The Agony of Being a Cat Mom

You know how moms of humans sometimes talk about feeling guilty and torn leaving their offspring, while going to work/vacation/out for much needed drinks away from the homestead?

I’ve often thought these women were fucked in the head for not wanting time away from their children until my little ones started pulling this shit whenever I try to leave the mini manse (and yes, my babies are cats. Stop judging).

Ted and New Cat have a perch right by my front window that allows them to look over the mighty kingdom of the side yard.

The perching isn't always this polite.

The perching isn’t always this polite.

When hearing my keys clink together New New typically scrams, knowing that it’s time to nap the day away.

Would you leave already? I have some very serious napping to do.

Would you leave already?
I have some very serious snoozing to do.

On the other hand Mr. Bear, acts as if he’s aboard the sinking Titanic with my departure being the last time we’ll ever see one another before drowning into the abyss of dark ocean waters (he takes after his mother in the drama department). So as soon as he hears the key hit the doorknob, he immediately engages me in a stare down.

What? Where do you think you're going?!

Goodbye my love.

Then he quickly tip toes like he’s walking the plank over the windowsill with high hopes of preventing my exit.

Sneak attack

Tricky Teddy’s balancing act isn’t always so graceful.

Before I know it, a blur of gray appears before my eyes.

The mad dash

The mad dash.

The little love of my life then tries to morph into The Rock, keeping the steel door from closing in his furry face.

High hopes the door swings back open.

Too bad he doesn’t have a shirt to rip off.

Regretfully I draw the door closed as my heart starts cracking.


Oh how the guilt washes over me as I gently shut the door.

Last ditch attempt with a strong paw

Does anyone else hear the violin music from the Titanic movie playing?

I get it moms to humans. I get it.

Is it too much to ask to be a stay at home cat mom?



My Eye of the Tiger

Eye of the Tiger

Rising up, back on the couch

Did my time, ate my cat food

Cat Food

Went the distance, now I’m back for a nap

Just a cat and his will to survive

Cat Nap

So many times, it happens too fast

I trade my snoozin’ for eating


Meowing my head off for a full bowl of food

I must fight just to keep my belly plump


It’s the eye of the tiger

It’s the thrill of the my life


Rising up to the challenge of annoying my mama

And the last known survivor

Cry Baby

Cries for food late at night

Just to interrupt my mom’s beauty sleep…

’cause I’m a tiger.


Face to face, comfy in A/C

Acting tough, always hungry

Face to Face

Staring Mom down ’til I get what I want

From a cat with mad skills to survive

Stare Down

It’s the eye of the tiger

It’s the thrill of my life


Rising up to the challenge of driving mama to drink,

Forgetting that she already fed me


And I’ll eat to my furry heart’s delight….

‘Cause I think I’m a tiger.

Eye of the Tiger

I’ve got the eye of the tiger…

And have my ma right where I want her…



Famous Pussy Lover

It appears that my reputation is beginning to precede me.


Hello. My name is CBXB and I have a well known pussy problem.

A few days ago, the slightly monstrous fur ball that Ted and I rescued in January tried to escape from the castle in which he resides.

New Cat

The failed jail breaker.

Forced friends.

New Cat and Ted …forced friends.

Upon taking in the nameless pussy that I monikered New Cat (you know, to cleverly avoid developing any emotional attachment – and as you can see clearly worked since he still lives with us six months later…) he proved to be just as high maintenance as the other pussy living under my roof.

Pussy pink eye

Pussy pink eye developed within days of rescue.

Because he was ill with ear, nose and throat problems (and I was ill from the lack of dough left in my leopard wallet due to New Cat’s incessant sicknesses) a lovely cone was placed around his tiny neck.

Cone head.

Miserable in his new mini manse.

When the cone and creams alone didn’t heal the newest member of our family, we unhappily packed up and made our fourth cheap visit to the vet in two weeks.

What felt like 4,382 trip to vet.

What felt like the 4,382 trip to the cat doctor.

To my surprise, the vet handed over a prescription that had to be filled at my local Walgreens. I apparently hadn’t reach crazy enough status in the animal kingdom to know that pets can receive medicine from people places.

Did you know you can get pet prescriptions at human pharmacies?

Who knew? Not this blonde.

So I traipsed over to the pharmacy where I skipped up to the counter and proceeded to make a gigantic ass clown of myself.

60-ish year old male Pharmacist: “Have you ever filled a prescription here before?”

CBXB: “Yes, for me. But this one is for my cat.”

60-ish year old male Pharmacist: “OK, what’s your cat’s name?”

CBXB spoken in a very low, embarrassed voice, ashamed to possess a feline with no name: “New Cat.”

60-ish year old male Pharmacist: “Oh, OK. You have a new cat? What’s his name?”

CBXB, feeling the need to share past month’s life story: “Well, his name is New Cat because he doesn’t have a name because he’s a stray that I took in a few weeks ago and I don’t want to get attached by giving him a cutesy name because I have another cat that is my pride and joy and high maintenance because his bags of food cost $60 because he has kitty Celiac Disease so I really can’t afford to take in another cat right now even though I’ve already dropped about $350 on this stray because he’s cute and needs medicine and vet visits and so his name is New Cat.”

60-ish year old male Pharmacist, silent for an awkward 15 seconds: “I see. Well, good for you helping out an animal in need. I’m a cat person, too.”


Grandpa Pharmacist understood the deranged cat language I was speaking.  Feeling ultra responsible and like a stand up citizen for rescuing a neighborhood stray in need, I perused the beauty aisle and almost shattered a bottle of nail polish on the tile floor when I heard over the loud-speaker..

“New Cat. New Cat. New Cat your order is ready.”

Oh. My. Fucking. Gawd.

New Cat, New Cat your order is ready.

Dignity left in the beauty aisle.

Slowly walking back up to the counter, trying to pretend that every normal person gets prescriptions filled for their cats with no names and acting as if I couldn’t see every single person in the store eyeing my left finger for a wedding band (which it lacks), further solidifying the “yep, she’s a crazy lady” thoughts running through their heads I quietly paid, hoping to get out of the pharmacy with no more attention called to me and this fucking new cat.

High tailing my ass out of there, as I was about 12 feet from the front door the pharmacist hollered, “Hope New Cat feels better real soon!”

Turns out, the humiliation was worth it because New Cat was back to good health in no time flat.

Climbing on my back in no time flat and feeling frisky so humiliation worth it.

NC felt frisky almost immediately.

After Mr. Tuxedo’s health crisis of 2014 was behind us, I assumed no one but me would remember the happenings at the drug store.

A gal like me with a story about New Cat isn’t so memorable, right?


I went to pick up a personal prescription about a month after the fiasco and the nice lady ringing me up said, “Oh my, the pharmacist remembered you.”

Yep. Seriously.

Yep. Seriously.


Yelp. Yelp. Yelp. All for this semi-grateful acting cat. Crazier by the second.

All for this little bitch.

Not knowing whether to laugh or cry (I did both – cried from laughing too hard), I took on my new title of “Cat Woman” with pride – mostly because the word crazy was no where in sight.

Fast forward two months to last night, when I was again picking up a prescription for myself.  I chose the drive through because hot yoga was the activity of choice after work and I was pretty sure anyone within 8 feet would be able to smell my disgusting aroma.

After giving my name and getting ready to settle up, the female voice through the speaker said, “the pharmacist wants to know how New Cat is doing.”

Ha. Yeah. Bye.

Ha. Yeah. Bye.

A loud laugh later, I told her to convey that New Cat was fabulous and still in fact named New Cat thinking that would be the end of it.

Fabulous. New Cat is fabulous.

Fabulous. New Cat is fabulous.

Nope. I then heard her say, “The pharmacist wants to speak to you.”

Wanting to die in my sweaty state I pulled my sunglasses down in an attempt to ‘primp’ before my big phone date with Grandpa Pharmacist.

Pharmacist: “How’s the kitty cat doing? You still have him?”

CBXB: “I still have him and his name is still New Cat.”

Pharmacist: “Well, that’s better than Dead Cat.”

I have a comedian on my hands.  And he’s a fellow cat lover.

A crazy cat man.

Solidified Crazy.

Maybe this man is my match made in crazy cat lady heaven…

More absurd by the second in my feline loving world….


Nashville’s Craziest Cat Lady


The Leaning Tower of Pussies

All I wanted for Mother’s Day from my two cats was a decent photo of my fur balls together.

Surely you know by now that Teddy is a superstar and deems himself worthy of royal credentials. New Cat on the other hand could care less about being in the spotlight and makes damn sure I’m aware at all times.

All love.

I’ve apparently adopted the Lindsay Lohan of cats.

The following photoshoot took place in 12 seconds and may be the only pic I ever get of the three of us.

Wrangling two fully clawed pussy cats up to my face proved to be a fun treat. While all of the hoisting was taking place, NC was extremely vocal about his disdain of making lasting memories while Tedstar put on his finest pissy face for the camera.


Bitch. Bitch. Bitch.

As I forcefully hugged them closer to my face, NC became an expert wiggler and Mr. Bear remained dead weight.


Wiggle while you work.

Just as I thought we’d gotten the heebee jeebees out of our newest resident, Mr. Tuxedo decided to play ‘light as a feather stiff as a board’ which turned me into a human teeter totter.

Is this love that I'm feeling?

Leaning Tower of Pussies.

I started to over correct my lean and our trio almost went overboard.


Our version of the classic Goldie Hawn and Kurt Russell movie poster.

Just as I was about to scold New Cat for not being able to dedicate 30 seconds to me on Mother’s Day, I realized the true culprit of this photo mess.

Of course it was none other than Mr. Ted E. Bear himself, pushing NC right out of the spotlight.

Spotlight stealer.

Scene stealer.

And The Bear got just what he wanted.

Still pissy faced.

Solo pissy face pic.

Not surprised, are you?






Weekend Winks – Losing It

Planning to spend a relaxing Mother’s Day weekend around the mini manse with my two fur balls (yes, I celebrate this special day of moms even though I don’t have my own humans – I’m assuming your card is in the mail to me?) took an unexpected turn with my innate ability to act stereotypically blonde.

Quiet time with my two pussies.

“Quiet” time with my two pussies much to New Cat’s dismay.

Is there a better way to spend a Friday night than taking in a movie (after mixing cocktails in the bathroom – I know it sounds so disgusting but seriously alcohol kills the germs, right? RIGHT?) on its opening weekend?

Little Friday night fun in the theater.

A little Friday night theater fun.

The film of choice was Neighbors, starring Zac Efron (and some other people) which may or may not be the entire reason I wanted to go and see this flick.

Um, yes please.

Um, yes please.

Mr. Dreamboat’s blue eyes apparently put me in trance, as I somehow managed to lose my cell phone between the movie theater and my mini manse. Naturally I didn’t realize this until Saturday morning when I went to grab the device from its usual resting spot by my sleeping head. Then I nonchalantly sauntered over to my purse to retrieve my mini lifeline that I must have forgotten to take out of my purse the previous evening.

No dice.

Retracing every single high-heeled step from Friday night, I morphed into a Tasmanian devil tearing my mini manse apart. After five hours of scouring my trash cans, kitchen, bathroom and bedroom drawers, couch cushions, in the piano, under the bed, in the freezer, through dirty laundry, in Teddy’s food bowl, behind every piece of furniture under the roof, outside of the balcony AND through my car, I looked like a deranged lunatic in dire need of a bottle of booze.

Luck of the Irish my ass

I surrender.

Throwing up the white flag, I traipsed over to the phone store and became a new owner of a slick phone. Problem is I have no one’s contact information or any of the 1,463,092 photos I hoarded over the past two years.  But this is an experience I’ve mustered through before when roughly 700 days ago, I accidentally ran over my phone and got to start from scratch on the information train.

Having a shiny new piece of technology with no protective gear started to make me sweat, so I zipped over to the mall where I intended on getting a snazzy new Juicy Couture (my mothership of shopping) phone case. Only thing is, I’ve apparently lost my Juicy store here in Nashville.


No warning. No signs. No explanation. No goodbye?!

Standing dumbfounded in the mall, feelings of retail despair crept over my being and I did the only thing I could think to do…share a cocktail with a gal pal.

Quenching my losing thirst.

Quenching my losing thirst with First Mate.

In between the snapping of this photo and a trip to the bathroom, I lost one of my fave sterling silver earrings that I’d splurged on with holiday money.  I also lost a gold button off of my blouse and acquired strange looks when asking staff if they could see either missing item (on a dark restaurant floor). I was falling apart at the seams…

Sunday morning was all giggles and smiles from the twins in Iowa.

These two love birds

Love birds.

It’s hard to believe that one year ago on Mother’s Day my niece and nephew looked like two roly polies that could hardly turn their chubby necks from one side to another.

Just roly polys a year ago.

Prince B and Princess B.

Being that I’m a mom to two fur balls, I was commanded to make an appearance on the porch in order to retrieve my gift. God forbid someone lift a paw.

Come and get it.

Come and get it.

Joining up for a date day with my mama, I was filling her in on all of my minor losses over the weekend when the heel cap of my shoe came off in the crack of a sidewalk (thank God I didn’t break my mom’s back) as we were walking downtown. Luckily for no one, I spent the rest of the day sounding like a half-assed tap dancer clip clapping my way all over the city.

Clip clop the wonder horse.

Balancing on a screw is fun.

Slightly limping my way through the streets of Nashville due to my heels being uneven, we went to see Million Dollar Quartet at the Tennessee Performing Arts Center. And holy shit was it fabulous.

I over enjoyed myself so much that the man in front of us turned around after the show and said, “Who was screaming so loud? Never thought to bring ear plugs to a Broadway musical,” as I pointed to my mother.

Mom's Day fun.

You’ll think you’re seeing Elvis for real and lose your shit. And your voice from screaming.

While we ended our day on a high note of fresh margaritas from a local restaurant, I managed to keep everything in tact for the remainder of the weekend.


Living it up with my fave mama.

I thought my minor losses were behind me until I appeared at work and lost air conditioning in my office on a 90 degree day.

Here’s hoping I don’t lose my marbles (or anything else for that matter) by Friday…