Cuddles

It’s late at night and we’re snuggling in bed.

Me: I love you. I’m so glad you’re my best friend.

Mr. J: You’re my best friend too. You and Tiny Rick. Except for when Rick sneezes in my whiskey. Which happens more than it should.

(Explanation: Tiny Rick has feline immunodeficiency virus so he coughs and sneezes a lot. In spite of this he’s an amazingly friendly and loving cat. But he also loves torturing Mr. J by sneezing in his alcohol.)

Cat=Food

Disclaimer: Mr. J loves my cats. But he came into my life many years after they did. They were here first. They don’t understand why he’s here now. They hate him. He does not understand why they hate him, or rather he does but he doesn’t care. Also, we are both vulgar people and swear at our pets just as much as they swear at us in cat language. No cat feelings or human feelings were harmed.

We were watching Master Chef.

Me: Describe the spirit of Tiny Rick if he were food.

Mr. J: A really good stew that you crack a raw egg all over at the last minute.

Me: What?

Mr. J: Because he sneezes all over everything.

Me: Okay, what about Leela?

Mr. J: Tiramisu but you dumped the entire jar of cinnamon over it.

Me: Why?

Mr. J: Because the core is good but if you scrape away the top it’s just overwhelming and slightly annoying.

Me: Okay, Titian?

Mr. J: Chocolate pudding. Because she’s a fat piece of shit and slightly runny.

Note: Titain weighs 18.5 lbs. which is big for an American shorthair.

Half Cat, Half Xenomorph

Mr. J: I remember what Titian reminds me of! She’s like a fluffy version of that half human, half xenomorph the queen gave live birth to in the fourth movie. You know, the one that got sucked out the crack in the window!

Me: What?! She looks nothing like that! It doesn’t even have fur!

Mr. J: I said a fluffy version. I mean, look at her face.

Me: That is terrible! Do not say that!

Mr. J: And they are both mostly toothless…

Me: Shut the fuck up!

Valor

This is a post about pets. About cats. If you have cats, you can probably relate.

My cat’s name is Leela. She is a Russian Blue and also goes by the names: Pooks, Pookatron, and Spawn Of Satan (that was when she was younger and enjoyed jumping on fine ladies backs to attack their corset stays). Lately I have been calling her Leeks becasue that is what my text message auto correct changes her name into because, apparently, Leela is not an actual word.

Leela woke me up at 1:01 a.m. this morning. She usually waits for my alarm to go off before squeeking at me incessantly. She wants treats. And before you ask why I reinforce bad behavior with a reward, let me just say: she gets treats. She always gets treats. When I don’t get up with my alarm she bites my arm and jumps away before I can grab her. Wash, rinse, repeat. Meow, bite, evade. That is my morning routine.

Today the meow, bite, evade began WAY earlier than usual. So after I tried telling Leela that I really didn’t want to wake up at 1:01 a.m. when my alarm was scheduled to go off at 5:30 a.m. I reluctantly emerged from my cocoon of blankets wiht many tiny bite marks on my arm.

I gave her and her big sister, Titain, treats and noticed that the food bowl was empty. That, obviously, was her motivation for waking me up. I filled the bowl and went back to bed.

5:30 a.m. rolls around and I am greeted by both my alarm and Leela screaming at me to get up. I hit snooze until about 5:49 a.m. Then I get up and give Leela, Titain, and Tiny Rick this time, treats. Yes, two of them got treats twice. Tiny Rick has FIV and doesn’t care if he’s missed out. Priorities.

So then, as often happens in the early morning when I want to be asleep but am not, I have random thoughts. I thought of all those times when cats randomly look at blank spots in the world and stare.

Mr. J: How’d you sleep.

Me: Leela woke me up at 1:01 a.m.

Mr. J: Yep.

Me: Hey Mr. J, what if Leela and the others are in like a union and have been fighting demons and evil spirits all night and Leela is the one out of the group who makes sure they all get fair wages but in this case the wages are treats?

Mr. J: Or Leela is that lazy son of a bitch who does the least amount of work but expects to get the most pay.

Me: That’s mean!

Mr. J: It’s true.

Me: (Walks into kitchen. Leela follows, meowing.) What if Leela and the others fought a really tough, bad ass evil spirit at 1 a.m. and they got a monthly bonus?

Leela: jumps up on the counter and meows.

Me: (Smushes Leela’s face.) You always work hard killing the things we can’t see. No one can question your valor!

Leela: Meow.

Me: Yeah, you don’t give a shit, do you?

Leela: Meow.

Me: If anyone in the world deserved to not give a shit, it’s you. Well, really, it’s me but if I can’t not give a shit then you don’t have to.

And that has been my morning so far.