+1 skill point

All the doorknobs in my apartment look like this.



The apartment is old and the building's foundation has shifted enough times that most of the doors don't actually latch when you close them.

Jack has caught on to this and has made it his mission to figure out how to open the doors around here, many of which stay "closed" but not quite closed.

His technique? Standing on his hind legs, stretching as far as he can, and hooking one singular claw into a vacant keyhole, letting his weight and gravity do the rest until the door swings open. He's surprisingly effective at this, and when I catch him trying to do this to the doors that actually do latch, I can't help but laugh because the doors don't budge, which means he just gets stuck there, his one little claw extended to its limit, his weight baring down so that he can't retract it. He tries to fake it like, Oh, hey man. I was just ... hanging around. Pretty nice day out. Saw some dustbunnies float past a minute ago and I just heard you fill up the food bowl. But I'm hanging out here for a while. Sniffing the breeze. Catch you later, man.

But I know. Dumbass.

100 percent less pukey

I've been asked by a couple of people how Jack's doing since his copious-vomiting incident last week ... or whenever it was.

See for yourself:



I persisted in giving him his antibiotics for two days, at which point it became clear that he didn't need any medicine; he had just needed to barf up everything in his stomach and start all over. He's totally fine and back to destroying any and all paper items he encounters, including this large and moderately expensive Christmas bag I had stored in my closet but removed briefly so I could retrieve something stored beneath it. One second I'm rooting through a musty cardboard box, and before I know it, I hear the startling explosion of a cat entering a giant paper sack at full speed, fast enough to bust through the bottom and attack the ragged edges, leaving spit-soaked paper shreds in his wake.

Right now he's wrestling the shit out of Sally and she is making her bitchface at him as he bites her neck.

So, yeah. He's good as new.

Obligatory cat digestion update

Jack and I just got back from the vet. The clinic on Central and East Parkway was kind enough to squeeze us in even though we're not regulars. I've still got a bad taste in my mouth from the last time I dealt with Eastgate, so I am happy there's a clinic closer to my apartment than way out east. Plus, four or five blocks of mewling vs. twenty minutes of it? I don't even have to explain. Also, gas prices. Etc.

Anyway, Dr. Mitchell peered in Jack's mouth, felt him up, and stuck a thermometer in his butt. I described the barf-capades and the bit of rubber and was told that even an x-ray might not show if there are any little bits of rubber in his stomach, because rubber just doesn't show up on x-rays very well. We'd have to do something fancy with barium, which is very unpleasant for everyone involved, apparently, so that would be a last resort if he keeps technicolor yawning (yes, I plan to run through every vomit euphemism in the language).

So in the meantime, we're on antibiotics to clear up any lingering yuckiness (he really enjoyed the two shots he got; they made him dance with rapture) and I've got to shove pills down his throat twice a day. I also can't feed him until late tonight. That should be the most fun part of this challenge. He just stares at me with those hungry yellow eyes. I am weak.

Something's up with Jack

That's not cat hair all over my comforter. It's just a fancy comforter made of expensive fur from endangered animals.

I woke up this morning to find a lovely grapefruit-sized splatter of cat puke on my beloved brown and darker brown hallway rug (the one KHall and Jimmy gave Phil and me as a going-away present when we moved to Memphis). It was thick and chunky like clam chowder and I decided quickly not to bother cleaning it out of the rug, which is of the shag persuasion. I mean, that rug has had a good go of it and is filthy and urine-stained and full of ferret smells. But there's no way I can possibly clean cat puke out of it. I don't have my own washer and dryer and therefore don't feel comfortable putting my cat's puke in a communal device, even for $1.50.

Anyway, I wouldn't normally be worried about a little cat pukage (I know it's normal, but I had entirely dodged the cat-puke bullet until now), but I witnessed Jack heave three more times in the early afternoon — all gooky foodstuff puke and not mucusy hairball puke — and then came home in the late evening to some crusty semi-fresh food puke in my bedroom (and on my shorts), and then just now I watched as he horked up still more internal goodness (this time a little less chunky with food and a little more watery, because I didn't feed him at his usual time because of this puking problem we're having).

What makes me worry is this: I found a little pen cap-sized bit of rubber in one of the puke pools. It's rubber from my rubber computer-chair mat, the one he has taken to chewing lately. I knew he was chewing on it but I never imagined he would actually swallow the bits. I give him too much credit, I know.

So I'm worried that he's got a bunch of rubber nonsense floating around in his belly that's going to require surgery to remove. I'm not sure what else could be making him puke up his food so suddenly and so often. This is not a hairball issue. This puke is for real.

Obviously we're going to the vet tomorrow.

My water skillz, let me show you them

My water skillz, let me show you them from Lindsey Turner on Vimeo.

Empty threat

Me, to Jack, who was eyeing the new phone cord I just installed:

"If you so much as put that cord in your mouth, I will pull out your teeth and make a necklace of them and wear it in front of you so you'll be sad."

Day 310 — Feeding Time

I've had to start feeding Felix in the cage (or hang around to watch him eat), because if I leave him unattended, the kitties — mostly Jack — move in and snarf up all his food. Because, you know, I never feed them and they are STARVING TO DEATH.

Here's how it usually happens:



Decides he'd like ferret food for lunch.



Makes an obvious move.



Gets smacked away by human. Is full of resentment. Begins hatching sinister plan involving his supreme cuteness.



Begins to feign stretches.



Does an acrobatic roll.



Nonchalantly lands in a prime position.



"Hey, man, I really feel close to you ... like a brother, you know?"



"I mean, we have a really solid relationship. You like to sneak into the cabinets to sleep, so do I. You like to make an unholy racket with plastic bags, so do I."



"I just think that — hey, wait a sec. Are you wearing some kind of musk? Mmmm. Smells nice. I'm just gonna sit here for a minute and just smell you, 'k? Just for ... a ..."



Snarf snarf snarf. *gets smacked away by human, again*



Damn you, Two Legs.

Project 365

Day 303 — Booster Shots

Jack's pushing ten pounds and Sally has just eeked over six. Nov. 8 has been deemed the day they will get snipped so that we don't end up with any (devastatingly adorable) inbred kittens.

Project 365

Day 296 — They're Coming To Get You, Kitty!

[for Tuesday, Oct. 23]



Project 365

Day 283 — Guess Who Didn't Notice I Was Gone?

[for Wednesday, Oct. 10]



Project 365

Day 264 — Vet

We got the first round of shots out of the way today; boosters come in three weeks. Then the requisite snip-snip to make sure we end up with no inbred babies. Yes, I know I should have done this a month or two ago, but if I didn't always procrastinate until the very last minute, my life would contain absolutely no excitement. And what is more exciting than having to watch your cat all the time to make sure she doesn't go into heat and get humped by her brother?

I wish my little video camera worked so I could record how big the kitties have gotten and their silly teenage antics, which now include toilet paper capers and chasing shadows on the wall (or are they chasing shadow people?). Ol' Jack the Fatty up there is a whopping 8 pounds, while the Sally the Runt registers 5 pounds, 9 ounces. Both got clean bills of health and several coos from the vet, who was smitten with Jack's markings. He's a stud, that one.

Project 365

Day 253 — Sunning

[for Monday, Sept. 10]



Project 365

Some sentences for you

It's hot in my apartment.

I accidentally shut Jack in the closet today while I was out running errands.

I think he secretly enjoyed it.

Friday night Sarah and Brandon came calling and we stayed up until the wee hours, drinking Boone's Farm (yes, Boone's Farm; Fuzzy Navel if you're keeping score at home) and smoking Marlboro Menthol Lights out on the balcony. We kvetched. We danced to Justin Timberlake. It was therapeutic.

Some people are coming over in a bit to celebrate the end of summer. We're going to drink fruity cocktails and eat cheese. I made some kind of mixed drink I got from Salon that has rum in it. I likey the rum drinks. I'm looking forward to having people over and milling around in my space. I like entertaining. I don't do it nearly enough.

Day 226 — Because I Have Given Up on Making Out With Humans

Just kidding. But you'd want to make out with him, too, if he hopped up on your bed.

And just so no on thinks I'm playing kitty favorites, here's a picture of Sally at the exact moment I tried to make out with her.



She no likey.

Project 365

Day 207 — Swipe

[for Thursday, July 26]



My cat eats paper and he would appreciate it if you would not come near him while he's doing so.

Project 365

Things my cats and I do not agree on

• The appropriate time to poop. They seem to think it's preferable to take turns pooping as I'm preparing my lunch and/or dinner.

• How acceptable it is to knock my living room lamp off the table and punch two holes in the shade and bust the underside of the base.

• The advisability of jumping up and latching on to the oscillating fan.

• How much fun it is to play in the litter box and then bring little bits of litter into my bed.

Sleep shifts

Kittens are, as everyone knows, insane. Which means that my nights and mornings have gotten all jumbled these past few weeks as the critters and I have tried to hammer out a sleep schedule that accommodates my work schedule and their instincts to get up at the ass crack of dawn and stampede around the apartment, ripping things off the walls.

Mother Nature never compromises, so usually here's what happens when I get off work at midnightish:

I come home to a smelly apartment, with two kitties lounging sleepily on a random surface. I proceed to unwind (this often involves pouring a glass of wine and getting on the computer). The cats take this as their cue to make up for all that playing they didn't do while I was at work. So they begin stampeding in circles around the apartment, bouncing off walls and plunging from tables and scaling chairs and attacking cords and growling menacingly at one another. I try to tire them out using feather toys and laser pointers. They ignore my feeble attempts at play and attack the DSL modem. Loudly. I imagine my downstairs neighbors aiming a shotgun at the ceiling and deciding, after much prayer, to let me live.

At two or three, I turn off all the lights and put Felix back in the cage. The cats are usually still wrestling. Loudly. But sometimes turning off all the lights will settle them down. I prepare for bed and wince was they knock things off the coffee table. I hear someone step in the water bowl. The smell of fresh cat poop wafts into the bathroom as I brush my teeth. I try not to gag.

I get into bed. Sometimes I leave a lamp on so I can read, other times I'm ready to pass out. The kitties climb — no, more like lurch — into bed with me and stare at me, as if to say, We're just getting started, loser! Jack sits on the pillow to my right, watching Sally as the stalks my feet under the covers. Any time I move, they pounce. I lie perfectly still. Sally sees me blink and punches my eyeball.

Somehow I manage to fall asleep with them staring at me. If I'm lucky. Other times they will simply conduct the rest of their play time on top of me or attack the newspaper in the corner — the newspaper Felix uses to do his bidness. Those nights I shut them out of the bedroom and hope they don't sprout thumbs with which to open the door.

Some mornings I can sleep 'til 10 or whenever I'd like, and I'll get up and open the doors and see them sitting quietly on the couch. Other mornings, like this morning at 6, I will feel something furry graze my arm and realize that they somehow made their way into the bedroom. And I'll let them stay as long as they can behave, because, really, it's so sweet being awaken by a cute little kitty. So, as this morning, I'll lie there as Sally finds the crook in my neck or my elbow and cuddles up to me, purring. I'll lose my breath as she lets a stinkbomb right in my face. Twice. I'll fan the air frantically, trying to get some non-tainted oxygen. She will see my rapid movement as a signal that it's time to play.

And then three seconds later there's a stampede and I'm up and blogging at 6:30 a.m.

And now it's time to go back to bed. If it's possible.

The joys of cat ownership: A visual addendum

The kitties have taken over Felix's tube, and right now, they can sort of fit into it (it takes more effort for Jack to get in there as he's a big 'un).



And they are mesmerized by the most hypnotic, most annoying cat toy ever (er, at least so far):

The joys of cat ownership

• There is a series of small scratches and puncture wounds spanning from my legs to my shoulders where I have been used as a tree trunk/scratching post while sitting at my desk and attempting to type on my keyboard while the cats scaled the desk chair repeatedly, using me as an inconvenience to be trampled upon.

• All cords have had to be elevated to the extremely unattractive location known as "eye level" so as to be better ignored by tiny feline creatures the height of my baseboards.

• Sally's farting problem has, thankfully, gotten better since I stopped feeding them soft food, but she still sometimes lets one fly when I pick her up or — worst of all — when I creep up and lean in for a little kitty smooch. And they are foul.

• Fleas. Gah! Two more weeks 'til I can safely treat them.

• Jack is a purrer. He purrs constantly, but when he's really happy, his motorboat-like vibrations raise several decibels and you have to turn up the TV.

• Sally, despite being the skittish one at first, is now Ms. Insane Play-with-me-constantly-or-I-will-attack- your-extremities Cat. She enjoys lying beside me as I watch TV or lie in bed to read, and attacking my eyelashes every time I blink. I don't think she ever sleeps. Ever.

• My friend Ashley got me one of those laser pointer things, which was a fabulous present because it means I plant my ass down somewhere and make them chase it until they figure out they're never going to catch it.

• Their favorite place to lounge is right behind my ass as I'm on the computer, which means I have to sit on the edge of the seat to type anything. Which means I'm on the computer less and less, as it's extremely uncomfortable.

• I'm still the boss, though. Right?

Day 178 — Jack's Eyes

A little boogery, but sweet nonetheless.

Project 365