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The Cat Thinks We’re Food Insecure

3 Nov

Striker thinks I’m trying to starve him, or that we’re food insecure, either way he’s less than happy regarding his food lately and it is of course all my fault. I am the one with thumbs who can open the food after all.

He used to eat only dry food, that was his preference. Whenever I tried him with wet he’d eat a little bit if I was lucky then demand the dry food back. As he is very good at hunger strikes and I want a happy cat not a pissed off killing machine as a roomie I don’t push it. He wants dry food he gets dry food. A ridiculously expensive, minimal ingredient, all locally made dry food that costs a fortune, but dry food all the same.

I prefer it, it’s less messy, easier to stock up on, and I don’t worry about him being hungry when I’m out or sleeping because I always keep his bowl topped up. By topped up I mean absolutely no more than one and a half scoops, any more than that the bowl is too full and he won’t eat it. Any less than that the bowl is empty (according to him) and he meows until the correct amount is placed in the bowl.

He’s not particular or anything…

For medical reasons he is now on an all wet food plan and he is uncertain about how he feels about this.

It started off kind of okay, but quickly turned in to him refusing to eat a flavour of wet food today that he ate happily yesterday. He’ll even decide mid-day that a flavour he had in the morning is no longer palatable and won’t have it for dinner. Not stressful at all for me, the one with thumbs and a dwindling bank account because oh yeah, wet food also costs more than dry. Because of course it does.

The amount of wet food I’ve ended up composting because he flat out refuses to eat it and cries to the heavens because he’s hungry and all I have provided is top quality wet cat food that is obviously poison, sigh.

To be fair, I don’t know how it tastes so maybe it is gross. They all look gross to me.

My saving grace was one particular flavour, tuna with pumpkin. This is the one singular flavour I can guarantee he will eat, and not just eat but happily eat. I’ve been nervous about giving it to him too often for fear he’ll get sick of it and then I will have zero guaranteed wet food options. Yesterday I battled it out with him to get him to eat salmon, a salmon he happily ate the day before but yesterday would barely even sniff. Eventually, after not caving for roughly 8 hours he ate about half the bowl which I felt proved my point to him that he can eat it if he really wants. I then took the remaining salmon away and replaced it with his tuna & pumpkin because he hadn’t eaten enough for the day and I don’t want him going hungry.

This morning for breakfast I put out more of the tuna & pumpkin, from a fresh can not leftovers as he ate the entire can I opened last night for dinner throughout the evening. Guess what he is no longer eating? That’s right, the tuna & pumpkin. The one singular flavour he consistently enjoyed is now apparently out of rotation.

I’m not so worried about the stockpile I have purchased, the pet store will let me return unopened cans and exchange them but wtf am I supposed to buy now? He won’t eat land animals, he’ll barely stray from tuna, salmon is pushing it. The one guaranteed option is no longer guaranteed and I’m lost for what to feed him next.

I know he’s nature’s perfect little killing machine (in theory, in actuality he’s scared of bugs and hasn’t killed a thing in his life) but I swear his actual talent comes in intellectual and emotional warfare on his captive human. This is some sort of torture he’s devised and I am not a smart enough bipedal to figure out the trap before it snaps closed on my bank account.

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My Head is a Cat Toy

14 Jul

The cat and I were cuddling, nose to nose if you’d like a visual, and I ended up using a catnip toy as a cushion. It wasn’t planned, it just sorta happened. I stretched, it was there, I was barely conscious so didn’t think through the decision. You know how these things go.

The result is Striker has decided my head is needing all of his attention and now I worry for the safety of my scalp, and my hair.

He already drew a little blood from my knee when he threw a ball at my leg then followed it with a poorly aimed pounce. Well, poorly aimed if he was wanting the ball. Perfectly aimed if he was wanting my knee. I’m choosing to believe he wanted the ball and missed – there’s something to be said for ignorance.

Now he watches me, from his Santa’s Workshop house that he refuses to let me put away even though it’s July and waits for his next chance to get near my head. This must be what a mouse feels like once a cat has decided it’s interested.

In my defence he uses the toy as a cushion also…

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My New Year’s Superstition

31 Dec

I am not a person who believes in superstitions. I don’t rub a lucky coin or toss salt over my shoulder and if I see a black cat I’m more likely to try to pet it than stop it from crossing my path. If superstitions are your thing that’s fine, they just aren’t mine.

Until yesterday.

I saw a TikTok that said there is an old superstition (why are superstitions always old?) that you should not clean laundry on New Years Eve or New Years Day. Now, she broke it down to a slightly different reason for each but, and I’m paraphrasing here, to do so would be removing all the good fortune / luck / vibes from the current year and you want to bring those with you, not wash them away, into the new year.

The opposite could just as easily be a superstition, do allllll the cleaning before New Years otherwise you bring bad luck / fortune / vibes with you from the old year to the new but I don’t like this one as much, so let’s go back to the one that says no laundry.

Do I believe it? Absolutely not. Will I follow it because it gives me a reason to not do that one specific little bit of housework? 100% yes.

Enjoy your New Years Eve and New Years Day and consider yourself officially granted two days off of laundry duty!

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A Cat’s Jealousy

11 Jul

I worked from home today and the timing of that couldn’t have been better as Striker, the cat who owns me, was sick and if I hadn’t been here the blankets he got sick on last night wouldn’t have been washed as early as they were, and I would have come home to cat puke in multiple areas of my apartment. All focused on carpet and bedding of course. That is the cat way after all.

But that didn’t happen, I was at home so every time the poor little guy made the telltale noise all cat people know I’d go running, get him to the kitchen floor, then comfort him as he got sick.

Then of course, while he was laying down resting I was cleaning up the mess. Oh to be a cat.

Once I was finished working for the day and could escape my desk Striker and I moved all the way to the living room, approximately ten steps away from where I’d spent the day, and we did what he’d been wanting to do all day, cuddle.

When he’s not feeling well all he wants is a soft blanket and his human at his beck and call, and who am I to deny him either? So we sat, for hours, while I slowly got more and more dehydrated and hungry because I am most definitely not moving him for something as silly as food and tea, and he slept.

Later this evening, around 8pm or so, my landlady who lives upstairs texted asking if I’d sign a form for her, you know, one of those ones you need a witness for? Of course I said yes and that I’d be right up. Striker by this point was more laying against one of my legs rather than on top of both so he was out of his full on needy stage and more in a “I want you near by but could maybe tolerate a couple minutes separation, maybe” stage. Deciding to chance it I went up, signed a form, and we chatted for a bit, mostly about cats as we each are owned by one. Baxter, her lovely furball, just turned 20! I cat sit him sometimes so I scooped him up for a quick cuddle and a chat, it is all one sided as he’s totally deaf, but I still talk to him and he pretends to care for about 0.5 seconds.

When I came back downstairs I returned to Striker, who was exactly where I left him. I sat down, got comfy, and immediately I was being sniffed. My slippers, my pants, my shirt, my face. I had pulled my laptop onto my lap and completely ignoring it he walked over my abdominal area, he smelled multiple places, then he meowed in my face, glared, and lay down, draping himself over my arms, which were still stretched to reach the laptop keyboard.

I’d been pinned by a jealous cat who seemed hell bent on letting me know who I belonged to.

He’s adorable, and cuddly, and when others are around does his best to be a ninja and hide while also acting like he has no need for a human, and apparently he is also jealous when I come home smelling of another cat.

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The Ridiculousness of My Evening

28 Sep

Well, it’s been a minute since I’ve written anything. I stopped because I was living a covid life, by that I mean a boring not going anywhere life due to covid restrictions, not a “I’m sick with covid” life. Weird the things we need to clarify now…

Anyways!

Life was boring, I did nothing and went almost nowhere, so had no idea what to write about. Now here I am, almost at the end of September 2022, I’ve had a full summer, and written nothing. Ah well, least I’m starting up now and not next week, right?

I really wanted to share the ridiculousness that was my evening, because I couldn’t have made this up if I’d been asked to.

Striker, the furball, the one who pays no bills yet rules this apartment, the chonky boi, the Overlord, has been having some medical issues lately and oh my god, the drama! From me. From him. Put two dramatic souls together and things will get interesting.

He had a vet appointment to test his kidney levels. About six months ago he had dental surgery and his pre-op bloodwork showed slightly elevated but still in normal range readings on some kidney stuff. Yes I know, I’m so technical with my wording. I’m not a vet or a doctor people, the bio wording they use means nothing to me! So his readings were a smidge high and they recommended bring him in at 6 months for a blood and urine test. Ok, sure, of course I will.

He has his blood and urine taken, I apologize profusely to him for the indignity of the entire process, we go home. No biggy. The next day, while I’m working from home (oh yeah, since I’ve last written I have a new job and work from home a couple times a week, see, shit really has been happening since I’ve been gone!), I get a call from the vet saying he’s stage two almost stage three kidney failure / disease and boom, world turned upside down. How did that change so quickly in six months? They talk about him needing subcutaneous shots of fluid once a week and how they’ll teach me how to stab him with a needle, how he needs a special type of food, how things are bad.

Then they also say they want to run one last test, they have enough urine they don’t need a fresh sample, so can they? Of course they can! Like I’m gonna say no to that?

The next day, after I’ve been ugly crying and holding Striker like I can somehow physically ward off his death if I hold him tightly enough, I get another call from the vet. Super chill this time. No protein in the urine, things are great. They know Striker is food picky so if he eats the kidney food great but no big deal if he doesn’t, not yet anyways, he doesn’t need the weekly shots. Basically, a roller coaster of emotions over a 24 hour period for them to be all “yeah, it’s all chill now, we just need to keep an eye on things”.

What the actual…I’m trying to swear less, so just imagine how that finishes lol

So now I want to go over there and slaughter someone. Do they not take training on how to talk to people when going to vet school, cause they should!

I took away from this when things do get worse health wise for Striker I will not handle it well, like that’s a surprise to anyone who knows me *rolls eyes*.

I was still edgy over the whole kidney scandal when I notice Striker is licking his back paws, like, a lot. An abnormal amount. I take a look and holy hell they are scary looking. Red, and irritated looking, and sore, and just not ok. Weirdly enough, an injury I can deal with better than an internal organ thing, so I clean them best I can and book him a vet appointment.

Vet visit number 2, in under 2 weeks…he’s plotting my death, I’m sure of it.

We went to the vet yesterday and they described his poor back paws as looking as if they’d been burned Burned! From what you may be wondering. Did he jump on the stove when a burner was on? Did he walk through freshly fertilized flower pots? Did he make friends with a bbq? Nope. None of these. All he did was use his litter box, with a different litter than normal. It messed with his murder mittens so badly they are being described as burned.

Lemme tell ya, my anger levels are real. The vet said we’ll never know if he is allergic or if something was wrong with the litter batch, but that part doesn’t really matter to me. What matters is I brought something into this apartment, for him to use, that hurt him. And I want the blood of someone to make up for his hurting. But I can’t really get revenge on myself, cause who would feed Striker then? So revenge will have to be forgotten, while I am now a caregiver to a strongly opiniated ball of floof.

All of that back story to get you to tonight. I came home from work and set up a Striker Spa Session, as I have decided to call it. Towels spread on the floor, the antiseptic wash soaked into gauze squares, a bowl of warm (but not hot!) water for rinsing the paws, and an antibiotic cream for after the paw cleaning and drying is over. They did this at the vet yesterday, showed me what to do, and uh yeah, fun times for us.

To be fair to Striker, he is remarkably well behaved when I have to do random things like this to him. Once he realizes I’m committed to whatever it is I’m doing he just sorta sighs and waits till I’m done. Such a trooper!

So I deep cleaned between his toes and around his toe beans, removing built up icky stuff, which he actually made sounds about but after he seemed to feel better so let me off with no fresh wounds. Then rinsed the wash off his murder mittens. Then dried them as best as I could…why do cat paws not dry quickly? What’s with that? Then used a q-tip to get the antibiotic ointment between his toes. Then held on to him for as long as I possibly could to give the ointment time to absorb because he and I both knew as soon as he was let loose he was finding somewhere to hide so he could lick his paws.

He does have a cone of shame, that I had to buy, and that he was put in when we left the vet. He managed to get out of it while still in the carrier on the way home. I put it back on him as soon as we got home and I learned that (1) when wearing a cone of shame Striker can only walk backwards and (2) he gets out of it in under 20 seconds.

I tried making a little foot wrap thing for him, but no go, he got that off in about two minutes. Not gonna lie, kinda proud my foot wrap lasted longer than the cone of shame.

We are now working on the honour system, I keep telling him “No cone than no feet!” as in, if you don’t wear a cone then you can’t lick the feet. So far he is proving to be less than honourable, but at least when I tell him to stop he does, for about five seconds.

What’re you gonna do? He’s a cat, it’s an instinct. A stupid instinct but an instinct all the same.

Tomorrow we will be having another Striker Spa Session, and will be having them once to twice daily for the next 5 to 7 days, or until he kills me in my sleep, whichever comes first.

Sleepy boi.

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Taco Cat

18 Apr

Ok, so, last week I wrote about the whole getting beer on the cat incident, for which the cat made me pay dearly. This week I can top that, much to the cat’s dismay.

It all started when I decided to get tacos for dinner. There was quite a bit of sauce on the tacos, making them messy to eat. So I’m sitting at home eating my messy taco, sauce on my hands, when the cat starts making the noise he makes when he is about to be sick. He was in the carpeted living room so I sprang into action, I wanted to nab him and move him to the kitchen floor to be sick on the lino, a much easier clean up job for me.

Seeing me coming for him he runs to the bedroom, also a carpeted room, undeterred I follow and scoop him up by grabbing him around his middle and unceremoniously hauling ass to the kitchen.

To make sure he didn’t go for the carpet again I kept my hands around his sides until he was done. Once I knew he wasn’t going to be sick I removed my hands only to discover that there was no longer any taco sauce on them…it was all on the cat’s fur.

Yup, two hand prints of sauce on each side of his body, wrapping around his middle.

I feel I made the choice anyone would in that moment, I washed my hands and went back to my taco, no one likes a cold taco!

The cat, being severely unimpressed sat across from me, with his back to me, sitting straighter than I have ever seen him sit. For the rest of the evening whatever I did he sat in my line of site, back to me, completely upright. Like he was making a point of ignoring me and he wanted to make sure I was aware of it.

It’s possible he picked up on being so dramatic from me…maybe…

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Beer Volcano

13 Apr

Picture this, I’m sitting on my comfy living room chair, my knees are bent and the cat is sleeping under my legs on the ottoman, you can’t see him though because there is a blanket draped over my legs creating a tent. On the table next to me is a can of beer, sitting for at least fifteen minutes to ensure it won’t go all foamy when I open it.

I lean over, grab the beer, crack it open, and a beer volcano ensues!

Beer flowing over the edge of the can soaking my sweater and blanket. It is so obviously a lost cause I stay still, letting my Eeyore sweater take the hit, foolishly thinking that will be the worst to happen. But no no, because the beer also flows onto the blanket, only the blanket for some strange reason doesn’t absorb the beer, instead the beer pools on the blanket. The valley of the blanket reaches max capacity and overflow occurs! Now beer is flowing quickly down the side of my body, soaking into my pants but also landing on my leather chair, beer is going everywhere…much like lava from a volcano, only ya know, not as hot. 😉

Realizing the worst is much much worse than I anticipated I try to get up quickly but if you think getting a cat out of a cat tent when he is sleeping is a quick thing, well, trust me when I say it is not.

I start moving the blanket off my lap, using it to cup the beer since the beer still isn’t soaking through. My movements are sending beer flying all over the place while I’m nudging the cat awake. One quick confused glare from the cat and he is jumping off the ottoman and going to the bedroom to pout about his silly human and her weird ways.

After cleaning up the beer from the chair and the floor I go to the bedroom to get undressed because I now smell like someone who spent the night in a bar and am soaked; the cat is sitting on the bed looking disgruntled. Because I am well trained I apologize to him for rousting him so unceremoniously and lean over to give him a quick “I’m sorry” cuddle only to notice that his forehead is wet. No, not just wet, soaked, with beer.

Seems his anger wasn’t just at being woken but also at having beer poured on him! Oops?

I could not stop laughing, he was so funny. He had a little mohawk going on and just looked so hard done by. I just kept laughing and apologizing, which I think he thinks means I’m not sincere, but I promise I was! Then the thought, do I have to wash his fur to get the beer out, or can I just dry his forehead, because washing his fur will be an experience neither of us will enjoy.

Grabbing some tissues I start drying his head, while still laughing and apologizing, and all I can say is thank goodness I have a cat who trusts me and lets me randomly dry beer off his forehead without putting up a struggle.

After he was at more of a damp level I scooped him up for a proper apology cuddle, thinking we were out of the woods, but instead I uttered this question to him:

“Why is your paw wet?”

Yup, that’s right, little patches of beer soaked fur on various parts of him. More tissue, more drying of fur, more laughing by me, more disgruntled looks by him, and eventually he was at a consistent damp fur level in all affected areas, and I was regretting not stopping to take a picture before I dried away his mohawk.

Deciding neither of us needed the trauma of me trying to bathe him I had a shower while he pouted on the bed and later we both cuddled again while I drank the remainder of the beer, from a glass!

FYI, it was a really nice beer, I recommend it…the cat does not…

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Baby Plant 2.0

11 Jan

Remember that itty bitty baby plant I sort of killed…well, being that he was destined for a life with a friend of mine I felt duty bound to replace him.

Which is why Baby Plant 2.0, or BP 2.0 as I’ve taken to calling him, has come in to my life.

He is just as tiny, just as fragile, and unfortunately has to deal with me as a caretaker until Tuesday. He’s been with me since Thursday night and I can’t say the time has been stress free.

I paid a death tax of a quarter to the person who I picked up BP and BP 2.0 from, it seemed only fitting, then tucked BP 2.0 in to a Tupperware container for the ride home. I was so proud of myself for figuring out a way to keep him safe, however, I failed to realize that within the container he could tip a bit, which he did, and while he didn’t come out of his little pot he did get jostled.

What is it with me and these teeny tiny plants?!

I got him out of the Tupperware, gave him a small amount of water, and put him somewhere I figured the cat wouldn’t notice him. Last thing I needed was for Striker to eat him!

Today BP 2.0 came with me to work, where he is being guarded by two Groots, and I just hope he makes it till Tuesday, when his actual human comes to get him, and his care is no longer in my hands. I think we’ll all be grateful when his life no longer relies on me!

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Cats and Gravity

3 Jul

I put off swapping a load of laundry because Striker was stretched along my legs, completely passed out, and incredibly adorable. I figured I’d just wait until he chose to get up, ya know, as one tends to do.

He rolled over and I’m not really sure what happened but things went wrong and next thing you know he’s flopped on the floor on his side.

Before you freak out, he’s fine! The only thing hurt is his pride.

Striker did what a cat always does when slightly less graceful than normal, he immediately went to his food bowl and started eating like that was the plan the whole time.

I, like the mean human I am, laughed a little. Then I took advantage of not having Striker on my lap, and dealt with the laundry.

When I came back into my apartment Striker was not only unimpressed with my behaviour but outright cranky about it. It took cuddles, and apologies, and slight grovelling, to get his forgiveness. Even with all of that he is still giving me this expression…

Unimpressed cat

Perhaps I’m not quite forgiven after all?

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Mimicking the Cat

20 May

On a recent day off I decided to do to Striker (the cat) what he does to me. Seemed only fair to show him what it’s like being on the receiving end of certain behaviours, right?

Here is what I learned…

What I did: got super close to his sleeping face and stared until he woke up.

What I learned: Striker doesn’t like that. Don’t do that. A startled awake cat is an unhappy cat.

What I did: I couldn’t stand on his chest while he was laying down and try to limit his breathing ability so instead I laid my head on his tummy area when he was laying on his side.

What I learned: Striker doesn’t like that. Don’t do that. A squished cat is an unhappy cat…who may or may not decide to bring out the claws.

What I did: talked to Striker incessantly because I could almost see the bottom of my bowl and I was obviously being starved.

What I learned: Striker doesn’t like that. Don’t do that. A cat being irritated by a talking human is a cat thinking of how best to get his human to shut up…permanently.

What I did: I got in bed first and spread eagled to take up as much space as possible, leaving Striker to get comfy in what little space was left.

What I learned: Striker doesn’t like that. Don’t do that. Striker will one hundred percent meow at me loudly until I move so he can have the prime spot on the bed.

And lastly…

What I did: commented on every yawn and stretch I did all day instead of comment on Striker’s adorable yawns and stretches.

What I learned: Striker couldn’t care less about that and is adept at ignoring me.

My life lesson from this is don’t pretend to be a cat, I can’t be as good of a cat as Striker can and mimicking Striker put me in danger of claws and teeth and revenge, not exactly ideal.

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