For Cooper,CG’s Sister’s annoying dauschund
Stop barking at people down the street…you can’t get to them and they aren’t bothering you.So SHUT UP!!! Also…I am seriously considering buying you some doggy memory tablets or SOMETHING because there is NO need to bark at me ferociously like you are going to snap me in half with your little wiener-doggy mouth even though you’ve been snuggly and cuddly with me and the rest of the family all day long.I didn’t change into a anthromorphic octo-creature with two heads and six arms while I was in the bathroom.Get a grip you silly pup. I also do not find it cute that you beg pathetically when anyone is even near the kitchen.Maybe that works at home with your mom and dad but not with me,buster.So fuhgeddaboutit.
I thought we had an understanding. You seemed to be doing pretty good, as you got to be a fairly good size for an invertebrate. Every few days, you would emerge from the drain, take a leisurely stroll round the tub, then go back down the drain to your home quarters. That was fine. But then, one sad day, I found you in the hallway outside the bathroom. That was not fine. And that is why the bushes became your new home.
Sweetie, you are the most gorgeous kitty in the world, but you have a brain the size of a lentil. We’ve gone over this a million times: just because you see tiniest speck of the bottom of the bowl, doesn’t mean you are in imminent danger of starvation. You also have the memory of a flea. I just filled you bowl to the brim, yet you continue your “feed me” caterwaul even though you just had a bite of food!
And you know that very expensive litterbox momma bought for you? The one with the carpeted ramp, so your precious little paws wouldn’t track litter all over the house? I’d appreciate it if you didn’t take A FLYING LEAP out of the box every time you take a dump. Use the damn ramp! I’m tired of vacuuming up litter.
You don’t enjoy getting wet, remember? Yet when you stick your head in the tub while momma takes a bath you get a snout full of water. You then give ME an evil look and go pout. Every night.
I swear a basket has more intelligence than my cat.
To my darling ancient tabby: I realize that you are old and I want to treasure every moment that we have left together. I also know that you probably have arthritis and are therefore kind of slow and creaky. This does not, however, mean that I am willing to let you STAND on my lap indefinitely. You may not weigh much, but those little paws feel pretty sharp after a while. Just lie down! Also, while I’m delighted to moisten your food for you, I’m not willing to serve you only cat-food flavored water. You can just quit meowing at me and drink out of the regular water bowl right now.
To my dear Manx cross: You are the biggest cat in the house. You have also proved, time and again, that you can be pretty ferocious when the mood strikes, like when you would prefer to have us stop petting you. It stands to reason, therefore, that you don’t really need to run away like a frightened kitten when we try to open the door for you. We are performing a service, you know. Also, there is no need for you to suddenly become a Shy Wild Creature the second you set paw outdoors. We’re still your loving family even when you’re outside.
To my sweet little Siamese cross: Everyone else in the household may let you believe that you are Queen of the World, but I am not going to concede the title. You’re just going to have to accept that you are runner-up. And you’ve already cowed the dog and both of the other cats; there’s no need to rub it in by chasing them out of the living room at your whim. Yes, it’s funny when the teensy little kitty pushes the 50-lb. dog around, but after a point it’s just plain cruel.
To my adorable border collie cross: I am almost completely certain that the nice man next door is not a serial killer. Please quit expressing your desire to kill him every time he gets his mail or feeds his dogs. Also, you know perfectly well that no one in this family will give you scraps of food. It’s never happened, and it never will. You might as well quit looking at us like that when we eat.
And, while I’m at it, to my beloved husband: You are so very good at letting the pets out, even when they shouldn’t be out, like at night. Could you please try to get a little better at letting them back in? You can’t make me believe that the dog who adores you will follow you out to the back porch but not back in again. Also, one more night out in freezing weather could very well do the ancient kitty in. I know you’d feel bad if that happened; could you please try to think of it before tragedy strikes?
Ding, honey, you know I love you. You know that I don’t mind at all when you sleep on my pillow next to my head at night. But could you please not insist on positioning your butt in my face? Even when I rotate you, you get up, turn, and plop down with your butt in my face. It isn’t my favorite part of you. You wonder why I sometimes push you off the pillow, and you give me those sad eyes… well that is why.
And Kaia, while you are wonderful and I love to pet you, you don’t need to jump on my lap every time I sit on the toilet. Really.
The vet has told me that you are fat. That’s right, fat. He didn’t mince words. And instead of yelling at YOU to get off the bed once in awhile to chase some squirrels like the OTHER pets in this thread apparently do, he yelled at ME for not taking you on enough walks and feeding you table scraps. Yes, yes he knows all about it. What, you wanted me to lie to your doctor?
So! Because I love you, despite the fact that you chewed my favorite pair of work shoes, I am implementing a new “No people food for the beagle” policy. Yes, you heard it right. It’s what’s best. So quit fluffing up your ears to look as adorable as possible and staring at me with an expression of utter despair in those soulful brown eyes when I am eating – only to look hopeful the second I make eye contact with you. It’s not going to work. I am the mommy and I know what’s best for you. It’s called tough love, Bud. Deal. Go lay down and take your mind off of MY food. Yes, yes, I know this prime rib is much tastier and succulent than dry, tasteless kibbles. The vet says that the kibbles are better for you. So go on, go lay down. And don’t you dare lay your head on my lap! That is playing dirty because you KNOW I’m a sucker for that. Awwww, shit.
Okay, listen, just a LITTLE piece and we keep this between the two of us. Don’t tell daddy and for gawd’s sake, quit licking your lips like that! It’s a dead give away. And you’d better enjoy that, because tomorrow we’re definitely starting the new policy. I’m SERIOUS this time!
Not only can captive birds lay eggs, they don’t even need a mate to do it. Of course they are not gonna produce babys but some birds will nest them just the same. My 2 quakers both lay eggs. Koko will lay one 2x’s a year and then play with it like a ball untill you take it away or she breaks it. But Willow (who was DNA sexed as a boy… major lab mix-up:rolleyes:) lays eggs like crazy and nests them. If I take them away to soon she will just lay more (and since laying to many to often can hurt her I let her keep them) anyhow she is a very good “mom” she keeps them warm and rotates them often. I keep telling her the lab says shes a boy but she won’t listen.
Please stop running at me as I walk away and pushing the backs of my knees with your paws, causing me to crumple to the floor, most ungracefully. It is not funny. I hear you snickering to yourself when you do it. Also, when I am walking around the kitchen with my hands full, do not dive in front of me, causing me to trip over you and frantically try to avoid death for us both by catching myself on the counter. When you look up at me all innocent, trying to act like you have been lying there all along, you do not fool me.
Also, please stop pulling loose threads on the carpet, creating large unravelled portions that look stupid. I am willing to give you daily portions of peanut butter if you stop doing this.
The squirrels are doing that on purpose to tease you. Don’t give in to them, they laugh when you go crazy. Then they throw things at you with their tiny fists, which infuriates you further. It is an endless cycle, do not give in.
And finally, I am glad you like the new frozen treats we got you, but you wouldn’t get brain freeze if you licked them slowly and didn’t try to chew them so fast. See how now you are rubbing your nose on the floor and doing flips? It is more pleasant to enjoy the treat slowly.
Gosh, I’m laughing so hard now…thanks for the laughs
My rants:
Okay, CJ (Calamity Jane a/k/a Evvviiil Satan Kitty). For the last and final time, you are a carnivore. Carnivores do not lie in planter baskets and pretend they cannot be seen-- THEN turn around and eat the damn plants.
You are not “Jungle Kitty”. You are a house kitty. You are a carnivore. You are supposed to eat meat, not helpless little bamboo plants and spider plants. Now the planter looks like an elephant trampled through it. For crying out meowwww. Then when I catch you or hear you chewing on the plants, as if you haven’t eaten in days, you act like I cannot see you and just sit still with those evil black pupils staring at me. Strange, evil kitty.
And why must you hiss at your innocent little sister Abby? She walks by and you hiss and lunge at her. Don’t even get me started on those sneak/suprise attacks on poor Little Abner. We all know you are the Queen. We praise You in all your glory. Please, for the love of God, just be a nice kitty. Kinda like the real nice kitty you were when we rescued you from the Farmer Jack’s parking lot in May of 1998, okay? Nice kitty. Niiiiccce kitty.
Thank you for being a little fur-covered freak. You provide your daddy and me with hours of amusement. But here are some things to remember:
You are not a dog. You are a cat. Dogs sit up and beg. Cats are supposed to be too dignified for this. And for chasing their tail in circles until they’re so dizzy they fall down.
You will never, no matter how many times you try, or how many times you jump at it, capture the miniature cat reflected down at you by the shiney brass front-door knob.
I realize that, as a cat, you have decided on occasion that you really did not want to be in the living room, you wanted to be on the upstairs landing, and therefore you will bolt up the stairs at lightening speed. However, I will continue to laugh when I hear that kathud of you tripping up the stairs and smacking your head into the wooden tread.
Please stop digging in the litterbox. For no reason. All the time.
The cat outside knows that you don’t like him. That is why he comes to the window. You’re just playing into his evil plan by hissing and attempting to scratch through the pane of glass to get to him.
*Please continue to be as talkative as you are. It’s very amusing, having conversations with you. Even when you get frustrated, and call me a bitch.
My boyfriend and I have been going out for one and a half years now. This means you have had ample time to accustom to a strange human entering Vertti Territory (yes, I am well aware that my boyfriend and his mother merely inhabit the house which you own and rule with an Iron Hand… err, Paw) periodically. Sometimes even staying the night. I intend to continue doing so. So please, please, could we try to come to some agreement over the following?
I realize that you have an anus. This is because I have studied IB Biology, and have learned about the wondrous thing that is the Mammalian Digestive Tract. Therefore, I do not need to be reminded of the fact that you have a bunghole every time you walk by on the couch. Tail down, buddy. Down.
1a) Oh, and I also know what you are doing in the litter box. You do not have to show me every time. Please.
These are my toes. They are attached to my feet. They are not a rare hairless breed of field mouse with. Do not treat them as such. I would prefer to retain all ten.
If (when) you do choose to treat my toes as a rare hairless breed of field mouse, kindly inform me beforehand. Human reflexes are ill equipped to react in the 3/12 of a nanosecond it takes from you to transfer from a purring pile of fur in my lap to the Mighty Hunter of Feet chewing on my big toe.
I realize that you reign supreme over Matti’s bed. However, as you may have noticed, humans enjoy each other’s company, physically as well as emotionally. Therefore, when I stay overnight at my boyfriend’s house, I would, in fact, prefer to sleep in my boyfriend’s bed, strange though that concept might seem. Waking up in the middle of the night with a cat parked on one’s face is not the epitome of pleasantness. So is waking up in the middle of the night half off the bed with you kneading my back with those sharp, pointy little claws.
Finally, and somewhat correlating to the previous: I would like to remind you that I am, in fact, allergic to cats. A cat in the same room is not too bad. A cat on one’s face, however, leads to red eyes, puffy eyes, itchy eyes, a sore throat, and cat hair in one’s nose. This is not much fun. I do like to breathe, thank you for asking, and am interested in continuing to do so in the future.
I would also like to write an open letter to my dog, but I’m afraid the sheer mass of the post would send the hamsters into cardiac arrest once and for all…
Dear Joplin/Joppers the Butt: I love you, boy, but you must stop the obsessive paw licking. All night, lick, lick, lick until you wake mommy up and she screams. The vet said there is nothing wrong with your paw, but you are developing a complex/habit. You don’t need any more “issues” – I think you’re neurotic enough as is.
I’d also appreciate it if you stopped going into the trash cans looking for food. I’m tired of finding torn up paper towels (but they had flavor on them, I know) and used tissues on the floor. Blech. And stop putting your paws on the counters looking for food – you got lucky a couple of times, but I’m going to booby trap all the countertops with mousetraps, and you aren’t going to like the results. You still need to lose 10 lbs., according to the vet. Stop. Begging. Now.
To Bobbie: You are the sweetest dog in the world, and thank you for putting up with me and Joplin. But could you please stop playing mind games with Jops? I think you are giving him a complex, blocking his exits, staring at him from your Princess Pillow just waiting for an infraction of the Bobbie Rules™, which include anything from his looking in your general direction to full-blown barking. I know he’s a PITA, but hey, who isn’t? Also, you are a Senior (excuse me, Experienced) dog, and I can’t really do anything about that. I know your legs hurt, your back hurts, and I am doing everything in my power to help you out, but I can’t fix it. Neither can the vets. I know it hurts your dignity when I give you a boost into the car (Joplin is watching – I try to avert his eyes, really!) or up the stairs. I try to be discrete and gentle, but giving me that Bobbie Look™ makes me feel bad.
And both of you, stop making me feel guilty about leaving you sometimes. You can’t always go for a ride. We are not joined at the hip. I am not abandoning you – I’ll be right back. While I’m gone, find something to do besides shed – it will take your mind off the fact I’m not there, catering to your every whim. Read a book, watch TV – maybe tidy up and run the vacuum. Oh sorry, I know you hate the vacuum as much as I do.
OH MY GOODNESS! I have laughed so hard at work that my co-workers now think I’m nuts!!! This is the best thread EVER! You guys are so creative and I’m glad to know that our cats aren’t the only annoying ones. But of course we love them!
To African Grey Steve: do not tease cops.
To George the mutant freak conure: If you are disrupting the heavy metal band in the basement, you might a little too loud. Also, those macaw toys I got you? They are supposed to be indestructible. Cooperate with the nice toy manufacturers on this. I am okay with your need to whittle sharpened stakes for hours on end, when the vampires come we will certainly be grateful to have them.
Doh! Poor conure typing skills! I forgot the the word “be”.
Oh yeah, and George: smacking your head up and down on the keyboard while I type isn’t doing anything for my posts, or your IQ.
sniff
I think this is the saddest thing I’ve ever read! It reminds me of a nature show I watched once where a gorilla carried its dead baby around for a few days, trying to nurse it and stuff.
