Pearly Whites

This guy went to the vet yesterday because it appears that his ears are going bald. It turned out to not be a problem and nothing to worry about, BUT the vet mentioned that he needs his teeth cleaned. Ok. No problem.

The I get the quote...

FOUR HUNDRED AND SEVENTY FIVE DOLLARS.

Almost half a grand so my cat can have sparkling chompers?

His new game...

The cat I live with is an asshole.

I say "the cat I live with" as opposed to "my pet cat" because he doesn't seem to think he is a pet, and referring to him as a "pet" would lead you, dear reader, to believe that the cat knows his place in this household. "Pet" indicates that I have jurisdiction over him in some way. I don't. He does whatever he damn well pleases and gets away with it because he is adorable. The bastard.

Annnnnywaaaay....

For the past week, every time I walk into the bathroom, he jumps roughly 4 feet into the air and attaches himself to the bathroom doorframe. He hangs there like a monkey halfway up a tree. While he hangs there, on the doorframe, he gives me the "What is your problem?' face, EVERY SINGLE TIME.

The door frame is clawed to hell now. Wonderful.

So, I decide I'm going to photograph this recent act of cat defiance, but have been unsuccessful thus far. It seems that he is on to me, and won't repeat his jerk carnival for the camera. If I am able to get a photo of it, I'll post it... but don't hold yer breath.

He's the Michigan J. Frog of cats.

I call this...."Blurry cat in sweater"

This photograph of Dolemite in his party sweater isn't blurry because he couldn't sit still. It's blurry because I was laughing too hard and thus couldn't hold the camera steady.

He's actually really good at posing in his sweater. This is due largely to the fact that when he's wearing it, he thinks his legs don't work. As soon as that sweater is on him, he just stands there, motionless, or flops onto his back. It's weird.

Dolemite's Birthday Present...

You've come a long way, baby.

Today is Dolemite the Cat's birthday. He is 4 years old, which translates to "still a jerk" in people years.

Technically, his birthday might not actually be today. The shelter where we adopted him from couldn't pin-point his actual birthdate, but did say he was probably born between October 20th and October 30th. So we decided he was born on October 24th. It doesn't really matter... he can't read a calendar anyway.

I can still remember the day we adopted the jerk...

We (me and the boyfriend at the time, who is now no longer the boyfriend) had just moved from a mouse-infested apartment in Boston to another apartment in the building next door. I wanted a cat to protect me from rodents in the new apartment. I NEEDED a cat to protect me from rodents. I was so tramatized from the mouse apartment that everytime something glinted in the corner of my eye, I assumed it was a mouse and promptly freaked out.

The boyfriend did not want a cat. I whined and begged for weeks.

A few weeks later, on New Year's Eve, we attended a party hosted by one of his co-workers. He is a chef, so the party food was elaborate. The host, knowing that I don't drink, prepared a highly carbonated non-alcoholic fancy shmancy fruity lemon thing that I think also involved ginger. It really was quite beautiful, although I really don't like carbonation. It makes me gag. It's too fizzy. Wah!

I sat there holding the giant glass of good intention in my hand, trying to think of a way to dump it in a plant or something. I didn't want to be rude, but I could not drink this thing. I do not have a sophisticated palate. There was too much going on with that beverage. I like plain things. Like warm apple juice.

So I sat there surrounded by tiny sausages wrapped in puff pastry blankets and spare ribs marinated in imported sauces I had never heard of, while bitter over-worked chefs argued the merits of Kobe Beef. I sat trying to hatch a plan to get rid of the lemony, zingy beverage.

Then, the boyfriend solved the problem for me by saying,
"If you drink that, we can get a cat."

Gulp.

Two days later, we are at the Animal Rescue League in Boston looking at felines when we spot him... a tiny grey and white mangy looking kitten hovering in the corner of a tiny cage. We ask to see him in one of the "get to know you" stalls to see if we get along. We had to wear rubber gloves because the kitten had just arrived about 3 hours ago and had been flea-dipped.

The Rescue worker tells us that he was rescued from a dumpster in the back of a Burger King, and he was all alone. No siblings. Nothing. A tiny kitten all alone in a big fast food dumpster. Cue the dramatic music.

We carry the little trembling furball into the stall and the woman tells us to watch out because a rabbit was just in there with it's future adoptive parents.

The little grey kitten jumps out of my purple-gloved hands, runs under a chair and begins eating rabbit droppings.

Obviously, we had to adopt him.

In His First Starring Role...

He sleeps

Nothing of note, just some pictures of the devil sleeping. I think the slow change from Summer to Autumn is making this cat insane. He's been more of a jerk this week than usual. I've said this before, but he's really lucky he's adorable.

The secretary.

"Here is the requested document."

He's lucky he's so damn cute....

Welcome to the Cat House

This is my new side table, which will soon be residing in my living room...


I drew up the plans for it and my Father built it. I'm going to paint it the same citron green as the walls in my living room, once it arrives in Suburbia. It's currently sitting in my Father's woodworking studio. That space in the bottom there is for the cat. I've got a cushion made out of the same fabric as my throw pillows that will be shoved in there, so Dolemite can hang out in there. I figure it'll be a nice little nook for him to sleep in. The key to getting my stubborn cat to go in there is to make him believe he's not allowed... then he'll be all over it. hehe.

Edited to say: To be specific, my Mother made the cushion. She read this yesterday and was comically-bothered by the lack of due credit given. THANK YOU MY DEAR MOTHER, FOR MAKING THE CUSHION FOR YOUR GRANDCAT.

Cat on Refridgerator.

Finally.

Whew!

I've finally moved into the house. I'm currently unpacking. I'm amazing at how I crammed all this stuff into my tiny apartment now that I see it spread out throughout an entire house.

And, more importantly, Dolemite moved in too. He was freaked out at first and hid under a bed for 5 or 6 hours, then slowly emerged and crept around the edges of every room in the house. He's fine now and is back to his old, destructive self... He already managed to knock a chair into a door, thus cracking the wooden slates of said door. That cat is so lucky he's adorable.

To make it official, this weekend the pink lawn flamingos will be unpacked and will take up residence on the front lawn.

The Day is Drawing Near

I am officially moving into Suburbia on July 30th. It's official because I've rented a big ol' truck for that day and the deposit is non-refundable.

I've got flooring tiles that aren't going to be delivered until thursday, and I'll be installing them on Saturday. This is cutting it close, but there's nothing I can do about it. It'll be nice to finally move into the house, as I've been spending countless hours working on things in it over the last 2 months.

My cat will be moving in on August 1st. I want things to be sort of settled and unpacked a bit before he moves in, that way he'll recognize things around the new place and possibly feel a bit at home right away. The last time I moved apartments he freaked out and hid under bed covers for 3 days. I had to bring food and water to him, for fear that he would starve to death under my bedspread. I want to make this move as less stressful for him as possible.

And yes, I realize that the last paragraph makes me sound like a loony cat lady.

That "Apple a day..." thing? It's a lie.

Bleh.

I am WAY behind on my "To Do" list for house-related things. I was hoping to be finished with all the painting by now, but I'm not. This is delaying everything. I can't actually move in until the kitchen floor is installed... and I can't install the kitchen floor until I finish painting.

And this is because I am sick. Really sick. This morning I coughed so hard that I threw up. IN MY HAND.
Everyday I wake up thinking.. "yeah.. I'm cured." Then I hack something up and that thought flies right out the window, along with some phlegm.

I can't really do much except for sit around overanalyzing symptoms. I hate that I can't do something because of some sickness-induced limitation. And I've been told not to do anything for fear of a relapse. This scares me. I don't want to relapse and be sick for twice as long. I feel lazy for just lying around, yet scared to over-exert myself and relapse.

And now for a purely infantile, childish complaint... My parents are in Bermuda, so I can't even call them to whine about how crappy I feel. Nothing helps recovery quite like calling your Mother and whining for hours about being ill. Because they have to listen. Because they are related to you and have to provide sympathy, whether genuine or not.

The other scary thing is that my cat has been sleeping next to me at night. He hardly does this during the Summer.
I'm pretty sure the only reason he's doing this is so that if I perish during the night, he'll be right there to immediatly start gnawing my face off.

He's that sort of feline.

cough cough.