Archive for the ‘A Couple of Pussies’ Category



Pussy Whipped

When I got home from work (even later than usual, around 7:30 p.m.) tonight, Rocco was waiting for me with a mixed drink in hand and a terrified look on his face.

He wanted to know if I’d been home before just then. The answer was, predictably, no; one does not drive 30 miles home in the middle of the day from a job that requires one to be on site for, like, a gozillion consecutive hours.

And then Rocco’s face sort of crumbled.


I have two wonderful-but-very-demanding cats — Nigel and Quentin — neither of whom much match the stereotype of the independent, aloof feline; in fact, the pair sort of typify the term “pussies.” And because Rocco has many allergies — cat allergy being one of his worst — Nigel and Quentin are always shut away in my bedroom. (This is not horrible. My bedroom/bathroom/closets are sort of embarrassingly big; the entire square footage is probably 3/4 the size of the breadbox.)

We also have two dogs in the house. It’s worth knowing that I would never, ever, ever describe myself as a dog lover. Horrible as it may sound, it’s true; I can’t stand being licked or yapped or sniffed at inappropriately.

But it’s even more true that I’m sortofkindofreally afraid of dogs. We never had dogs when I was growing up, and I wasn’t otherwise around them very often. And I’m pretty sure that being within a couple of feet of a cousin and a sister who were both bitten by dogs when I was very young didn’t help. So mostly I’ve just learned to tolerate dogs when I must do so, and otherwise avoid them.

But, anyway: two dogs. Kelly, a Doberman Pinscher, is Rocco’s dog. He got her when he was part of the Kansas City Doberman Rescue. Rocco fostered the dog before he became so attached to Kelly that he adopted her.

It should come as no surprise that I was initially terrified of Kelly: the lean body, pert ears and long muzzle — I could envision nothing beyond every campy action-adventure movie I’d ever seen in which vicious Dobermans guarding the antagonist’s lair were distracted by huge hunks of prime rib. But Kelly is a well-behaved, almost docile dog who exhibits none of the aforementioned doggy don’ts, and I’ve grown quite attached to her.

And then there’s Lou. Lou is a boxer with a tiger-stripe pattern who sort of….. came with the house. Lou is one of the few dogs with whom I’ve ever interacted who has never caused me one moment of anxiety. She’s very gentle and unassuming, and I’m always yearning to hug and otherwise comfort Lou because her expressions and body language are so very familiar and human-like.

Kelly and Lou like to think they have the run of the house. Kelly is free to roam most everywhere, as is Lou — to an extent. Lou kind of has an obsession with polyfiber fill, and we’ve lost one too many pillows to leave her alone with anything resembling fake cotton; as a result, she is kept in a separate room when there’s not an “adult” in the house. According to Rocco, Kelly has a similar issue with squeaky chew toys, so those are forbidden except for special occasions.

And, apropos of nothing, Rocco has mentioned in passing that Kelly tends to think of cats as “playthings.”

Rocco and I are both pretty adamant that my bedroom door remain shut at all times.


Rocco’s expression was enough to crack me up. It was clear he felt terribly guilty about something. Emmy-worthy theatrics, preemptive groveling, and genuine sheepishness followed as he spilled the story.

It appears that Rocco entered my room for something, and then inadvertently failed to pull my bedroom door to all the way on exit. He then left the house, securing Lou away but leaving Kelly (as is normal) to roam free.

At some point, Kelly nosed her way into my bedroom via the cracked door, and havoc apparently ensued. When Rocco got home, he found what he initially described as a crime scene.

Rocco smelled the fresh excrement as soon as he walked in the door. And then he saw the physical evidence: patches of carpet were now missing; the most recent EW and TV Guide issues stashed under my nightstand were shredded; couch cushions were strewn about the room; tufts of animal fur wafted through the air as the ceiling fan slowly turned.

Blood covered everything: my bed linens, carpet, night stand. The chair was stained a completely different color. One wall was splattered half-way up in a crimson bath.

And, of course, the requisite pile of shit was right in the middle of the room, exactly as you’d expect it to be.

Rocco found Kelly, all bloodied and broken, burrowed into her bed. Her nose was pretty much shredded, and she was still bleeding rather a lot.

Nigel and Quentin were later found hiding in my room, tense and slightly more skittish — but also injury-free.



Cleaning House

I meant for the post title to demonstrate that I’m mentioning a lot of little things that I keep forgetting to post about, but I have been cleaning house. Every day. Thanks to FlyLady. You should really try it out. Your house will be clean and you won’t even have to plan what to do or when to do it.

Remember that whole thing with my boss’s inability to take responsibility and do her job? Last Monday I contacted our area manager, who’s responsible for employee issues. He was horrified by my story and assured me the issue would be addressed. On Wednesday my boss told me she was writing me up because there was 75 minutes of overtime on the last payroll. I’m also losing part of my bonus for November. The 75 minutes of overtime meant we paid someone $5 more. I’m not even kidding.

Tomorrow Rocco and I are going to church together. It will be the first time I’ve attended religious services in exactly one year.

I have five unread comic books sitting on my nightstand. This is a sentence I’d have never typed exactly one year ago.

My middle sister LaTasha has created a blog tracking my mother’s recovery from her medical nightmare.

Meghan has a link on her blog to some terrifically cute hand-made hair bows. My youngest sister Kyli should keep these in mind for her daughter, Tayden. They’re extra-super cute.

bettie has some photos of the WGA Strike from Mutant Enemy Day at Fox. You can see Joss Whedon’s arm and enough of Nathan Fillion to make me salivate. bettie was on the picket line.

The colon cleanse/total body purification is going nicely. No discomfort, no diarrhea, and no funny smells oozing from my pores.

Confession: I was disappointed that I didn’t win a NaBloPoMo prize. I think that, subconsciously, I thought that I was supposed to win a prize, karmically speaking. Because, let’s be honest: between my mother’s brain exploding and the shit at work and the near-decapitation event, the final quarter of 2007 kind of sucked. But then I thought that karma would bite me in the ass for thinking karma owed me. And then my head sort of exploded in that vicious circle sort of way, so I stopped thinking about it.

The Christmas tree and decorations are in place. Rocco tried to hang gym socks from the mantle for stockings. Naturally, I objected.

If you know any wealthy people who like to give Christmas gifts to strangers, please tell them I’d like a basic digital camera so I can participate in 12 of 12, a “blank” spice rack so I can put what I want/need/use in it, and a personal assistant whose sole responsibility is to clean the litter box.



Show Me a Sign

Yesterday Rocco and I picked up my new mattress. When we got home, we opened the door to my room and found a steaming pile of shit in the middle of the old mattress.

Sometimes I despise my cats.

Also, good luck to those of you who might stay in my guest room!



I’m Some Kind of Lazy

I’m so lazy that I’m cross posting this (in part) from an email to my friend Jimmy.

The end of last week was pretty busy at work because [the local university’s) Family Weekend, a rodeo, and a giant family reunion were all in town. We were full for, like, four days straight. And I was the representative at the hotel’s booth at the business expo last Thursday and Friday, so I was there all day and worked pretty late into the early evening those days, plus worked the first and third shifts on Saturday because I had to train a new person on night audit. Guhhhhhhh. I was exhausted, and Sunday was my only day off. Not much you can do with your day off when you don’t get off until 7 a.m. that morning and have to go back at 7 a.m. the next morning.

I did manage to accomplish some stuff, though. I painted this thing in my room. It’s a large custom-made kitchen island on wheels with a detailed design on the sides made out of some sort of wood. (I think it’s pine.) The people who lived in my townhouse before me just left it there, probably because it’s crazy heavy. Plus, one of the wheels was off of it. So this weekend I painted it black to match my bedroom furniture. (My bedroom furniture came out of several boxes from Wal-Mart. I put it together myself!) I was pretty proud of my paint job, and I managed to attach the missing wheel. Even Rocco complimented me on it. When Rocco does a home improvement project — well, it’s like when you do a home improvement project. He’s got to draw up plans and set up a time line and color code stuff. Except you code in primary colors and Rocco uses pastels. (Kidding! Just kidding! But that was funny, wasn’t it?) Anyway, when I get a compliment from Rocco about a home improvement project, I’m pleased. Unfortunately, I don’t think I washed his good paintbrush out enough, even though I rinsed it for about 10 minutes. I’ve hidden the paintbrush from him. There’s no way that’s going to end well. When Rocco loans you his tools or implements — well, it’s like when you loan me your tools or implements.

My owner has been a complete dick this week, and there’s a lot of tension at the hotel. Some shit’s going down, and I want to come out smelling like a rose.

A representative from Timber Ridge, the facility in Benton that specializes in brain injuries, evaluated Mama on Tuesday. She’s an ideal candidate for the facility, but now we have to see if her insurance will pay for it. Timber Ridge will accept patients only if their insurance covers it. Here’s hoping.

And in the middle of all that shit, I managed to take my cats to the vet, clean my bathroom from top to bottom, make homemade chicken noodle soup, watch the first two seasons of Weeds on DVD, and play with my awesome new laptop.



Oh, Christmas Tree

10:15 pm · category: A Couple of Pussies

I’m singing it in a very melancholy way. It’s practically a dirge.

I bought my Christmas tree and trimmings eight years ago, and that was the one and only time I put it up. After that, I always had a roommate so we used her trimmings on a real tree. My stuff was in storage –

– until last Saturday, when I drove 40 miles to get them out. I put the tree up late that night. Even though it took almost five hours, I was thrilled because it was so lovely when it was done. I went to sleep a happy woman.

I woke up a very cranky woman, because I found the tree lying on its side and the decorations strewn from one end of the house to the other. I should have realized something was up because there was a toy soldier in my bed. I yelled at the cats, although they seemed (typically) aloof.

So when I got off work Sunday night, I put the tree up again. This time I put it on top of two boxes, so it was about four feet off the ground. It looked even better the second time. I stayed up late just so I could enjoy it. The cats weren’t at all interested in the tree, preferring to instead groom each other. (That’s so cute!) I went to sleep an even happier woman.

I woke up devastated. The tree was again lying on its side, but this time it had been knocked four feet to the floor. The decorations were everywhere, and all but a couple of balls were shattered and ground into the carpet. The cats couldn’t even pull off plausible deniability because they were too busy swatting the few balls that weren’t destroyed.

It’s going to take me hours to clean this mess up and pack everything away. I’m so upset about the destruction and the fact that I can’t have a Christmas tree that I actually cried on the way to work today. I’m not big with the kitten love right now.



What’s New? Pussycats!

1:16 pm · category: A Couple of Pussies

This whole living alone thing really suits me, but last week I realized that a cat would suit me even more. (I’ve been missing Rupert something awful.) So I went to the shelter to adopt a kitten.

The shelter currently has about 100 kittens. It’s a good thing I’m a pushover, because I never could have chosen one of the precious, desperate little felines as they wove in and out between my ankles and climbed my legs, begging for attention. I finally asked the woman in charge which would be the least likely to be adopted, and she said plain blacks and gray tabbies are least likely to find a home.

I took one of each.

It’s terrible that when you get those frisky kitties home, they stare at you with abject terror. The pair wouldn’t leave the pet carrier for the first hour, choosing instead to sit at the open door and just eye me warily. “So you guys are just a couple of watchers, huh?” I asked rhetorically. Which is when I realized I was naming them Quentin and Nigel.

Quentin, the gray tabby, is the loner. He’ll disappear for hours at a time (He spent the first two days hiding behind the couch.) and prefers to sleep alone, although he’s always up for a rousing game of chase. I haven’t heard him meow yet, so I think he’s pretty content.

Nigel, on the other hand, shadows me all day long. He even goes to the bathroom with me. (I”m going to put a stop to that, though. I’ve seen him eyeing the toilet paper roll with curiosity, and that will just lead to two-ply badness.) And it weirds me out that he, like Rupert, wants to sleep either on my chest or under the covers.

I’d forgotten how active kittens are. The greenery is strewn all over the house, the incense box is overturned every morning, and I can’t leave napkins out unless I want to clean up what appears to have been a midnight papier mache party the following morning.

On the up side, Nigel and Quentin love each other. They were part of the same “community group” at the shelter, so they’ve always lived together. Quentin quickly tires of Nigel’s antics, but Nigel really helped Quentin acclimate to the new environment. They both love to play Who’s a Little Fear Demon. (Or, at least, they’re humoring me for the time being.) And they groom one another, which is just too cute.

Pictures will come as soon as I remember to pick up batteries for the camera.



Kung-Fu Fighting

12:40 am · category: A Couple of Pussies

My kittens are wonderful. Despite the fact that I have two scars on my left fore-arm that are indelibly etched into my tender, ivory flesh. Despite the fact that I have a scratch beneath my left eye that’s swelled so badly that I think I might have cat scratch fever. (Seriously. Ted Nugent’s people are supposed to get in touch with my people about a benefit concert.)

When I first got the kittens, I never feared physical injury. They were cute and cuddley and, well, kitten-y. But as the months have worn on and I’ve taken them to the vet, the duo has become increasingly crabby for no good reason. For instance, the scratch under my eye was delivered with incredible sneakiness. Rupert has started this thing where he wants to sleep under the covers with me, so a few nights ago I lifted the bedding to allow him access and then promptly passed out. It wasn’t until the following morning after I’d finished my shower and was applying my make-up that I saw the nasty scratch just below my eyelid. Let me tell you, no amount of concealer will hide that sort of injury, what with the swelling and the pus and such.

My water gun stopped working a couple of weeks ago, so I no longer have a weapon against the idle-but-inappropriate pursuits of the kittens. That whole Steve Miller impression thing worked for a couple of days, but it’s proven fruitless in the last couple of days. I found an old, empty bottle of OdoBan under the sink and filled it with water, but the effects of streaming water on the healthy coat of confident cats works only a few times. Lately, I’ve taken to my (non-existent) martial arts training, and have employed an ear-splitting “hi-yah!” each time the cats enter into forbidden territory.

It’s working.

For now.



12:08 am · category: A Couple of Pussies

This is Rupert, in all his cuteness. As soon as I can get Olivia to stay still for more than 2.3 seconds, I’ll upload a photo of her, too. Posted by Hello