The trials and tribulations of cat ownership

Most of you know that I have two cats. Josephine is not smart enough to have worries.

Her top three thoughts are:

  1. I love my endless supply of cat kibble!
  2. Tummy rub!
  3. Ooh, mousie!

Arthur is…too smart for his own good. He’s all angsty and emo – look at him there, contemplating all that’s wrong with the world!

His top three thoughts are:

  1. Kibble is the opiate of the masses.
  2. Tummy rubs, like life, are fleeting and meaningless.
  3. That’s not a real mouse.

I just know he’s got a stash of bad poetry around here somewhere. And so he acts out, desperate to keep his oppressors (i.e., me, the one who supplies him with food and a warm, comfy place to live and won’t let him dye his fur black or wear eyeliner [I ask him if he would jump off a bridge if all the other cats were doing it, but he just rolls his eyes at me]) at bay by doing unspeakable things on my bed. While I’m in my bed!

So, I went to Petsmart and loaded up on enough soothing cat pheromones to stop a tiger! Cross your fingers that Arthur is feeling soothed and content and happy. If the pheromones don’t work, it’s on to Kitty Prozac.


This is…

…my rather artful way of finally remembering to tell you that I got a haircut and am once again the proud owner of my very own fringe!

Also that I have finished wrapping my Xmas pressies.