Tag Archives: cats

Infertility Darth-Vader’ed me to the Dark Side of being a Dog Lover

29 Jul

I always knew I only wanted 1 child.  I never once had visions of family vacations with my “children”, or huge holiday events with a big family I spawned… nor have I ever once felt bad about Sullivan not having any siblings.  I have replaced myself in the natural order of human population, and my job is done.  I am also well aware of my limitations, and I only have room enough in my psychological and emotional stability for 1 child.   I had my one child early in my adulthood, and I have my herd of cats, and it’s all good… right?  Apparently my hormones did not think so… and I had never realized just how powerful hormones are.  They are so powerful that they can turn a Crazy Cat Lady into an even crazier Pocket Dog Owner (dog purse and matching decorative leash to boot).

In the beginning of January, a slew of tumors discovered on my cervix were stamped with the “Cancer” diagnosis.  I don’t want this information to evoke any emotion from anyone, because I feel melodramatic even mentioning it (but it’s the entire reason why I am now I creepy Pocket Dog owner, so I am going to mention it).  I am in no way a “Cancer survivor” or even a person “Living with Cancer”… I am at best a “Cancer Tourist”.  I have had many friends who have lived with cancer, died from cancer, or have very much earned the title of  “survivor”.  I did not earn a thing.  I got tagged by cancer and got kicked around a tiny bit by the emotional turmoil it brings with it- but all it took for me to escape it’s clutches was having half my cervix removed, and from now on I need to have biopsies every 6-8 weeks to keep an eagle-eye out for new growths to promptly chop off until there is nothing left of my ill-behaved cervix.  I caught it early and am lucky (ladies… you had all better be getting your pap smears religiously, because the ONLY reason I’m lucky is because I’m religious about my lady-checkups).  But I officially can never have any more kids…. and I’m so very much totally ok with that because the last thing I need is more babies.

What I’ve always found funny about people is that once we’re told we can’t have something, that’s the one thing we want.   After the chop-chop of my cervix, I found myself getting increasingly clingy with the little things in my home.  I kept trying to cuddle and baby the cats far more than they are comfortable with.  I began hovering and smothering Sullivan with maternal coddling FAR more than a 13 year old boy could EVER be comfortable with.  I wasn’t coherently thinking “baby baby baby baby I need a baby baby baby” because knew I didn’t want a baby… but I was trying to make all the self-sufficient creatures around me to be more infantile and dependent on me.   This desperate need to nurture SOMETHING exploded in me.  I was creeping myself out, but I couldn’t really stop it.

About 6 weeks ago my BFF that I work with came running into my office and asked me if I wanted a puppy.  She saved a puppy from a kill shelter, but her dog and the puppy didn’t get along and she wanted to find a new happy home for it STAT.   All afternoon I fought it, but my ovaries were screaming “SAVE THE BABY!!”.  I texted Brad about 50 times debating all the reasons why we couldn’t have a dog in an attempt to talk my crazed maternal drive out of caring for another baby, but he finally said “You know you want the damn thing. Just bring it home”.  And that was that.

I am now thoroughly convinced that someone should have given Octomom a litter of unwanted puppies before she had her litter of babies, much trauma could have been avoided.  From the moment I got the puppy, all maternal screamings were quieted, and she was my new baby.  I have gone from being the adamant cat-lady disgusted with dogs to being that creepy dog owner that carries my dog around in my purse, taking her with me on all errand-running outings, and she has attached to me the way a toddler clings to it’s mother’s leg.  She’s part Chihuahua, and they usually only really bond with 1 person in a family- and despite how much Sully wanted her to be ‘his dog’ – she’s 100% mine.

So I introduce you to my little Chihuahua/Weiner dog (technically called a Chiuweenie) – Monkey.  She’s pretty much the best.  And our cats HATE her.

They day we got her, only 4 pounds.

My little sleeper!!

 

My neighbor and I and our matching Chihuahuas

 

The only time I've seen her NOT torturing poor old Oscar

So that’s my story.  From this point on when I obsessively talk about my dog, it is because she is literally my new baby.  And for all you out there who think you might want babies- get a puppy first.  It might just take care of that maternal drive and save you shit tons of money (and your dog will never steal your car when it’s a teenager).

The end.

 

 

In memory of my best friend, Leo the Cat.

17 Jun

I cry at pet food commercials.  They are sappy, overly sentimental, and obvious emotional manipulation- but that doesn’t matter.  I still cry.  At work, when a pet food commercial comes on, I mute the TV so I’m not that weird person crying alone in their office.  They make me cry because pets are better than people, and everything in those damn commercials is true.  I’m heavily attached to my cats.  I see them as my babies since I’m not having any more kids.  I tell them my secrets because a cat really knows how to keep a secret.  When I’m crying I will usually have all 5 of them piled up around me.  They will never yell at me or tell me that I’m not good enough.  They know my weaknesses, but will never use them against me- no matter how mad they are.  They will never lie to me, betray me, manipulate me, use me, or make me question them or myself.  They are always happy to see me when I come home.  They will always love me no matter what.  And they’re always there.  Try finding a person who fits that bill completely and fully… you can’t?  It’s because they don’t exist.

When I was about 20, my older brother had 2 cats that he could no longer keep- Oscar and Leo.  Leo was 2 or 3 years old, and Oscar was about a year younger.  Me, Oscar and Leo because quickest and best of friends.  When I had Sully, my (ex)husband and I spent a week at my parents house because I was too scared to be left alone with a newborn baby.  My parents had this funny little bouncy dog that kept wanting to jump up on the bed and see the baby- but Oscar and Leo sat on either side of the bed, like watchmen, guarding baby Sully so the hyper puppy didn’t hurt him.  And from then on, that was Leo’s permanent position- the watchman over Sully.  For the past 12 years, he has gone to bed with Sully at night until Sully went to sleep, then went about his nightly business (periodically checking in on Sully throughout the night to make sure he was ok).

Leo is how we taught Sully about homosexuality.  We nicknamed Leo “The Sleep Bandit” because as soon as Oscar or Sluggo would go to sleep, Leo would sneak up behind them, quietly mount them and try to get busy.  When Sully was old enough to realize that Leo was doing “funny” things to the other boy cats, he asked what was going on.  I told him that Leo was trying to make babies with the boy cats, but since Leo was a boy and the other cats were boys, that made Leo gay… which is totally natural for people or animals to be gay.  Sully has never questioned the sanctity of a homosexual relationship because of Leo and his “Sleep Bandit” behaviors.

Leo is the most tolerant cat on the planet.  I used to make him dance nightly to TV show theme songs or Neil Diamond.  He didn’t necessarily like dancing, and would sometimes make little annoyed meows during his dance routines- but as soon as his performance was over, he would go back to purring and sleeping on my lap- forever forgiving of my juvenile antics.

Leo has been with me through a baby, marriage, a divorce, a second marriage-  the hardest times in my life and the best times in my life.  He’s been by my side and purring through my entire adult life to this point.  Him and I have been together longer than most marriages last.  I took for granted that he wouldn’t always be there.  But as I type this, my sweet old man is sleeping on my lap dying of stomach cancer, and my broken heart is pouring down around him.  The vet yesterday told us that he would be surprised if he lasted a month- and I think that in Leo’s 16+ years of life, he’s learned our language.  Just hours after we got home from the vet, he stopped eating or drinking water.  It’s as if that verbal confirmation was all he needed, and now he has given up.  If he survives through the night, we will be taking him to the vet tomorrow to say good bye to him forever.  I had to explain to Sully that this is the only bad thing about having pets- they will unquestioningly adore you until the end, but there is an end that we have to endure.  And the end is an upsetting, unfair, and cruel thing to go through.  It makes me sincerely want to vomit to have my best friend dying in my lap, reduced to a mere 4 pounds, and so weak that he can’t walk across a room.  To have to give him water from an eyedropper so he doesn’t dehydrate before we can get him to the vet tomorrow.  To have him try to rub up against me, and fall over.  The vet assured me he isn’t in pain- but today he began suffering.  To watch him suffer like this is all the proof I need that there is no God, because no God who is any good would allow for his creatures (human or not) to go through this.  And if there is a God, and he has allowed this- then he is more sick and fucked up than any human could ever be, and I’ll be cheering on the frontlines of Satan’s team when the Apocalypse goes down.

Goodbye, my dear sweet friend, Leo.  Thank you for being my sidekick for almost 15 years.  I hope you felt loved, safe and well-cared for- because that’s how you made me feel.  My heart is quite literally shattered to see you go.

****Update…..

Leo did make it through the night- somehow.  By the time we went to bed, he could no longer hold his own head up.  Brad and I put him on a pillow between us, but somehow Leo managed to crawl off the pillow and curl up next to me, sleeping with his head on my shoulder.  I woke up this morning nose-to-nose with him, and his paw on my face.

This morning, since today was Sully’s first day of summer vacation I took him to work with me while Brad took Leo to the vet to be put out of his suffering.  Sully and I sobbed in my office while I got repeated emotionally hysterical calls from Brad letting me know exactly what was going on.  Brad held him and petted him until his last little breath.  His ashes will forever live in the sunniest spot of our home.

I know that people lose family members and friends every day, and there are people reading this saying “it’s just a cat”… but pets aren’t just “pets”.  And a heartbreak is a heartbreak.  Thank you, everyone, for your wonderful words of love and caring on here and on my FB page.  If I don’t respond to all of it, it’s because every time I attempt it I start crying again.  I love you all.  xooxoxox

A window into what goes on in our house every night….

19 Apr

Welcome to the world of Sluggo.

I’m sitting in my office.  Brad is in the bedroom laying on the bed.  He yells for me, and I roll my chair back and look through the door to see what he wants (my office and our bedroom are connected, so there was really no reason for him to yell- since even though a wall is separating us, I’m only 9 feet away).  Our gigantic Maine Coon cat, Sluggo, has Brad in a headlock, claws digging slightly into Brad’s face, and he’s grooming Brad’s eyes.  This is the conversation that follows:

Brad: “I need help.”

Me: “No, you don’t.  Just move his paws and sit up.  Don’t be a fucking baby.”

Brad: “Kristen, really- come help me.  I don’t want to move him.  He’s so happy.”

Me: “Then quit bitching.  I’m not going to get up and remove the cat from your head because you won’t do it because you don’t want to ‘hurt the cat’s feelings’.  It’s ridiculous.  You’re 10 times bigger than him and a human.  Just say ‘No’ to him.”

Brad: “I can’t tell him ‘No’.  He’s too happy.  You have to do it.”

(keep in mind, this whole time Sluggo still has Brad in a headlock, digging his claws into Brad’s face, and is licking his face so furiously that Brad’s skin is getting raw)

Me: (getting annoyed) “God-fucking-damnit Bradly- just tell the damn cat “NO”!  He doesn’t do that shit to me because I told him “NO”- now fucking do it!”

Brad: (in the littlest voice possible) “sluggo no”

Me: “Fuck, Brad.  Really?  And you wonder why he rapes you like this all day? He thinks you’re into it.”

Brad: “I just can’t do it.  You have to make him stop.  I can’t hurt his feelings like this.”

Me: “SLUGGO- NO!!!!

Sluggo stops the affection assault on Brad,  gets up, and walks out of the room.  Brad then jumps up, and chases Sluggo out of the room saying “Oh no!  I hurt his feelings!!  Come back, Sluggo!!”.

When Brad walks in the front door, Sluggo jumps from the floor onto Brad’s shoulder like a massive poofy parrot, grabs Brad’s chin with his paw and starts grooming his face.  He does the same thing when Brad is sitting at his desk, at the kitchen table, or really doing anything at all.  I get the same pleas for help from Brad, and then when I do assist in stopping the rape, Brad chases the cat down and begs for more.  All day.  Every day.  No matter what.

FYI- “No” means “No”…. except for Brad and his cat.  When Brad says ‘No’- he really does want it.  Fucking tease.

Aside from that, this is my new obsession.  Seriously.  I love this little musical group more and more every second I listen to them.  Brad and I have fallen head first into total obsession, and will call each other and scream “Go NINJA… GO!!” at each other all day.  Arty and inbred and weird and uncomfortable and catchy.  Everything I love.

Brilliance.  Enjoy.

Sh*tting away money, and my hatred for Budget Car Rental….

9 Mar

We have 5 cats.  That’s alot of cats… I know.  I never meant to have 5 cats.  It just kindof happened.  People getting pregnant over and over and having a billion babies doesn’t “just happen”… but finding yourself with 5 cats does.  (I’m so tired right now that I’m giggling for no reason, so just go with my nonsense).

With 5 cats comes many wonderful things… like when you wake up and all of them are sleeping all over you.  It’s the things 5 year old girls dream of… a bed made of kittens.  But then there are the ridiculous things… like the amount of shit that 5 cats can produce.

5 cats produce an overwhelming amount of shit.  Seriously.  And these aren’t big cats, and they don’t eat massive amounts… so I don’t know how this much shit is created.  If it was something other than shit… like if they crapped out money, or apple turnovers- then it would actually be awe inspiring.  But it’s not apple turnovers… it’s mountains of shit.  So all awe is replaced with my gagging.  (And please allow me to note that I’m the only one changing the litterboxes… my boys won’t go near it.  Pure awesomeness.)

I’m obsessive about keeping their litterboxes under control because I REFUSE to have a house that “smells like cats”.  My cats respect that, and have never strayed from their litterboxes when doing their business.  And for that, I thank them.

I got a call from Brad tonight after he was leaving Cosco with the multiple 30 pound containers of litter that we have to get because of our speed-shitting cats, and the thought hit me…. Brad just spent almost $50 for gravel for our cats to shit on, and then we throw away.  Our cats are literally wiping their asses with our money. And what do we do about it?  We just go out and buy more litter, and let them keep on doing it.  How did this happen?  How is it that I spend more money in a month to buy rocks for my cats to take a dump on than I have spent on visits to the doctor for myself in 5 years?  How did these guys get such priority?  I’m a total sucker.

Speaking of suckers…. do not ever rent a car from Budget Car Rental.  Seriously.  Ever.  If it comes down to a choice of walking 10 miles barefoot through streets of broken glass and lemon juice or renting a car from Budget… grab a shit-ton of bandaids and start hiking.

Here’s my story…. When I was visiting my parents for the holidays, the night after Christmas a tree fell on my rental car (I guess this was the baby Jesus’s way of telling me that he didn’t appreciate my making fun of him all year long.  That loser needs to get a sense of humor).  My car insurance said they’d pay all of it but $500, and my additional insurance through my credit card said they’d pay the rest.  Awesome!!… right?  Nope.  The tale goes on….

It’s now March.  I’ve gotten weekly emails from my credit card people saying they’ve been aggressively trying to get a hold of Budget to resolve this thing- but they haven’t heard a word from them.  Well, on Friday I did.  I got a letter in the mail saying that I owe them almost $2,500 for the car damage, and if I don’t pay them in full by Friday they’re going to send me to collections.  No 30 day warning.  No contacting me in advance.  No response to my credit card company.  They think they are just going to either charge my card, or take me to collections.  They have messed with the wrong lady.

1.  This is illegal.  They have to have exhausted all efforts before taking it to the “collections” level…. AND they have to give 30 days for me to either contest it or come up with payment.  That’s the law.

2. They state the car was totalled, and my car insurance paid for the totalled car. Now they’re trying to charge me for the time that the car wasn’t able to be used- even though they’re claiming it was totalled.  You can’t claim “Loss of Valued Use” if you valued the car at being worth nothing.  The Geico lady and I were laughing and openly mocking the idiocy of Budget with their obvious scam (BTW- I love Geico… they’ve been 100% on the ball with all of this).

3.  After I “lawyered up” with the Budget lady, she refused to talk to me any more.  I stated that if I was taken to collections on Friday, they would be hearing from my lawyers, and we would win.  After that, she has refused to respond to me, Geico, or my credit card people.  Which is keeping this from being resolved.

I have all my financial bases covered for all legitimate charges.  Geico happily paid all the costs of the car damage, my credit card is happy to pay the additional insurance costs… but Budget wants more.  And is illegally trying to get it.  They’ve made me mad.  Which means they’re fucked.

What Budget doesn’t realize is that I have a husband who doesn’t go on tour again until the summer- which means he has free time.  Free time to repeatedly call them.  And call them.  And email them.  And call them some more.  And call their supervisors.  And call their corporate offices.  And email them some more…. ya get the idea?  We’re really good at this kindof stuff.  We’ll make it so that they actually pay US to leave them alone.  And we’ll be laughing the whole time.

So that was my day today.  Phone and email tag with Budget/Geico/American Express, and realizing that my cats are shitting away my hard earned money that Budget is trying to steal.

YAY FOR BEING A GROWN UP!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Destructive kitten forces vs. Psychic Premonitions, and some icky dream imagery to boot….

25 Oct

I have lots of sick and disturbing dreams.  Lots and lots of them.  Usually I’ll wake up from them and have to laugh, because I’m not sure how my brain comes up with this stuff when it’s trying to rest.  And other times I’ll wake up completely disturbed, and wondering if there is something truly wrong with me.

Last night I had a dream that our old and befuddled Oscar cat got out (all our cats are indoors cats).  I looked out into the backyard (which wasn’t the backyard we have now, but a huge lawn surrounded by woods), and I saw a bunch of kids torturing Oscar.  Pulling out his fur, poking his eyes… horrible stuff.  But here’s the part of the dream that made me sick to my stomach…. I grabbed a huge hammer off the kitchen counter, ran out into the backyard screaming like a warrior and killed the children, then grabbed Oscar cat and ran with him back into the house.  In my dream, I killed children with a hammer… and not in a cartoony way…  but in a really bad way.  I didn’t like this dream.  I woke up feeling like something in my brain had totally crossed a line, and it really needs to apologize.

So this afternoon, I went into the kitchen to make Sully lunch.  We have big windows and a sliding glass door that lead into our backyard. I glance into the backyard- and there are all the cats…. minus Oscar.  I look at the sliding screen door, and it was off it’s sliding track and lodged open.  I run into the backyard and start swooping up cats.  One after another until they’re all safely back inside… but still no Oscar.  Sully starts searching the house while I search the backyard for him. Nowhere to be found.  Oscar is really old, totally senile (he gets disorientated and confused easily), and has really bad joints so he can’t jump or run anymore.  He’s the one that CANNOT get out because he wouldn’t be able to defend himself.

And then I remember my dream.  And I hear the sounds of the neighborhood kids playing in the culdesac, and I get a little freaked out.  Sully and I are running up and down the street calling for him, I’m repeating over and over in my head “no matter what, don’t get a hammer”.  We eventually find him down the street in a neighbors yard unharmed.  But I found the lost-cat-dream and the lost-cat-a-few-hours-later interesting, and I was glad that horrid neighborhood children being smashed into jelly wasn’t a part of the dream that was played out.

After we got all the guys back inside, we found out how the back door was opened.  It was Daisy.  Our 4 pound tiny cat was repeatedly taking a running start and jumping as hard as she could onto the back screendoor until it got knocked off it’s track.  She’s crazy smart.  I’ll come home to find all my drawers opened and emptied onto the floor, she can open doors and scale anything.  We already had to replace one screen door because she figured out how to pull the screen part of it out and climb through the opening it made.  She’s a crafty little asshole.  And today she organized a prison break.

But senile old Oscar is back at home, safe and sound…. and no children were killed in the process.

And Daisy is under strict supervision.

Old man Oscar and his best friend Sluggo during daily cuddle time

Old man Oscar and his best friend Sluggo during daily cuddle time

Daisy, the destroyer of everything

Daisy, the destroyer of everything

My cat had better get herself a goddamn dayjob….

1 Apr

Last night, my kitten Daisy had to be rushed to the emergency vet hospital.

A few days ago, her and our fat Lila cat duked it out (the battle being instigated by Daisy- who weighs barely 5 pounds against Lila who weighs about 11 pounds), and Daisy’s inside eyelid got torn by Lila’s massive talons.  Within a few days, even with medicine from the vet, it got so infected that Daisy started to “shut down”.  Stopped eating and drinking, could barely move, her eye swelled up like crazy, matted fur… the whole bit.  It was when she started trying to do the “crawl away to die” thing that I said “I don’t care how much it costs, she’s going to the emergency room”.  I raised this little kitten from when she was so tiny her eyes weren’t even open… so my maternal defenses kicked in and took over.  This was Daisy at about 7 weeks old when she would sit on my head for hours every day while I worked……

After 5 hours of pacing the vet’s waiting room, at about 3:30am I was handed a bill for $450.00.  Yes… that’s right.  Four hundred and fifty fucking dollars.  When I boldly stated “I don’t care how much it costs”…. I didn’t really mean for the fates to take that to heart and rape my wallet for their own entertainment.  Fuck you, fates.

There was a really nice guy in the waiting room with me the whole time who was there because his dog had gone into labor and there were complications.  The mama dog was a Yorkie, and the papa dog was a Dachshund (weiner dog)… so he was  waiting for her to give birth to a litter of Dorkies.  Yes, that’s what they’re called.  Dorkies.  And she was popping out 5 of those little Dorkies… so he had been there for a VERY long time.  Thank you, kind sir, for keeping me entertained while my stupid kitten was cleaning out my bank account.

To sum it up: I am very tired. I am now broke.  Daisy is an asshole.  Lila is now going to get her claws trimmed every 10 minutes. And Dorkies rule.