My Pussy Loves Me…He Loves Me Not…

My pussy cat Mr. Ted E. Bear loves to hate me.

Truth.

For some odd reason, even though I shower the little love of my life with more affection than a newborn human, he can be so bitchy.  Many times when I’d like to scoop him up for a photo-op, he loves me not.

Bitch please.

Still not loving me.

Getting cheeky.

Forced to love me.

Face of defeat.

Teddy gets extremely annoyed with football season, as every Saturday becomes a drunken moonshine guzzling family affair and he isn’t afraid to showcase his disdain.

No pussy love for tailgating.

But what I can’t understand is Ted’s pissy behavior when I shove him into his Sunday best…

Loves me not.

Or dress him up in a bee costume…

Desperately wanting to sting his mother.

Or make him be a version of Robin Thicke to my Miley…

Love me not.

For sure hates my guts.

Or make him the Catman to my Catwoman.

Forced superhero.

What I do know is that regardless of whatever giddy up I shove Tedstar into, he always warms up (after some treats are dispersed – green peas are his fave), comes back around (once I have thoroughly massaged between his ears, under his chin with the grand finale of a belly rub) and gets in the saddle once again to be my constant sidekick.

He’ll claw a bitch.

And when a hungry, crying, soaking wet cat showed up at the door one cold January night, I couldn’t help but take him in and try to find him a permanent home, which ended up being mine. Introducing a new pussy into the mini manse, Mr. Bear wasn’t sure what the fuck I was thinking and proceeded to act as if I ceased to exist.

Who is this and what is it doing in my manse?

Ted made clear that he was the man in charge, even when it came to the dreaded photos in which I always make him pose.

Who’s the boss?

But eventually, I was kicked to the curb and a new love story began to blossom.

Brotherly love.
Just before it broke out into a wrestling match.

But no matter how much my main pussy loves to hate me, we always kiss and make up.

Loves me?

Whether he likes it or not.

CBXB

How to Almost Lose a Pussy

Oh the shit I do for cats.

The possible poster I could hang around my neighborhood further solidifying my deranged status when it comes to felines.

Little did I know what would be in store for yours truly when I found this vociferous feline outside of my mini manse one freezing evening this past January.

Loud and oh-so-proud.

With every intention of finding this fur ball a good home, I dubbed him New Cat to avoid the development of any feelings toward the little beast.

Fast forward six months and…

…two eye infections…

Pink eyed pussy.

…one ear ache accompanied by a cone…

Feeling the love.

…four vet visits in two months…

Really trying to avoid the cold, sterile vet table.

…one very embarrassing trip to Walgreens…

Music to my mother f’ing ears when I heard this name called over the loudspeaker at the pharmacy.

…and roughly $400 later this fur ball still resides under the same roof as His Royal Majesty Teddy and me.

Not-so-brotherly love.

While three’s often proven to be a crowd, the atmosphere in the mini manse is less tense and Ted, New Cat and I have been able to cohabitate pretty eventlessly.

Until last night when I was saying good-bye to a buddy that had stopped by and as I was shutting the door, I saw this pass by me –

Wait, was that a cat?

If you suspect that ball of flash was New Cat, making a run for the outside world he so desperately wanted rescued from a mere 180 days ago, you’d be spot on.

The welcoming woods outside my front door.

Aside from the fact that this little shit is as fast as a puma, it was haunted house dark outside, I had on my flip-flop house slippers and the brush adjacent to my place is currently as abundant as a royal’s monthly allowance.

The feline equivalent to the Where’s Waldo game.

As my buddy and I ran from one end of the tiny forest to the other, we could hear this cat wailing his pitiful meow while refusing to come anywhere near my reach. I was oh-so-cutely hollering, “NEW CAT! NEW CAT! Here kitty, kitty, kitty…Here Newie!” over and over again (I’m sure my neighbors did nothing but roll eyes and chalk it up to the crazy assed cat woman reputation I’ve secured for myself) and after about 10 minutes of playing the most unappreciated game of cat and mouse ever, NC crept up to my near hoarse voice.

Hanging out with cats has garnered me feline-like skills and I had a mama cat’s grip on the back of his neck so fast he couldn’t react. When I whisked him through the front door and breathed a slight sigh of relief, Mr. Tuxedo knew his ass was grass.

I’ll just be under here until you’re done seething.

Can’t see me, can you?

While New Cat was busy burying his head into linoleum, I poured myself a bottle glass of wine and happened to catch my reflection in a nearby mirror. Why was the mole on my neck moving?

Oh, because it wasn’t a mole.

It was a fucking tick.

A tick that wouldn’t die.

Attempting to crawl out of the toilet for the third time.

After hosting a brief funeral for the blood sucking creature that did finally take its last breath, I stomped down the hall to lay into New Cat who crept further under his throw rug fort.

Blending in with surroundings fail.

As soon as I pointed my finger at his little face, he gave me the very best version of puppy dog eyes I’d ever seen on a cat and my fury instantly turned into mush.

I’M SORRY.

While the shenanigans of a Monday night were winding down, Ted showed the utmost concern one could about a sibling vanishing into the night.

Adrift in anxiety.

New Cat laid low and kept quiet all night, he did come out of hiding as I was getting gussied up for work.

We’re cool, right?

And as I said my good-byes while traipsing out the door, I knew all was back to normal in the mini manse.

What?

Here’s hoping the rest of the week is uneventful.

CBXB

High Maintenance Pussy Hoarder

It’s all fun and games being a crazy cat lady until you have two high maintenance pussies under one roof.

Crazier by the second over here in my neck of Nashville’s cat hoarding woods.

For those of you who don’t know, His Royal Majesty Ted and I took in a soaking wet kit cat that shivered on our doorstep one 15 degree evening in January (seriously, could he have picked a better door?). We dubbed him New Cat so we wouldn’t fall in love and want to keep him under our roof.

Pain in the ass acquisition.

Of course all of the kings horses and all of the kings men knew that once the drawbridge to my mini manse opened for New Pussy, he was basically going to remain in our kingdom forever.

For the 1,578th time, you’re welcome for the warm house and constant food!

I always thought Teddy was the most high maintenance feline I’d ever encounter. When I rescued him, he had an upper respiratory infection, ring worm and somehow developed an allergy to chicken (so his bags of food cost a measly $60). But my the little love of my life has proven to be worth every precious penny with which I’ve parted.

The million dollar pussy.

Enter New Cat.

When the vet checked him out initially, he’d been neutered (meaning someone dumped him which pisses me off beyond explanation) and was granted an overall clean bill of health. Then two weeks ago, he showed up with a funky eye one morning which had me racing to the vet, as I was worried whatever he had was going to jump into Ted’s eyes (and of course I wanted NC to feel better).

Pussy pink eye.

This tuxedo cat was in such a panic about being at the vet, he climbed all over me like a jungle gym to avoid the cold examination table.

Meow at the top of your lungs all you want. No one is going to help you.

We left the doctor with eye gel, oral medicine and a head cone which has made for some of the best entertainment (have you ever witnessed a cat walking backward? It’s how NC maneuvers around the mini manse with his cone) I’ve seen recently.

Conehead backing away.

At NC’s checkup this past Saturday, it was discovered that this little money sucker somehow developed an ear infection which requires drops that I had to pick up at an actual pharmacy. Wanna know how to feel like an asshole at Walgreens? Drop off a prescription for a nameless animal.

When I heard “New Cat, your prescription is ready” over the intercom, I kinda wanted to go down the proverbial rabbit hole and stay there forever as what self-respecting cat lady doesn’t give her feline a proper name?

Hi. I’m the cat lady. And yes, I’m crazy.

The best part about my recently acquired sick pussy is giving him three different medications while he’s sporting a cone. If you’ve never given a cat ear drops, eye drops and oral medication twice a day while he’s wearing plastic around his face, you’re really missing out in life.

It’s the best.time.ever.

Although New Cat has only added to my already high maintenance household (I mean between Ted and myself…) he’s proven to be beyond thankful in regard to his recent medical care and rags to riches lifestyle turnaround. He now shows his appreciation backward as he can’t figure out how to snuggle up under my chin with his cone. So he does it in the reverse.

The reverse snuggle. A new nightly ritual.

That carries on far longer than it should.

Know of any other high maintenance, homeless cats looking for a home with a less than rich blonde caretaker? Please, send them my way.

I seem to be collecting them…

CBXB

King of the Catsle

About five years ago, I welcomed Teddy Bear into my life.

I found him at the Nashville Cat Rescue where he’d been saved from a one bedroom apartment full of 30 cats. And he was obviously the low cat on the food chain there, as he didn’t dare jump on any furniture, never ever meowed about anything and was scared to let me hold him even for one second (my how times of changed).

At that time, I had a partially screened in porch. My new little Prince Teddy had such a sweet, timid demeanor, I would let him sit on the porch alone and was thrilled he was happy to sit on the chairs and relax in the sun.

Soaking up the sun.

And then after a few months, he suddenly came out of his meek shell, deciding that he was King of the Porch (or maybe even the jungle) and this happened –

Feathers. Not fur.

King Teddy ‘presented’ me with a beautiful cardinal while I was soaking in the bath one evening. First, I screamed bloody murder. Then I thought the poor cat’s jaw was going to break because his mouth was open so wide. And finally, I freaked when he wouldn’t let the bird go until a towel was put over his head. (The bird lived, which I was also in worried tears about, naked, soaking wet in the bathroom). Ultra relaxing five minutes.

His Royal Highness got very daring  on the porch after the Great Bird Incident and he attempted to escape to a nearby bush (about four feet away) which turned out like this:

Body outline of my Bear.

He climbed a top the railing and apparently thought the bush was sturdy enough to hold him up (Teddy sometimes has blonde moments like his mother). It was super fun trying to get him out of the damn tangle of limbs.

The porch was promptly screened in all the way to the ceiling for my blue blooded attack cat.

Teddy’s own private jail.

But of course, King Ted was always looking for a way out.

Does curiosity kill?

Now in my cozy mini-catsle, I’m the evil Queen happy to keep Ted preserved behind glass windows, knowing that I won’t have any unwelcome gifts or a clumsy cat stuck in a bush.

Behind the screen, right where a King belongs!

From our Kingdom to yours – Happy Friday!

CBXB