I have two cats. No, I’m not That Crazy Cat Lady – I only have two, and they’re step-cats. And I can’t be That Crazy Cat Lady because I have a real live boyfriend and occasionally leave the house for things other than more cat food, usually wearing jeans and a Monty Python or Led Zeppelin tee. No muumuu or a “housecoat” like my grandma used to wear, and no rollers under a scarf either. I’m more of a dog person anyway, though the cats have grown on me and I’m quite fond of them now.
One of the cats, Samantha, is a diva. The world revolves around her and her constant needs. If she is left wanting for more than a moment or two, you’re definitely going to hear about it. We call her “Sam” in a desperate attempt to loosen her up a bit, but it doesn’t work. She still believes she’s the queen of all she surveys.
The other cat, Smokey, is best described as borderline feral on mass quantities of caffeine. Picture the character Hammy from the cartoon Over the Hedge. We’ve finally gotten her civilized enough to wear a collar and not run from us, though she still gives The Boyfriend that “Who the hell are you and why are you in my house???” look. He’s owned her since she was a tiny kitten. So maybe she’s not the brightest bulb… but she’s my favorite, probably because she’s a bit odd. Like me.
Adding a third character into the mix, we now have a rather large tomcat that has been coming around – Pimp Daddy. Honestly, he’s REALLY large, reminding me somewhat of a bobcat. He’s pretty brazen and badass too. Sadly, he has discovered that we buy the expensive grain-free “my animal eats better than I do” cat food with actual meat and berries and other pricey ingredients. Apparently we also have amazingly good cat litter. And he, being quite large, has amazingly large poop. Ask me how I know.
The thing is, my cats think they’re Victoria’s Secret models. And like any Victoria’s Secret model worth her cleavage, they won’t give Pimp Daddy the time of day. Seriously, they snub him like a freshman at the senior prom. But, like any Pimp Daddy worth his fur hat and cane, that doesn’t stop him from trying.
Last night was rainy and windy. Sam was meowing at me to get her some aromatic deliciousness in a can NOW, but I wasn’t about to be pushed around by any demanding cat. She never gets her canned food this early anyway, so she could wait. Hammy, I mean… Smokey decided she wanted nothing more than to be out in the wind and driving rain. That is, once she realized I wasn’t giving up the (canned ) goods yet.
I finally fed Sam and put the rest of the can in the fridge. Then Smokey came in and meowed at me for some, so I put out a plate for her too. Since they were both inside and distracted, I took the opportunity to close the cat door, locking Pimp Daddy outside. Upstairs to wait for The Boyfriend to come home from work and watch TV until I fall asleep.
Ten pm, and The Boyfriend is home. Unfortunately, he is also sick, so he has a coughing fit every 2 or 3 minutes and snores to fill in the gaps. I head downstairs to sleep on the couch and suddenly see the shape of a large cat in the kitchen by the cat door. I flip on the light to see Pimp Daddy staring at me, not moving. He’s been trapped in my house since before dinner. I step toward the cat door to let him out, which is apparently an aggressive move, and Pimp Daddy goes flying through the air, bounding up the stairs to my bedroom. Crap.
So now it’s midnight and I’m looking for a stray tomcat somewhere in the upstairs of my house while The Boyfriend coughs up a lung and my cats act like I’m That Crazy Cat Lady. Which I might very well be.
All I know is that I need some freaking sleep.