Do you remember when Letterman debuted the Velcro suit? When he ran (lumbered), hit a trampoline and project himself into a wall where he stuck like a bug to a windshield? I do. Maybe I’m that old, but even if you don’t remember the original you’ve seen a recreation.
Long story short: Monty may very well be the offspring of our gap toothed late night savior. He’s a velcro cat, as demonstrated most nights that The Mc and I actually have the opportunity to dine together. Instead of jumping into our laps, he’ll mount a leg and attempt to climb it. If standing at the sink, he’ll mount the back of your thigh. It’s not charming.
We never had issues with Grayson The Angel Child and we’ve been hoping that castration would rectify Monty’s robust spazzitude. Last week he finally went for the big visit. When I picked him up and was being given the three sentence instructions for aftercare, I was told he might be lethargic for the next few days if not a week due to the anesthesia. Yipee!
No such luck. He was plenty enthusiastic that night, which is really awesome when Grayson is running around acting like they’ve never met with hissing and swatting. Not. He was up at 3am fighting with his older brother and biting our toes. I barely remember but am certain I got up at least twice swearing and voicing concern that I would never sleep again.
By the time I got to my car from the condo the next morning my phone was already ringing: it was The Mc. I answered and he asked me to talk him off the ledge. Monty had just bum rushed him while he was sitting in bed drinking coffee and said cup of hot brown liquid had gone everyone, including the new beige-ish comforter. I did the best I could do. “Don’t worry about it, throw the sheets in the wash and I’ll deal with the comforter later.”
I wanted to cry. Again.
About an hour later, I get this email from my sweet potato pie:
Knocked your plant over in the bathroom, I did the best I could to clean it up. After coming out of the shower, I discovered his ass sticking out of the kitchen sink chowing down on the noodles you left in the sink. No idea how many he ate. So in addition to snipping him, they must have enabled his back legs because he can now jump on the counter with ease. I got the mail, left it in the bathroom so the demons can¹t destroy it, careful with it because there are bills mixed in with junk mail flyers.
My emotions we mixed, so I emailed my girlfriends for humor and sympathy, one of whom replied “He’s probably looking for his balls.”
I love my friends. I love my dysfunctional family. I also think we need to hire a nanny.
It’s been two and a half months since we lost Amber, and while we haven’t healed yet, Grayson is chomping at the bit for a new friend to run his spastic kitty azz ragged.
Two weeks ago we went and met the kitty who will be his new little brother, yesterday we went for another visit during day one of Errandpalooza ’08 and I managed to snap him a few times. He remembered me from our previous visit, came straight to me and burrowed himself in my lap.
Isn’t he adorable?
We think so too.
Now, what do you think we should name him?
After nagging The Mc for weeks on end about Amber and her excessive hair loss /weight problem/said weight impeding her ability to clean her own butt – he took her to the vet yesterday.
Sure, she’s a long hair, but when I vacuumed his house stem to stern a few weeks back to eradicate the hair, I’d hoped it would be a month or two before I saw tumbleweeds of fur rolling around the living room again. Hope springs eternal.
I don’t know anything about cats, really, but I suggested that she was malnourished and bulimic. She’d run to the dish when it was filled, inhale it all and barf half of it up a few minutes later.
Turns out I was right…so sayeth the vet.
She has some skin irritation no doubt due to having to be bathed once a week since she can’t clean herself, she’s overweight, and she needs oils.
One prescription for fish oil on food, an antibiotic, and prescription cat food later – I think we’re on our way to her being a happier, healthier kitty…and not making me
crazy crazier. Whatever.
Let the record reflect that I’m not a cat person…hell, I’m barely a dog person and when I found out The Mc had a feline — it was almost a deal breaker. Almost. Her name is Amber and she’s a princess to be sure, which is almost enough to make me love her unwaveringly HOWEVER she and I have a few small issues.
~ She’s needy and insists on interrupting when I’m talking to The Mc on the phone
~ She’s overweight, takes no pride in her appearance and shows no self control at the food bowl
~ She has bootie cleanliness issues
Yeah, little Ms. Thang has quite the dingleberry collection and despite The Mc scrubbing her hamhocks on a regular basis she insists on continuing the hobby.
She also has a habit of doing wind sprints in the middle of the night, which I suspect is just an effort to outrun the dingleberries. She’ll get revved up and haul ass out of the bedroom and down the hall, with claws gripping carpet in a way that’s less than pleasing to the ears. This is usually followed by a trip to the crapper, which is one of those fancy electronic jobs that refreshes the litter 10 minutes after she’s exited. Maybe she does the sprints to pressure her bowels, but I suspect otherwise. I also suspect she hates me.
So last night went something like this:
8:00 – Get to the house, Amber hangs in the living room and eyes me skeptically.
8:15 – We eat, she eats. She’s always eating.
8:30 – We watch TV, she lays on the floor and eyeballs me.
8:45 – I go upstairs and she talks to her dad in a hushed voice about “that lady” taking her spot on the couch again.
9:00 – Attempt to sleep.
11:00 – Amber starts with the wind sprints.
12:30 – She’s trying to eat my pillow.
2:00 – She’s rubbing against one of the bedroom doors banging it on the wall.
3:30 – Now would be a good time for her to have a conversation with herself.
4:00 – More eating my pillow in an effort to get me to leave.
4:45 – Wind sprints.
5:30 – Time to wake everyone up, because the Princess is hungry.
FWIW, those turds were still clinging to her ass this morning when I left. I doubt she’ll ever successfully outrun them.