September 28, 2004

Transgender Cats

This blog is about to be called The Diary of a Mad, Sleep Deprived Woman. I've been yelling a wee bit this week. I hate when I yell. I think my mom is starting to avoid me and I've scared the cats.

That's right, the cats. I mustn't forget the cats. Let's talk about the cats. Yes, that would be plural as in THREE of them. One Siamese mix (which the vet insists is really a snowshoe breed) who thinks he's not a cat but an imperial ruler of the house and fights the kids for their granny smith apples and goldfish crackers.

He stalks me while I'm on the computer and sits on top of my monitor chasing the cursor with his paws so I can't see. I'm brushing paws away from side to side until I'm about ready to either leave the computer or toss him across the room. He'd make a good windshield wiper. He insists on sleeping in our sinks and drinking from the faucets. He's too good for a bowl naturally.

Then we have the "sisters". They are litter mates. They are supposed to be tabbies. I always wanted a tabby cat. We have a nice orange fluffy one, but the white one isn't so tabby. He came home too because lil' J fancied 'her'. She tolerates his harrassing hugs and never bites him back. The problem then? Besides the fact that they eat from the trash and are always under my feet? I think they might be out to get me.

Snowball is an adorable little kitty, but he's trying to sabatoge any chance I have of having a clean house. As a kitten, he decided that the front door was a great place to pee. And pee it did, day after day. Aww, the cute little kitty doesn't know where to find the box. So we help it out and eventually it gets it, right? Wrong. Now it's peeing in the laundry room corner. All over my christmas wrap, boxes, whatever. What the heck? It's a shame that it might go on a field trip since it doesn't mind being snuggled, nuzzled, carried, layed on, and practically french kissed by all the kids. Before you email me about what a wretched woman I am, I already know. Save your time. Plus, I would never really abandon an animal that I have taken responsibility for. Unless of course they were possessed by satan. Which I haven't ruled out as of yet.

That aside, want to know how stupid we apparantly are? The other day J asks us why Snowball has balls!? He did indeed use that word when speaking to his mother. We're raising a real gentlemen.

Me: Huh? What are you talking about goober? (a nickname started by his charming uncle) They are 'sisters', the cat doesn't have balls. You know I'm busy cooking peanut butter and jellies for dinner, why do you jest with me so?

So he begins to laugh, and carry on about how we have some freak girl cat with a sac almost as big as a prize winning hog. Alright, so I admit, I do the bootie check, and in the words of my LiL' J, I exclaim, "OH MY GOODNITS".

She is a he, and we apparently were too inept or busy to even notice. The guy said they were are all girls, we looked briefly, it all looked fine. It's not like we inspected their crotches with a magnifying class.

My biology teacher said that was a faux pa.

But do you think one time in seven months that we'd notice otherwise? Yeah, I'm smacking myself up side the head right about now. At least this explains the obnoxious peeing. He is going to start spraying soon. Lucky me. The smell of cat pee is horrid. There is nothing like it. Eww. Calling the vet tomorrow. Sweet revenge, and hopefully a better smelling house.

Now, to declaw or not to declaw?