This little lady cost me $300 this week in vet bills and specialty food. She tears through my bedroom while I’m in bed, forcing me to sleep cradling a spray bottle, which I use multiple times during the night. She’s incredibly bossy and loves to whine, and she sheds on everything.
But look at that face.
Not much to say today. I had a fun, productive weekend (other than the part where I dislocated my shoulder, but whatever). Now on to a productive week!
I’d been meaning to visit the Transit Museum in Brooklyn since I moved to the city, but I kept putting it off, distracted by the fancy Manhattan museums with all their Picassos and Monets. That was a mistake. The Transit Museum is where it’s at.
Sometimes cats are really smart. Other times, they sit on top of a high bookshelf and decide to chase their tail. Then they accidentally fall off the bookshelf and land on their owner’s butt as said owner is relaxing in bed.
Guess which time this is.
After I posted the adorable photo of Chicken the other day, I got the feeling that my feline companion was a bit jealous of all the attention her roommate dog received. I think it became especially clear to me when she peed in my purse. Awesome. It’s cool, whatever, not like I liked that purse anyway.
Ahem. Anyway, here’s a photo Amy took of Holly wearing Amy’s hat. She’s clearly really, really happy about being photographed wearing people clothes.
Disclaimer: While I might grumble about Catface most of the time, she really is a delightful companion. And hey, she managed to keep the pee contained within the purse and didn’t get it anywhere else. That counts for something, right?
Second disclaimer: I am not a cat lady; I’m an animal lady. I love all furry things equally. That is the distinction.
What are you up to this weekend? I’m planning to take a page from the cat Holly Golightly‘s book and spend the weekend being lazy, having fun and enjoying the sunshine.
After I finish up a few hours of freelance work, I’ll be meeting friends for brunch and going to Barcade to play old-school arcade games and drink beer. I’m stoked to have a lazy weekend — for the first time in a long time.
Holly Golightly has the right idea. I’ve been going and going for weeks without a break, and I am dreaming about curling up under my covers and sleeping for a nice, uninterrupted eight hours.
This never actually happens because some jerk (pictured at left) decides that the hours of 2 a.m. to 7 a.m. are playtime. And by playtime, I mean knock-stuff-off-shelves-til-Elissa-wakes-up-and-yells time.
There are a lot of things I imagined I’d worry about as a New York resident.
Kitty litter wasn’t one of them.
It’s always been a given — one of those things you pick up at the grocery store, lug to your car and bring into your apartment. Sure, the 21-pound boxes can get a little heavy, but what’s a few steps?
I never realized how heavy 21 pounds gets when you’re lugging it from the grocery store four blocks away. And I never thought about the fact that my favorite kind of litter — you know, the stuff that’s scoopable and odor-free and actually does its job — wouldn’t be available at my local grocery store. If I wanted that version, I’d have to trek about 14 blocks to the good pet-supply store.
I guess some New Yorkers have their litter and other pet supplies delivered, and I can see myself going in that direction eventually, but I’m still non-native enough that getting kitty litter delivered seems just plain wrong.
So for now, I guess I’ll deal with the flower-scented junk and consider my trips to buy litter my daily dose of weight training.
About a week and a half ago, this little lady showed up on my front porch, shivering, hungry and trying to sneak into my warm apartment. I happened to have some cat food left over from when I raised Roger the starling, whose dietary needs required me to make the world’s most disgusting sludge, so I dumped some in a bowl and fed her.
She kept showing up. And on Saturday, I decided to let her come in. I’ve called the Humane Society and checked the paper’s "lost" ads, but it doesn’t appear that her family is looking for her, despite the fact that she’s really healthy and came to me with a flea collar.
Let me begin by saying that I’m not a cat person. I have never owned a cat and I’m actually really allergic to them. I don’t know the slightest thing about cats. But there was no way I was going to let her stay outside in the cold without taking care of her. It’s not in my nature.
In the past four days, this fiesty feline has taken over. She follows me around mewing if I don’t pay enough attention to her. She demands I clean her litter box the second she finishes using it. She takes over my bed, my couch and my apartment in general.
And she’s loving, sweet and appreciative of everything. She makes me smile, and I love having someone to talk to, even though she can only mew back and pretend to understand.
But, to be honest, she’s also making me nuts. She doesn’t sleep when I sleep but prefers to stay up breaking things, scattering my papers and trying to get me to wake up and play with her. When she finally falls asleep, she insists on sleeping on my chest, prompting an instant allergic reaction and sometimes an asthma attack. And for being such a tidy little girl, she eats like a pig, throwing food across the room and knocking over every water bowl I’ve tried — no matter how heavy.
I’ve wanted another pet for a while, but I didn’t realize that she would be so much like a new, loud roommate. Rats just aren’t so invasive. But I’ve also noticed that I look forward to going home and having someone waiting for me. And I love how much she likes to cuddle. And she keeps me entertained. And, as my friend Mala pointed out, it’s obvious that she’s chosen me to be her owner, and she trusts me and likes me already.
So if I don’t hear back from her owners, I’m going to keep her — even if that means I give up perfect lung function and a good night’s sleep.
When I look at her cute, squished-looking face, I know it’s worth it.
