This is not an actual photo the le kittehs, but the one on the right does look identical Ms. Cleo.
That is Her Worship. In the back. Obviously. This was taken a few weeks ago, while writing drafts for other blogs, oh le sigh.
Here is a better one.
Exciting note! The next time I take a robe selfie, it will be in the new, luscious PURPLE robe my mom gave me for my birthday. Magnificent. Not just because the color hides cat hair better.
Speaking of cat hair. My solution to the horror/panic that comes when I get too close to the thought: “how much cat hair have I ingested?” is FIBER. It’s GOOD FOR ME.
Speaking of good for me.
My kitties have been indoor/outdoor since we moved into our lovely Zilker bungalow….three years ago. It was easy. No litter box to deal with, no whining to assault the ears/brain/nervous system. (Cons: fewer cuddles, didn’t eat as much, All of the Worry, Guilt over Environmental Destruction, how damn filthy they were. Eug.)
And I got to think that they were happy, climbing trees, wallowing in filth, dominating the other neighborhood cats and Murdering.
(Cleo is the skilled huntress…. So. Many. Birds. After she brought the first few back inside, ALIVE, she figured out how to KILL.)
Then King became a Problem for one of my neighbors. In fact, the only FRIEND I’ve made in the ‘hood….that is the person he chose to harass.
And by harass I mean the following obscenely obnoxious behaviors:
a) Moving into her yard.
b) Laying across her front/back door. Always.
c) Trying to come inside her house.
d) Attacking HER two cats day and night, preferably by her bedroom window at 3am.
Cleo wasn’t on any good will ambassador missions either (leaving crap treats for other neighbors dogs, beating the crap out of the other outdoor kitty in our quadplex, eating ALL of other kitty’s food….only to vomit it up inside…)
As the hysteria of my neighbor/friend’s voicemail’s escalated and I realized that I wasn’t actually getting to PET my cats on a regular basis, which is the main reason I adopted them, (not to mention the CREEPING worry/guilt about their safety and environmental impact) I decided to Bring Them Indoors.
This is, just so you know, RIGHT AFTER I started practicing out of my home again.
That was in….August? I think? It’s been such a hellish blur.
DID I SAY HELLISH? I may be prone to over-exaggerating and dramatic hyperbolie. BUT I MEAN HELLISH.
Cleo was fine. She is a tiny thing, compared to King, and doesn’t mind being indoors. What? Sleep on your bed all day? Ok, fine. I’ll survive.
King on the other hand… King is a Big Kitty. Not fat (still not fat, yay me!) but mini-panther. And he’s louder than I am and much, much, much more determined.
And he was Not Pleased by my new campaign to IMPRISON him and RUIN ALL OF THE FUN.
Thus began the War of Wills. The Squirt Gun battles cannot be counted. I feared for my sanity and my marriage.
My marksmanship has improved though.
It’s been three months and I believe I’ve….er, won? trained my furry bastard to NOT YOWL AT THE TOP OF HIS LUNGS 24/7. Seriously, you guys, IT WAS SO BAD.
Since things are better, I won’t be able to clearly communicate HOW TERRIBLE IT WAS. But it was. I wasn’t sleeping. John wasn’t sleeping. Which made me feel LIKE SHIT because these are my cats. They aren’t his.
I’ve been on this….’we’re roommates, we are responsible to not make our roommates lives miserable’ kick, and then I bring the kitties inside and EVERYONE IS MISERABLE (except David, who sleeps through anything, PRAISE BE, and was ecstatic to have ‘friends’ to ‘play’ with around* all of the time.)(*hiding, usually, especially in Cleo’s case, though he has won her over somewhat. Miracles happen.)
I’m literally shuddering as I remember the constant, non-stop CRYING.
Me and the cats. We all cried. All of the time.
THIS WAS A PROBLEM CONSIDERING I WORK FROM HOME.
So I started changing the litter box TWICE A DAY. And leaving full spray bottles around the house, so that ANY AND EVERY TIME King yowled at the door, I would spray him.
Every. Single. Time.
So basically, 25 million times a day. Here is an example few hours:
4:45am: YOWL. *SKREEEETCH* (His royal Evilness scratching my bedroom door.)
John: *muffled cursing*
Me: (heart pouding, adreneline fueled RAGE attack) *not muffled cursing* Races out of the room, half awake.
Me: staggers, grabs water bottle, chases cat.
King: *YOWL* weaves around corner
Me: misses cat, soaks nice wooden furniture.
Me: %&**(&)#^&YI, skids around corner, trips on cat, skins knee horribly, (this actually happened, I have a SCAR) can’t find cat. Realize I am COMPLETELY awake.
King: MROWYOWL (translation: WHY DO YOU TORURE ME SO SHEBEAST?)
Me: NO MORE PETS EVER. WHAT WAS I THINKING?
Me: *starts to sit down to type, start yoga practice, breakfast, whatever*
Me: actually starts whatever
ETC, times 200 MILLION. Every day. For three god— months.
So. Back to the title. Why do I think that the cats are working for my spirit guides/guardian angels/whoever Heaven’s middle managment peons are (You know, the ones responsible for “helping” us evolve spiritually)?
Because I was coming face to face with my Issues in this new and exciting way CONSTANTLY.
Oh, look, I’m filling with rage like a puffer fish! What an opportunity to notice and practice making conscious choices!
Oh look, I’m blaming my cats for being annoying! What an opportunity to take responsibility for my part of the situation and examine other areas of my life where I am ‘playing the victim’.
Oh, look, the cat is STILL MISERABLE. What an opportunity to find creative solutions and practice responsibility!
Oh, look, the litter box is FILTHY AND SMELLS HORRIBLE AGAIN. What an opportunity to practice service and consistency! (not to mention humility. Nothing like knowing you are actually your cat’s SLAVE. I just [mostly] removed ‘maid’ from my title regarding David…..but nooooooo, had to bring the D&%$ cats inside!
I don’t know if I’m actually more sanctified, or if I’m just numb/adjusted, or if King is better.
Well, he’s definitely better, eg, whining at full volume about, um, 60, 70% less.
Yes! Sanity and my Practice are preserved.
Cuddles for everyone.
Whether they want it or not!