Archive for the ‘Cat girl’ Category
It’s a good thing you’re cute. That’s all I’m saying, dog.
You do not belong on my bed, in my studio, or in the laundry. Knock it off. And, yes, I know Snickers does it too, but we’re not talking about the cat. We’re talking about you. You, I still have some control over. Oh, and could you work on pooping the first time someone walks you in the rain? Thanks.
We get it, you’re hell’s little minion. Now, stop corrupting the dog or I’m going to get you generic cat food the next time I’m at the store.
Snickers doesn’t get much face time on this blog. Mostly, because she’s IZ’s cat and torments my dog enough to keep me in an almost perpetual state of peeved. It’s an unfair relationship, really. Because if Sophie responds we have no choice but to crack down on her. She’s a terrier and her instincts are intact; she’s genetically predisposed to hunt and kill vermin. Snickers certainly behaves like a weasel, but up against the snapping jaws of an enraged dog, she doesn’t stand a chance. You’d think that be enough to stop her wily ways.
I like this about my dog. I am a city girl through and through, but I harbor delusions of living “out” and having a whole pack of terriers to call my own. Like my dog’s instincts, my fantasy life is intact; I have visions of plaid riding jackets and leather knee-high boots (What?! By now you people should know my fantasies come with wardrobe options.) and five or six lovely, black and tan Welshies jumping at my feet. We spend countless hours roaming the vast expanse of our country estate nosing out assorted vermin. We come home, hot and sweaty and tired and triumphant, having once again cleared our fair land of weasels. (Hey, if you’re reading metaphor here, good for you.)
A Welsh Terrier is no slouch when it comes to nosing out a vermin. Just ask my Miss Sophie. There’s not a garbage can or telephone pole she doesn’t growl at when we’re out walking. Never mind our neighbor cat out for a midnight stroll. No, she has bigger prey in mind; namely her own shadow! Clearly, I’m not the only one with a rich fantasy life.
Now, I don’t believe in letting a person, or dog, dream alone. So, I can’t resist whispering, “Kill it, Sophie. Kill it!” even though it’s perfectly obvious that the only vermin in her life is the cat. Vermin she can’t kill. Vermin she must tolerate.
Which brings us back to Snickers. Lord only knows what goes on in her fantasy life.
Truth time: you are not a dog. Your attempts to persuade me otherwise are just plain pitiful. Have some pride. Do you own a leash? No! Will you wear a collar? No! Do you come when called? No you don’t! Your whining at the door demanding to be “walked” is a delusion on your part. Snap out of it!
Furthermore, I don’t appreciate your assertions to the contrary by taking matters into your own paws. It’s 11 o’clock at night and prying the screen door open while I’m out walking Sophie is just passive aggressive. It’s dark outside and I don’t particularly enjoy hunting around in the cold looking for you. I refuse to chase you around the house more than 4 times ridiculously whispering, “Here Snickers,” because we’ve already established that you don’t come when called. Which, is why you are not allowed out in the first place. See how this works?
Seriously cat, it’s been an hour and if you don’t show up in the next three minutes, you’re spending the night out. Oh, I know, break your heart. But you should know this means no midnight snacks and no Craig Ferguson for you. I’m through with this nonsense. I know I said that last night, but this time I mean it! If I wanted another dog, I’d get one. And at the pace you’re setting, that could happen sooner than later. Just sayin’.
TO: HRH Furball, Duchess of Shedding, Queen of All She Surveys, Ms. Picky Who Refuses to Obey, She Whose Breath Smells of Chlorine.
RE:Your H2O Supply
MEMO: We regret to inform you that we are no longer stocking Evian in the guest bathroom. So, please refrain from drinking from the toilet.
FROM: Your Loyal Subjects Who Are Sick of Your Shenanigans.
I’ve been cleaning out my email in-box and found a few gems… this one is from IZ:
HOW TO BATHE THE CAT
1. Thoroughly clean toilet.
2. Lift both lids and add shampoo.
3. Find and soothe cat as you carry him to bathroom.
4. In one swift move, place cat in toilet, close both lids, and stand on
top so cat cannot escape.
5. The cat will self agitate and produce ample suds. (Ignore ruckus from
inside toilet; cat is enjoying this.)
6. Flush toilet 3 or 4 times. This provides power rinse, which is quite
effective. Cat is too big to go anywhere.
7. Have someone open outside door, stand as far from toilet as possible and
quickly lift both lids.
8. Clean cat will rocket out of the toilet and outdoors, where he will air
Cat will return when hungry.
Sincerely, The dog
Sadly, this reminds me of “kitty doorbell.”
A few Cat Haikus…
You never feed me.
Perhaps I’ll sleep on your face.
That will sure show you.
You must scratch me there!
Yes, above my tail!
Behold, elevator butt.
The rule for today
Touch my tail, I shred your hand.
New rule tomorrow.
In deep sleep hear sound
cat vomit hairball somewhere
will find in morning.
I leap into the window.
I meant to do that.
The mighty hunter
Returns with gifts of plump birds —
your foot just squashed one.
You’re always typing.
Well, let’s see you ignore my
sitting on your hands.
My small cardboard box.
You cannot see me if I
can just hide my head.
I fought for hours. Come and see!
What’s a ‘term paper’?
Wanna go outside.
Oh, shit! Help! I got outside!
Let me back inside!
Oh no! Big One
has been trapped by newspaper!
Cat to the rescue!
Cats meow out of angst
“Thumbs! If only we had thumbs!
We could break so much!”