As promised…

Okay, I gotta be quick; my friend is graciously allowing me to use her phone as a hotspot. As promised, I saved up some blog posts for you on my hard drive and am uploading them now. Here is the first, and it is about none other than my dopey boy cat Methos. No time to link. If you’re curious, just type his name into the search bar on my blog. He is featured regularly.

Orig date:11/10/14
Clearly, my mother was right, and I have no fucking common sense. (Don’t tell her I said that.)
The cats have fleas– big, ugly, brown, hoppy bastards! We got some of that Hartz stuff and put it on their necks. (One of my vet tech friends told me I might as well have spit on them.) Maybe it’s worked some…maybe…but not fast enough. The cats (especially Methos–) have been driving me batshit with their scratching and biting and flaking bits of scabs and flea junk all over the place. Hubby and I are getting bitten. Darling Daughter prob is too, but she’s too happy being four to notice or care.
So yesterday my friend told me to salt the carpets and vacuum after 12-24 hours and she also gave me the [dubious] advice to bathe the cats in Original Dawn. Now, some of my more regular readers may already be shaking their heads and chuckling. They are no doubt recalling what I myself managed to forget (it was probably a defense mechanism,) and that is the traumatic event that was the last time I attempted to bathe Methos.
Don’t get me wrong; I knew it would be brutal. I even bought a pair of rubber dish gloves in preparation, a lame attempt to protect mine or my husband’s hands, (whoever was unlucky enough to have to hold him in the water,) until the fleas try to jump ship, so to speak.
Supposedly animals have three responses to fear; flight, fight, or freeze. With Methos, it’s fight and flight, and fuck up anyone in the way. He seemed to believe, despite our having taken loving care of him for almost eight years, that we intended to drown him– either that, or the water was lava.
Hubby had the gloves, (Methos still bit the shit out of him) and I ended up bleeding. DD wasn’t hurt at all but she still ended up screaming, in sympathy I guess, (sympathy with us or the cats, I don’t know.) I don’t think anything but his legs and tail even got wet. We chucked him in the cat room and shut the door, leaving him to recover emotionally.
Chloe was easier. She chose freeze (and cry.) Still, her undercoat never got wet. There was not a single flea in the water from either cat, but both were wet and upset, and we decided to just take the flea comb to them to see what we’d come up with.
As you may have guessed, the cats still have fleas.

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A Memo to Methos

Dearest Methos;

First and foremost, I would like to clear up the little misunderstanding we seem to be having about your food.  I do not require you to alert me- by jumping on the bed and “myrring” loudly at 4:30am, by following me to the bathroom myrring loudly at 4:30am,  or by attempting to trip me, all while myrring loudly, at 4:30am- that you are going to eat.  I’m not sure where you got the impression that I needed to watch you eat.  Besides, when you make so much noise, I am always worried you’ll wake the baby.

Methos the Holy Terror

Speaking of which, when the baby does awaken in the wee hours of the night, your presence is not required to get her to fall back asleep.  In fact, as soon as she hears you, she gets excited and wakes up more, usually declaring “cat!” over and over again in a distinctly non-4am voice.

If you don’t stop it, I’m going to start letting her drum on your head again like she used to when she was little.  I’m betting it would suck even more now.

The Furry Ottoman

Now back to this food thing…   Should you feel the need to alert me- loudly and repeatedly- that you need your food bowl filled at any given time during the day, but especially at 4:30am, it had damn well better be empty first.  And if you whine and cry all day about food and I fill your bowl, you better eat more than one bite before you saunter off.  Fake it if you have to.

While I will admit you are quite adorable, with your big feet, funny noises, and kittenish face, attached to a large, not-so-kittenish body, even your adorableness wears thin when I am short on sleep.  Have you not noticed how cranky I get?  I’ve even tried to show you the error of your ways by example…

oh, look, he’s sleeping…isn’t that cute? … LET’S GET HIM!

If we can’t work this out, I may have to get more creative.

Yours truly, Management (aka Mommy)

related articles:

https://alienredqueen.wordpress.com/2012/06/15/methos-the-original-jackass/

https://alienredqueen.wordpress.com/2012/05/02/why-i-think-my-cat-may-be-the-doubtful-guest/

Why My Cats Don’t Know Their Names

Quite simply put, if you don’t count all the profanity we shout at them when they do bad things (for a couple of weeks straight, I referred to my Bengal cat as “you little bitch“), my cats still have so many nicknames, even nicknames of nicknames, it’s kinda ridiculous.

Evangeline (named after a character in a Clive Barker novel)

Given name: Evangeline

Nicknames: Putters (as in, “I taut I taw a putty tat”), Princess Putter Pants, Neeners

Okay, hers aren’t too bad.

Methos (named after the Highlander character…yeah, we’re dorks)

Given name: Methos (Miː-thoʊs)

Nicknames: Toes, Meathead, Meatball,  Meaty-Toes, Toe-toe, Little Bastage (like bastard…only not), Toe-de-odee-oes, Knot-head, Big Boy, Buddy, Mr. Man, and Man-man

Chloe (she came with that name at three years of age, so we just left it)

Given Name: Chloe

Nickname: Chlo-bear, Bear, Bear-bear, Bearzer, Biscuit, Biz, Biz-Biz, Bizzy, Bizzy-Bear, Biscuit-Butt, Chloeby (Kloʊbe)

I’m sure there are some I’ve forgotten for one or all of them, but you get the idea.  And now we’re doing it to my poor kid too.  One day, someone will ask me why we call our daughter “Minkin’ (It’s not even CLOSE to her real name.)  Where to start…?

What are some of the odd nicknames you have for your pets?

Why I Think My Cat May Be The Doubtful Guest

Every night before bed, my husband and I read to my daughter.  ALMOST every night, the book is The Doubtful Guest, by Edward Gorey.  Although illustrated with a cute penguin-looking little critter and sporting a rhyming line on each page, the drawings in the tiny book are dark (literally) and the story has macabre undertones and may not necessarily seem like a traditional children’s book.  Gorey was influenced by the likes of Lewis Caroll, Agatha Christie, and Charles Dickens and influenced such prolific names like Tim Burton (which should just about tell you most of what you need to know about the mood of Gorey’s work.) Continue reading