Monday, April 12, 2010


I have cats. Just a few. Like... six. Oz says that's five too many. My parents think I have an infestation. My grandmother is just downright appalled that I let half a dozen cats reside in the house with me, but her view may be a bit skewed by the fact that in her eyes cats should live only in barns. It drives her nuts when she visits and sleeps in M2's bed and wakes up to find a cat on the bed with her, and when my Old Man Cat jumps on her lap to say hello, it's all I can do not to laugh when she pats him and says "nice kitty" while trying to figure out a way to get him off... while he's settling in for the long haul and starting to knead with his gnarled old claws.

I love my grandmother. She's 86 and sharp as a tack and still lives on her own. I shouldn't poke fun.

But for the sake of my cats, I do. They are wonderful critters. They are my therapy when chocolate doesn't cut it.

However, I'm pretty well convinced that my kittens aren't 100% cat.

One of them is half mountain goat.

That's the top of my not-very-short fridge. He jumps up there from a table that's probably all of 3 feet tall. He can also get on the top of the cabinet in my bathroom which is probably a 4-foot leap from the sink.

That can be unnerving when you don't know he's up there and you go in and you sit down on the toilet. You start your business, hear a noise, and look up to see a cat staring down at you, licking its chops, and you can HEAR it asking, "Whatcha doin'?"

Shrieking "GET OUT!!!" while throwing toilet paper directly up at him doesn't really have the desired effect.

He may have a bit of a thing with heights. He also likes to get up on the top of the cabinet in my laundry room and knock down my cake carriers.

You see why I say he's part mountain goat.
Ah, crap. They found the candy.

They must have fed it to Kuro.
Have you met Kuro?

Oh, wait, hang on... let's get a better shot.
Thaaaaat's better. Meet Kuro. He's 20-some-odd pounds of cat. The kids have a song about him. It's really cute. It goes, "He's big. He's fat. He's 20 pounds of cat."

I told you. Cats are therapy.

They're great for laughs. Sometimes they are just happy. For no reason. And that makes ME happy for no reason.

Here's Vixen proving that point very eloquently. She found a pheasant feather that I had stashed in a cabinet as a cat toy.

"Afink ah borked mahself."

(Inside joke, sorry... it had to be said.)

"Gah, Mom... I told you... NO paparazzi."

Pheasant Pheather Phail.

And then, just for kicks, there's the dog. He makes me laugh sometimes, too.

Like when I give him a bath and his hair kinks up like I gave him a perm. And I promise I didn't. He tolerates the cats, too. Or is one. The kids call him the Barking Cat.

Poor Gizmo. He's outnumbered 6 to 1.

Life just ain't fair, but when you live in a house with this many cats, it sure can be fun. :)

"Don't laugh at me. I'll sit on you."

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