My boyfriend’s cat is staying with me for a few days while boyfriend is out of town. His cat France and my cat Riley get along fairly well, I wouldn’t say they’re friends but they do tolerate each other.
I was making instant oatmeal for breakfast this morning, I had poured the little packet of oats into a bowl and had turned around to start the coffee maker. I hear a sneeze behind me. France is on the counter with oats all over her face. In the ten seconds I had my back turned she had jumped up on the counter and stuck her face in the bowl. She sneezed the oats all over the counter, and had a piece stuck to the end of her nose.
If I had been caffeinated and had my wits about me I would’ve grabbed the camera. It was too cute for me to get mad. Cats is weird.
What cuties! They look eerily like Cobalt and Rhodium did when they were teenagers.
I do have a tip for not letting cats wake you up in the morning. Feed them in the evening, never in the morning. In the morning, as soon as you get up, take away their food dishes and lock them (the dishes, not the cats) in a cabinet somewhere. The cats get them back after you’re showered and ready for the day. It will probably take a week or two, but they will stop getting you out of bed.
If we’re both asleep before sunrise, chances are so is Allie. I think she’s gotten the message that breakfast is normally not served until after it’s light out, so she figures it’s a waste of time to pester me before that.
Speaking of cats and citrus, can anyone explain to me how anyone in their right mind would have produced a citrus-scented cat litter? The last thing you want is to discourage the cat from using his/her litterbox!
This is pure genius! I’m going to start doing this with ours right away and see if it helps them learn the difference between weekdays and weekends. I’ll bet it will help with the time change too. grumbles about falling in love with a man who lives where people change their clocks twice a year.
I read the Miss Manner’s sort of stuff sometimes. It always entertains me when the conversation about how to hang the toilet paper ends when someone explains that the loose end goes behind the roll, so that when kitteh is scratching it, it doesn’t unroll.
We bought a nice sofa and chair set this summer - our first real grown-up furniture that we didn’t inherit from someone. Now we have them covered with sofa covers, and the sofa covers covered with towels, because SOMEONE is a very sheddy little kitty, and insists on sleeping on them 24/7. I’m washing the covers today, and I can see that the hair is even coming through the two layers. Sigh.
Fatty stalks the dogs. He will wait until they come down the stairs and then attack them. I’m sure they are glad that he is declawed in front. This actually is pretty hilarious, but now he’s doing it to the baby. My son is learning how to walk, so now he’s fresh stalking meat for Fatty. The kid doesn’t mind though, he just laughs.
My big neutered male is spraying in the house. I know why, but I don’t know what to do about it. Another cat is coming in our house thru the cat door and eating my cats’ food; not a feral from what I’ve seen of it, and I hate trapping it and taking it to the pound. Never mind possibly trapping my own, which I suppose I could avoid, but dammit!!
I used to have the coolest orange tabby named Cajun. He was scrawny, a total lovebird and would let me do things to him that would humiliate any other cat, like put sunglasses on him that he would happily peer over while the stoned humans laughed. He also was a burrower. He would burrow under my covers and sleep under there at my feet, which I’d never seen a cat do before.
Unfortunately, Cajun also liked to sleep on the top shelf of my apartment wire-rack shelving, and to get there he would claw his way up my hanging clothes. On the morning of my 29th birthday, 14 years ago, I awoke to a death cry from him, the weirdest sound I have ever heard. Apparently he had done his usual bit climbing up my hanging clothes to get to the top shelf, fell asleep and somehow managed to fall in his sleep, not catch himself on the way down, and broke his little neck. He died in my arms at the vet’s office…his little white pawpads were turning purple. He was my dude and I never wanted another cat after that…until…
I got divorced and my ex wife had to get rid of our dogs as she couldn’t take them and I couldn’t care for them properly due to the amount of hours I was away from the house due to work. We have shared custody of our sons, and they begged me for a pet.
and he’s been pretty cool. He exhibits many behaviors others have mentioned…like unrolling ENTIRE rolls of toilet paper “It keeps moving!”, demolishing with equal abandon my sons Legos and Christmas ornaments, getting his litter box shitty paws onto my food prep surfaces to the point I am paranoid about cleaning them…anyway, we love the fucker.
The cutest thing he does since he’s been banished from my bedroom is “help” wake up my boys on school days in the morning. He hears me getting dressed after showering and starts rubbing up against the door and quietly meowing. As soon as i let him in, he immediately jumps onto the bed and begins twirling about the boy’s heads and digging his face into their ears and whatnot. He has a job to do, you see. He does it well. Damn him and the scattering of Legos and my damn paper bills on the counter, the fucker.
Mac has been fixed but has his own personal humping pillow. He humps it and has this far off look.in his eyes at first but then you can see him looking around for our female cat. Ennui is 15 and does not put up with his crap. She is half his size and has no claws but she rules the house by the sheer force of her bitchiness. Even the dog respects her. After all, she is not even afraid of the dreaded vacuum.cleaner!!
Some kitty got into the broom closet and pulled half the bristles off a broom. Lucky was caught with the evidence, but in this case, I think he was framed. I really don’t think he is physically capable of doing that sort of damage.
Spike is too dumb to plan such a set up, and Steve never comes downstairs…which leaves Bob, the resident cat. The sweet innocent kitteh that only wants to curl up next to Bill and purr his lungs out.
Lucky got stuck in the lidded kitchen trash can a couple of weeks ago, and I don’t think he could have gotten in there without help either.
Glances at Bob who is peacefully sleeping in a sunbeam, then shakes my head.
Could Lucky have gotten the garbage can open enough to wedge his head in there and then scrambled the rest of himself into it? Of course, that doesn’t explain the broom.
It is really hard to surf the Web when EVERY time I sit at my desk, one of these kittens INSISTS on draping himself over my mousing hand to enjoy a little sunbathing under my desk lamp. I find myself holding my hand in a rigid arc over my mouse, like the way piano players arch their hands.
Or if I DO shove them off to the side, they gradually encroach on my mousepad until I’m restricted to a narrow little strip on one side (I suspect they learned this move by watching Mrs. Chef edge me over to an 18-inch strip of our king-size bed every night).
I’m in bed. I have a cat curled at my left hip, another between my knees, and a third down by my feet. I have a handspan’s room on my right, between me and the edge of the bed. I’m so glad my feline masters at least are comfy, 'cuz I’m starting to cramp.
