Archive for category: My Weird Cat

Good Morning View

Dear Readers-
Good morning! I hope you slept well last night. What do you wake up to? Breakfast in bed, the pitter patter of little feet, a cup of coffee handed to you by your mate?

This is what I wake up to.

 


Max. Weird, fuzzy, dirty, stinky, Max.

 


More often than nought, Max refuses to get up when the humans are ready to get up. He has a lot of business during the night, and enjoys wreaking havoc from about midnight to 3am.

 


Understandably, he’s passed out at 5am when the alarm goes off. His pink little eyes just squint back at me and he says, “Really?!” (with his eyebrows), then tucks his head back under his paw and sighs.

I feel a hint of disgust coming from his furry body. It’s kind of a crappy way to wake up if you ask me.

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Not Letting Go-Pathetic Brown Mouse

Everyone has that weird sweatshirt-chock full of nostalgia and memories-and so full of holes, that leaving the house with it on would be a travesty. However, giving it away, throwing it out, or even cutting it up for rags is a horrible thought.

I have one of those in my life. A K-State, long-sleeved, 17 year old shirt, with blown out armpits, a barely hanging on collar and with sleeves I have to carefully insert my hands into for fear of tearing them off completely. The shirt is so embarrassing I won’t even take a picture of me in it or just “it” for that matter.

 


Maxwell, the cat, has the same thing going on with Brown Mouse. This was Brown Mouse just a couple of months ago. He was already pathetic-missing an ear, splitting at the seams and covered in disgusting-ness.

 


And this is Brown Mouse presently.

Brown Mouse was one of Maxwell’s first toys. The two instantly bonded over a game of fetch-which is one of Max’s favorite past-times. I know, it’s weird for a cat to play fetch. But, Maxwell has never been normal.

 


Brown Mouse used to rattle, but is now silent. The rattle has been rattled out of him.

 


He has been baptized (sloshed into the water dish and then transferred to the food dish) almost every day. We have no idea why Max does this, but it’s become commonplace to find Brown Mouse, along with Q-tips or whatever else Max can find, floating in his water dish or covered in sticky food. Ewww.

 


Brown Mouse isn’t the only mouse we’ve purchased for Max. However, it’s the only mouse Maxwell chooses to play with.

For a few weeks, we couldn’t find Brown Mouse. Maxwell refused to play with Pink Mouse, Black Mouse and Gray Mouse. Then, one day while cleaning underneath the stove, I saw two little beady black eyes staring at me.

Brown Mouse.

 


Just like my K-State shirt, Maxwell just can’t let Brown Mouse go. It’s awful when friends stop by and ask, incredulously, “What’s that?”.
I answer back, “Oh, that’s just Brown Mouse.”
“It is?”
“Well, it used to be. I guess it’s just a weird pile of fur and plastic now.”
“Why don’t you just buy a new one?”
“They quit making them and Max has refused all of the new toys I bought him.”
“Your cat is weird.”
“I know.”

Let it go, Max. I’ll give up the K-State shirt if you give up Brown Mouse.

What? Ok. I’ll keep my shirt, then.

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Deceitfully Yours-Kittens and Christmas

They look innocent and act as if they never do anything wrong. As Bianca scratches at the rug, I firmly say, “No!”. She looks up at me and doesn’t stop. That’s when the spanking happens. It doesn’t faze her. In fact, when I’m spanking Max, he plops over, shows his belly and starts purring. How can you discipline that?

I still try, but more often than not end up laughing. I know-terrible parenting.

 


But, we’ve had some issues this Christmas that’s about to push me over the edge. My firm “NO!”, the increased velocity on the spankings, and air horn blasts that deafen me-are not doing the trick.

Ornaments are found broken and strewn about if I turn my back for a second. And they sit there in the midst of the rubble as if they have no idea how it happened.

 


Our home has become a battleground instead of the peaceful Christmas atmosphere I was hoping for. If I leave home, I have to prop a chair against the swinging door leading from the living room into the kitchen to banish these two naughty ornament destroyers.

(They’ve figured how to push against the door to get it to open. These are highly trained ninja cats.)

 


And the two guest bathroom doors have to remain shut, because they cannot handle the temptations of the tinsel and tiny ornaments in jars.

Their world is getting smaller and smaller and they aren’t liking it.

 


They may look docile, have extremely cute paws and cuddle me to death at night, but don’t be deceived. These highly trained ninja cats with razor sharp claws are on a mission to destroy Christmas and my sanity.

Help! How do you keep your animals away from your Christmas decor?

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The Kittens-from Handheld to Back Brace

Biceps insisted upon adopting two kittens when our sweet Cowboy passed away last year. If you’ve been reading my blog at all, you will have no doubt seen some of Maxwell and Bianca’s antics, along with photographed evidence. I’ve shared about them getting stuck in the fireplace, to being a prime target for a hungry hawk (that continues to stalk them), to our futile efforts in training them.

I haven’t talked about the kittens in awhile. Time flies when you’re having fun.

 


How can someone so tiny that was once held in the palm of my hand….

 


…grow into this? Maxwell literally weighs 14 pounds and it’s all muscle. He is a force to be reckoned with.

 


And how can this sweet little girl, that once smelled of potpourri and was happiest nuzzled into Bicep’s shoulder/chin area…

 


…grow so big she hardly fits on her favorite scratching post anymore? Bianca weighs about half of what Maxwell does, but she still wears out my arms and shoulders when she’s in a cuddly mood and wants to be held.

 


I tell them to quit growing, but they won’t listen to me.

 


They are busy catching bugs, attacking Q-tips and bear-hugging the backs of our legs.

Even though they are “all grown up”, they will always be my kittens. Yep. Cheesy, I know. But, a fact is a fact.

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