder where she's currently perched...

like I said...identity crisis...

drowning via coffee

That's the computer on the floor in the Florida room.
When I say she's tiny... I mean, she's tiny.

She carefully wanders around my desk when I'm typing. She's quite delicate about that. We already had to have a little chat last night about how she can't walk all over my keyboard. This came on the heels of her sitting on some key that opened up a few dozen new browsers while I was writing - which resulted in me losing three things I wrote.

Yeah, I don't think so.

Now she...........
laughing right out loud...
!

As I was typing that, she decided to stick her whole face in my coffee mug from some ridiculous hour in the morning and came up sneezing coffee and shaking her head all around.

Do NOT try to drown yourself on my watch!
Especially via coffee - that's not dignified.
I'm going to bet that she never does that again.

Back to what I was saying...

She's very careful and delicate when she walks around on my desk now. That said, she's completely, totally and utterly offended by my daughter's sneakers. I don't know what it is about them, but when she sees them - they offend her senses so much that she MUST attack them and make them pay for their transgressions.

I don't know what they did to her, but clearly, they must suffer. The shoes are bigger than she is, for cryin' out loud.

It's not just her sneakers either. She has this pair of white flip flop type shoes that equally offend the tiny black Queen of the shoes that decides which ones can live or have to die.

She seems to have an aversion to black socks too. I watched her HOP around Grant's foot for about 25 minutes last night. She would just run up to him and bounce all around it and get up on her hind legs. Her version of intimidating the enemy sock, I'm sure.

She never touched him though.
But the shoes?
Fair game and it's on.

Oh, and for some odd reason - she HATES my glasses. She saw them on me for the first time last night and freaked. I suppose this explains why I haven't been able to find my glasses since she got here. I bet it was her that tackled them off the couch and into the cushions.

They're not even bad glasses!
I'm offended that she's offended.
They're small!

weirdo...

She also made the distinct mistake of jumping up on the arm of the couch only to land right on top of the universal remote and rode it like a sled onto the floor.

I bet she did that shit on purpose though.

nutjob...

The current debate is: does she lean so far over my desk looking into the garbage can that she actually falls IN... and I make fun of her for the rest of her life...or does she listen and not be a dumbass...

Ah-
She decided to climb over and curl up on my lap.
Good girl.
Saved from the "Garbage can kitty" nickname.

going to Maryland

Apparently I will be leaving at some unGodly hour in the morning to go to Maryland for the weekend. If I can swing it at all, I'll line up some posts so you won't even know I'm gone.

Today was seven hours of running around all over town and I'm beat. Clearly, I'm not done with the whole healing of the ruptured disk thing because I wanted to shove a fork through my right side after walking so much - which, ironically, wasn't much at all.

Oh, and I ate Mississippi catfish for the first time today.
With a side of deep fried pickles.
That sounds horrid, doesn't it?
it really wasn't bad...
I had to get the fork somehow though, right?

I've come to the conclusion that I'm a real asshole when it comes to just giving in. I can't do it. I don't know WHY, but I can't. Three times I should have just said, "Fuck this, I'm not walking over there" and refused to get out of the car.

That must be some character flaw.

I never really think there's anything I can't do (just things I won't do) - even if I say I can't (which I rarely say, because again - stubborn and see first part of this long ass sentence).

So, of course - I'll be paying later for being a dumbass today.

You would think that being my age, I'd own at least ONE pair of shoes that weren't heels, right? Wrong. So, yeah, that was fun too.

I can't even think about a seven hour drive either or my mind will explode and I will pack cutlery. I know me. I'm not above that to prove a point.

Grant is out cutting the lawn. I got an amusing little speech about how cutting the lawn is important for the social...something or other... basically, he likes the social aspect of fitting in with the neighborhood.

I guess so people don't look at the house like it's a foreclosed abandoned lot or something... and we're just squatters... never mind that practically everyone on the two streets I intersect all know me...

It was akin to the, "Keeping up with the Joneses" speech. I just stood there and smiled. I figure it's a matter of time before he finally realizes that I *am* the "Joneses".

as if he'd hear me anyway...

I don't keep up with anyone.
Everyone else can keep up with me.
Or not.
I really don't care.

It's your house, your lawn - do whatever the hell you want with it. More power to you! I don't care what you do, I don't expect you to care what I do. Though, I promise to not turn old cars into lawn furniture. That's the deal.

FYI: I want credit for not making ANY cracks at Lowe's while picking up another gas can for the lawn mower. Saying things along the lines of, "You know, I can take care of that pesky dandelion problem with that and a pack of matches" and, "I don't understand why you have such a problem with me cementing the whole thing and painting it green" was always 2 seconds away from coming out of my mouth...

He's a good guy though. He's out there mowing away - because he cares more than I do. He totally ignored my, "The world will not stop revolving if it has to wait until Tuesday" comments.

I'm sure he didn't even hear me... but I heard me and I find me funny most of the time even if he doesn't... so, all was not entirely lost...

The kitten is still alive.
Cute as a button and ready to take her first road trip.

If I'm laying down on the couch, she HAS to be all squashed up under my face to sleep. I'm unsure as of yet whether she really, really likes me - or is trying to suffocate me.

Jury is still out.

She's currently rolled up in a ball on my lap purring away like a motorboat.

And for the record: No matter what anyone says, including Grant - this cat WILL be trained. I've never in my life had an animal that wasn't trained. Trained the last cat, this won't be any different.

I like her - and I'd like to KEEP IT THAT WAY.
So, she has no choice but to be trained.

tiny...

I showed Grant the image of the kitten from yesterday. He said the same thing I did - it doesn't show how tiny she is. She looks like a giant in that image. So, I'm trying it again...

Yes, that's my hand.
I can technically palm her whole body.

I saw the cutest image yesterday... Grant is 6'2", right - and the cat is about... 6" (maybe even 5" tall) and the two of them were standing in the living room facing each other. The kitten was looking up at him and he was looking down at her and it just struck me as hilarious. The difference in height is monumental.

Okay, so, that didn't make for such a good story - but it was still funny.

invaded

My baby...
...brought home a little furry four legged baby.

We've been invaded, by a tiny black carnivore.

One that doesn't walk, but rather, prances.
She bounces instead of really steps.

She's also the tiniest kitten I've ever seen in my life.
Runt of the liter.
She's about the size of my hand.

I've had a lot of cats over the course of my life. Growing up and even some into my adulthood. I have NEVER owned a little tiny kitten though.

TINY
...T I N Y
t i n y...
That picture makes her look huge!

And as soon as that child put that kitten down on the floor I had flashbacks.

"Where is she?"..."Is there anything back there that can kill her"..."Don't leave the bathroom door open, she'll get behind the washing machine and we'll never see her again"..."is the fireplace thing in front of it the right way? I can see her lost in the fireplace for hours on end and little soot filled paw prints all over the cream colored rug"..."Oh my God, is that chest safe for her to be under?! If it falls, it will crush her to death!"..."Wait...WHAT...is back in that corner that she can eat and choke on?!"

In an instant I could see 857 ways this small mammal could die a horrendous, limb crushing death
...because I'm an optimist like that...

IT'S LIKE KIDS ALL OVER AGAIN!

Christ, it's no freakin' wonder that I see death and mutilation at every turn and in every scenario - I've had KIDS.
Kids destroy your perspective for life.

Which inspires me to issue every warning in the book... starting with...

"She's about 4 ounces and 6" long - be careful when you sit on the couch so you don't flatten her like a pancake!"......"Keep the basement pocket door shut AT ALL TIMES or we'll never see her again!"... "THROW THE PLASTIC AWAY!"...

Oh my God... Kill Me...

She went to hop off the couch and I saw her breaking every bone in her body. I saw Grant look at me and laugh to himself. He doesn't think I saw him, BUT I DID!

Grant repeated the words, "They're indestructible" about 8000 times to me.
THEY ARE NOT!

Though, admittedly, I'm skeptical that this furry addition to the household even has any fully formed bones. She's sort of.. rubbery. She doesn't jump to the floor, she sort of just, bounces off of it.

To her credit, she was very, very good. She didn't fuss. She wasn't scared. She didn't seem to mind being mauled by my daughter who acts like she was the one that gave birth to her 7 weeks ago.

She's quite cute.

OR MAYBE SHE'S JUST TRYING TO LOOK ALL CUTE UNTIL SHE GETS UP IN THE MORNING AND STARTS EATING THE FABRIC OF THE COUCH AND TRIES TO THINK OF NEW AND EXCITING WAYS TO DIE ON ME WHILE THE GIRL CHILD IS AT SCHOOL.

What in the hell was I thinking when I said, "Yes"...

She was cute when she curled up and slept in the palm of my hand though while my daughter ate her dinner - because God forbid we let this animal have a second of peace to sleep wherever the hell she wants to - No, my daughter must transfer ownership and sleeping guard duty when she needs to do something.

Not that the kitten seems to care at all...

So, like an ass, there I was sitting on the couch with this miniature fur ball curled up, sound asleep in my hand - staring at it and questioning my good judgment.

Around 8pm I asked my daughter, "Did you take the little punk upstairs?"

The answer to that is she's all set up with her toys and whatever other stuff my daughter brought home with her, in her room.

...and I want credit for not once going up there to see if the cat is dead because my daughter rolled over on her in the middle of the night.

since last wednesday

Even though she doesn't even read this, nor does my SO, Grant - this is what's been going on for the last few days:

Grant's mother has come to visit us - and really, she's been a Godsend. I've only met her a few times in the last year, since Grant and I were dating from a distance of 400 miles.

We have, however, known each other for 25 years. We dated back when we were 15 years old, ironically.

Grant decided to move to where I am in New York, a few months ago, at the beginning of February.

This is his mother's first trip here and I'm so glad she made it.

Aside from having this lovely ruptured disk in my back, which she has been very sympathetic about - she's been a lot of fun.

I've been able to spend a decent amount of time with her without Grant being around, so we could really talk.

We spent roughly ten hours straight together yesterday.

We shared stories and thoughts and feelings and it's been truly refreshing. There is nothing that I've found to date, that either of us has said - that the other didn't understand without further explanation.

I think I'm going to try to con her into staying another week.

---

My daughter came home all excited last weekend because her best friend's cat - had kittens. She went on and on and on about it until I just looked at her and said, "do you want one of the kittens?"

That was met with an immediate, "YES!"

I have no earthly idea what the hell made me ask that...
I need a cat like I need a hole in the head.

The kittens are only three weeks old. Not old enough to take from their mother yet, but it looks like we'll be proud owners of a baby kitten in a few more weeks.

The one she picked out originally has been promised to someone else. So her second choice is a greyish colored cat with bits of white splashed on her.

She and Grant have come up with ever conceivable idiotic name they can think of to come to me and ask if they could use on the new kitten...........all of which the answer has been a resounding, "No!"

So, we're having naming issues already.

Seriously, "BS" or "Ball Sac" is NOT an appropriate name for any cat.

What in the hell is wrong with those people?

I kid you, not - I spend approximately 25% of my life with a particular look on my face while my mouth is forming the single word, "Why....."

Really...who even utters those words in a full and complete sentence with a straight face. They must have practiced it for ten minutes before they came to me with it.

I swear they do it just to see the look on my face...

They fuel each other and use their powers against me just to try to figure out which thing is going to finally make me snap.

I want it noted for the record that I'm not above having both of them restrained and committed. Something I remind them of at least once a week.