Posts Tagged ‘crazy cat lady’

Remember Anxiety Cat?

December 9, 2009

She’s the one for whom I built a cardboard cat shanty a while back.

Well, anxiety-ridden Buffy strikes again. This time she was so frightened of the world she kept herself underneath the house for 5 days, the latter couple of which the temperature dropped to single digits. She kept herself down there willingly, with ample opportunity to come out, get food and water and possibly come indoors where it was cozy and warm, but instead she remained beneath the house. In the dirt. In the cold. Crying.

Crying all the time. Whenever I made a sound.

She’d even follow me from under the house as I moved around within it, crying for my help. Would the damn thing accept it when I’d come outside and oh-so sweetly call her name? OF COURSE NOT. Too easy. Cats don’t accept the world of logic, and Buffy is absolutely outstanding at rejecting any sort of sensible action.

Last night she finally emerged from the dingy depths and I was able to snag and bring her inside. Problem solved, right? Nope, the indoors are mighty scary too. That’s where the other two cats are most of the time, especially Merlot, who despite his cuddliness, is the resident asshole of the house.  So she began howling. And hiding underneath the couch. I could coax her out every now and then and enjoy her peacefully sitting and purring on my lap in a seemingly content little fuzz ball (might I add, filthy from being under the house), but the second there was movement or a noise, she was back under that couch. Or crying at the door to be let out back into the frigid, awful cold. Remember the whole cats-don’t-acknowledge-logic thing.

When I came home from work this evening, she had been inside in the warmth all day long, and she was itching to get out. Sorry lady, it’s no warmer out there and I don’t want to have to haul your frozen, adorable carcass out from my foundation. The howling begins again. I brought her to the litter box in case she was too scared to scamper the 20 feet to it during the day, but she ran out the second those paws touched the patented Super Scoop granules, and she was back under the couch. Whatever, I have shit to do upstairs. Peace.

You know,  funny I should mention the word shit.

Yes, that’s exactly what she did, underneath and up INSIDE MY COUCH. Poop. My beautiful, giant red couch that I bought several years ago for a pretty penny with my own hard-earned cash. Over time she had torn up the fabric underneath so she could crawl in and laze about, hammock-style. Once there was even a dead lizard in there for a couple days. But never poop.

Might I add, I can’t even comprehend how mentally unstable you have to be to literally shit where you sleep, in your personal sanctuary, but again with the cat/logic, oil/water equation.

I called my dear friend Crispin, a fellow cat lady, for her advice, and she had the genius idea of locking Buffy in her own room with her own food, water and litter box. Done and done. Anxiety-Ridden Buffy now resides in the guest room, at least during the colder periods, and enjoys her own queen-sized bed, down comforter, chic dinnerware, and a view of the Columbia River and Mt. Adams. With no other cats to bully her around. That cat damn well better not complain.

As for the poop? Maneuvering with a flashlight and a pair of scissors, I had to reach under and cut out the piece of fabric that held the offending offal and dispose of it properly. I would also like to thank Febreeze for getting all up in that couch and making it smell less like cat shit and terror.


Crazy cat lady strikes again

October 9, 2009

While I was watching Jim and Pam get married, I turned my pile of recycling into an outdoor cat house.

I swear, this is being a good pet owner. Not crazy.

I swear, this is being a good pet owner. Not crazy.

My reclusive cat Buffy spends her outdoor time hiding out in my side yard/patio. Sometimes she’s so freaked out by the other cats bullying her that she won’t come inside. Fine in the summer (minus the raccoons eating all her food and washing their grubby paws in her water), but in the winter that isn’t so great. I’ve been contemplating a cat house (read: not whore house) for her for a while. As I was breaking down a bunch of cardboard boxes last night I realized that I could turn it into her house.

I made it water resistant with stiff plastic sheets that held some kitschy placemats and a bunch of packaging tape. I tore apart a long cardboard tube and made reinforcing “columns” as well as a top beam, should anything decide to sit on the “roof”. Then I made a little bed like structure to go inside, also covered in plastic and tape. I’ll put an old towel in there once I get it outside.

Crazy cat ladyness aside, not a bad way to reuse my junk. If I was really enterprising I’d paint it, but I think that puts you into the crazy cat lady realm. Maybe I’ll scrawl a sign that reads “Cat Cardboard Hobo Shack” instead.

The indulgence of cats

February 13, 2009

I’ve been unemployed/not working for over four weeks now. Minus the occasional weekend in Portland or a day spent skiing, I’m at home every single day. A considerable portion of that time has been spent on the computer, whether it was designing my portfolio, looking for jobs, or wasting countless hours on Facebook and gossip sites.

During this time my cats have loved loved LOVED having this semi-permanent, warm lap to sleep on. If it’s not a lap, it’s a hand to pet them. Or feed them. Or let them outside. Or inside. Or play with them. Seriously, they have become so ridiculously spoiled from me being here all the time, it’s not funny.

Merlot and Fabrizio playing (or lounging?) on the other chair in the office. My constant companions.

Merlot and Fabrizio playing (or lounging?) on the other chair in the office. My constant companions.

Fabrizio, lap cat extraordinaire, with his paws on the goods.

Fabrizio, lap cat extraordinaire, with his paws on the goods.

A rare photo of all three, since Buffy is the elusive one. And Merlot antagonizes the shit out of her.

A rare photo of all three, since Buffy is the elusive one. And Merlot antagonizes the shit out of her.

Excuse the quality, they’re obviously cell phone pictures. I rarely take pictures of them with my nice cameras, but have dozens on my phone of their fuzzy mugs. I think that’s called crazy cat lady denial.

It’s spreading…

January 30, 2009

As of this morning I’ve had approximately 6 people on my Facebook friends’ list say they’ve been laid off in the past month. And those are just the ones who’ve publicly announced as such. Scary! And while this is currently no where near the Great Depression, it certainly is huge in the eyes of our generation. It seems like many people I know around my age are seriously considering going back to school to not only get a leg up in the job market, but as a welcome reprieve from all this unpredictable madness in the economy. Personally you’d have to force a gun to my head and make me sing “The Song That Never Ends” on repeat before I’d consider going into further debt by going to grad school, but to each their own.

any oversized tshirt like THIS.

New uniform: any oversized tshirt like THIS.

However my three cats LOVE that I don’t have a job. I sleep in, I’m hanging around the house all the time, able to cater to their every need. I think they ask to come inside or go outside more than usual just because they have almost instant service. They get roughly 60% more pets than they did previously. I think I’ll become a bonafide crazy cat lady… hang around in a stained bathrobe, drink wine by myself, start speaking in LOLcat and eat grubby handfuls of Meow Mix… when they haul me away to the loony bin I can blame it all on the economy. “I HAZ FLAVOR!!”

Why doesn’t the love of kitties cure a hangover?

October 4, 2008

Just wondering.

It should.