This cracked me up. So true. 
Yikes – I’m not the only one who *actually says * “You’re a kitty!”? :eek:
Actually, I have a bunny rabbit. Every time she comes up to me, I say, “Oh Hi! It’s a bunny!”. I then pick her up and kiss her face and say, “I’m kissin’ yur bunny face.”
Manly, I know.
That’s silly.
Far sillier than “Look at that kitty face.” Which the cat can’t actually do without a mirror, come to think of it.
ETA: At least I’m female. 
Alternate: “Who’s a kitty? You are! You are!”
Now everyone knows how crazy we really are.
I tell my kitty she is a kitty. I also ask her “Who’s a kitty?” and “Where’s my kitty?”. When she just wanders around the house meowing (for reasons known only to her) and wanders by me I’ll say, “It’s a kitty cat.”
I am shocked, shocked that people talk to their cats this way!
What, I’m not the only one who says this?
…along with “Who’s the pretty kitty? Whozzat?” followed by several incoherent high-pitched noises.
Yes. I know it’s ridiculous. But the feline overlords demand it as tribute.
Not only are all four kitties informed that they are kitties on a daily basis, but I am also likely to announce to the two golden retrievers that they are large dogs.
The “large” is important. You never know when one might mistake herself for a Chihuahua and try to hitch a ride in my purse.
I tell the kitties that they’re kitties. I am especially fond of telling the little one that not only is she a kitty, but that she’s a wittlefurrygraybabykitty! Ok, so she’s actually 6 years old, but she’s teeeeny.
I wonder a lot if my Miss Fritters knows she’s a cat. You know, like I know I’m a human. So I tell her all the time, “You’re a CAT. A CAT. Do you understand? A CAT.” I just want her to be conscious of that.
Cat! You’re a kitty cat! And you meow-meow-meow, and you meow-meow-meow.
i don’t inform them that they are cats.
stretch the super duper gets: “who’s a boychick?” “stretch is a boychick.” that sort of thing.
malenka the miraculous gets: “who’s da malenka?” “you’re the malenka.” etc.
nod the naughty get: “naduuuuuuu.” “where’s the naduuuuu?” “you’re the naduuuu.” “naduuuu youuuuuuuu.” lather, rinse, repeat.
they know their names rather well.
All right. You knew the time would come eventually. Please post the made-up songs you sing to the cat. You know the ones I’m talking about. They are about being a kitty, or substitute the cat’s name for the name of a person in the original lyrics. They may or may not detail the cat’s activities. Sometimes you make up the tune, but generally, you have improved upon an existing song. When you have no words left to rhyme with “cat,” you make up words.
I shall begin:
(sung to the air of La donna è mobile)
Row, row, Cairolius,
She is my kitty cat.
She is so round and fat,
She is not thin or flat.
Or she might think she’s a Maltese, and try to climb into your lap. Golden retrievers are lovely dogs, but they are not lap dogs.
Sometimes I scoop up our small (6 pound) grey cat, flip her on her back, and rub her tummy, telling her all the while that she has itty bitty kitty titties. She does, too. We all saw this when her tummy was shaved for her sterilization. All three cats are told that they are kitties on a regular basis. Sapphire the Siamese is told more often, though, as she expects us to set a place for her at the table. She does get her own plate, but it is ON THE FLOOR. She is a CAT. She is NOT ALLOWED on the table. Or so we fondly believe.
The only thing that makes treating my cat with colitis this week tolerable is that I get to say, "Who’s the smelly grossbutt? You are. You are! Who’s da most repulsive kitty in da house? I know! It’s Stinky!"
when Smokey gets the ‘innocent’ look on her face, and her ears are relaxed, she has a perfectly proportioned cat face - so I call her “My Purrfect Little Kitty Face”
It’s da Rosie! It’s da Rosie!
It’s da baby! It’s da baby!
Good boy Buddy! Everybody loves Buddy! You’re a big boy, yes sir he is! You’re not bad like that baby! Good boy Buddy!
Liiiiiilly girl! Liiiiiiiiiillllly girl!
(Crash) Knock it off, you bunch of little shitheads!
I must be the strange one. I never tell my cats they are cats. I think they know that. I call one “key key” so maybe that counts.
I do have one cat named Bob. I tell him every day that he is " The Bob, The Bobster, The Bob Bob, The Big B and the Bobster Lobster just about everytime I speak to him. He will respond to any of these names on there own. I guess it is the “Bob” factor.
I call all of my cats by at least one other name then their given name and they all respond. If someone was to hear me on those secret listening devices they would think I have twenty cats and more than a few dogs.
These names of course do not include the swear words that may be spoken at times of frustration.
Man, ain’t that the truth. Their butts are cute but can get really aromatic. We had to express the Fritters Cat’s anal glands this past weekend. Her butt was really stinky and I finally figured out what it was. She wasn’t happy during the procedure but seemed very relieved when we were finished.
What’s kind of embarrassing is that we took her to Petsmart to get her photo taken with Santa right before that, and I hope her stinky butt didn’t gross him out.
Okay, now for the kitty song:
I love my kitty cat! I love my kitty cat!
CHORUS: Meow, me- yow-yow!
I love my kitty cat, I love my kitty CAT!!
CHORUS: Meow, me- yow-yow!
And so on, until everybody smacks me to shut me up.