Damn Cat’s a Lover…

Damn cat. She’s making me NUTS.

Okay, for those cat lovers who believe they must always be kept indoors, mmm… well, you’re welcome to MaeMae, this is NOT a cat who wants to live indoors.

Not only does she insist on going outside, I’m buying kitty collars in bulk. The safety snaps are useless with this monster.

In fact, I’m not convinced she wants to live at all, given her penchant for, when annoyed, wrapping her paws around my head, unsnapping her jaws like a cobra about to attack, and taking a chunk of my scalp for her dinner.

She does not, incidentally, do this to anyone else.  Only to me.  

She also has a nasty tendency to make me bleed, usually from my arms.

Beloved says that means something (not subtly implying i should treat the cat differently… like, how, exactly?  I’m not swinging her by her neck, or running my closed fist the wrong way up her tail or anything like that.

Anyway, she also had it in for the furniture. Despite the climbing apparatus we put into place (which I now realize I haven’t blogged about)… I used the huge eight foot carpet roll (like a toilet paper middle on steroids) we had as a climbing pole for her, with high hopes that would get her scratching needs out. The pole is now wrapped in jute (and my fingers were wrapped in bandages… hot glue is… well… very hot) and installed in the family room, by the staircase.

The carpet tube.

We put in kitty shelves so she can hop from the top of the pole to the upper staircase (we have a tri-level, so there’s two short staircases next to each other, one up, one down). It’s a fire pole in reverse.

Sadly, however, it seemed to instead teach her scratching is fun.  

In addition, if you’ve read of our earlier adventures, you’ll know she was going outside on a leash and in a kitty backpack, and was livid when the dog had freedom and she didn’t.

Okay, well, I got mad enough at the cat constantly attempting to shred furniture and making a dash for freedom… FINE.  Go outside.  You get eaten by Wile E, it’s not MY fault.

So, please, if you have judgmental things to say, refer back to my missing lumps of cranium, in addition to the sofas we paid a shitton of money to reupholster after the amazing single balled tomcat passed on (that’s another story), and put a sock in it.

So, interestingly, MaeMae has no desire to leave the premises.  She hangs out on our back bank (which is substantial) and chases lizards… she catches the baby ones.

Of course, I still want an animal… any animal… to annihilate that damn gopher and his kin.  The dog is, by all appearances, best buds with the little bastard, and MaeMae seemed willing to go after it when she was leashed, so I had high hopes we might have as what happened to my parents when they were my age.

My mom was in the shower when my dad stuck his head in.  “Hey, dearest?  You wanna see half a gopher?”

Strangely, she declined, but rather firmly informed him he needed to dispose of the half-carcass.  The cat didn’t want any dinner that night.  (I know, half a gopher sounds akin to a Coney Island hot-dog eating contest for a feline, but you didn’t meet Louie the cat.  

That bugger was BIG, and mean when he wanted to be.  He calmly took most of the nose off the boxer next door when that dog had the audacity to charge him… on the boxer’s own driveway.  Louie just lifted one paw, swiped and the boxer took off running.  German Shepherds would cross the street to avoid ole Louie.  So half a gopher… not a big deal, really.)

Back to MaeMae.  So she’s now got the freedom of a 16 year old with a driver’s license and a full tank-a gas.

Go, you big fierce cousin of the lions. Go annihilate that vile gopher. And all his relatives. Chase them so they never darken our street again.

Next thing we know, MaeMae’s out on the bank.  Stalking something. Tail flashing, she’s crouched, ass high in the air.  GO BABY GO!!

She pounces, tussles with whatever the critter is, and rares back as the creature waddles off…

Wait, what??

She again crouches as I realize… it’s a damn gopher.  And it. Is. Getting. Away.


Mid crouch, she looks back at me, puzzled.  Then she turns and pounces.

And bops the gopher on the head.

The gopher, I swear to god, giggled.

So did MaeMae.

I lost my shit.


MaeMae turns, blinks, and grins.  Dis fun, Mommy.  I play boppyhead with Joey.

Oh, god HELP me.  The f’ing dog has conversations with Ralph in the front yard and now the cat is playing boppyhead with his progeny, who are merrily digging up the back lawn.

I’m gonna boppyhead YOU, you wretched little…

The cat lifts one eyebrow.  You kinda big for boppyhead.  But we can try.

And I used to wonder why people kept alligators as pets.

4 thoughts on “Damn Cat’s a Lover…

    1. Well thank you! It was amazingly cheap, given what I’d priced things on the internet, so it was well worth the $50 in sisal (jute) and the $40 in kitty shelves. However, they have a weight limit of 11 lbs and MaeMae has already managed to dislodge one to the point it collapsed. It’s now reinstalled and reinforced, but they’re cheaply made so let’s hope she continues to be able to leap if needed.


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