Tag Archives: cat

I Can’t Love a Wrinkly Flesh Beast

4 Apr

Dave wants to shave our cat.

Technically it’s his cat. I had a cat when he met me, he acquired a cat when we were just starting out.  Thus, one is mine and one is his.  He wants to shave his.  Though both cats are, in theory, “ours”, the acquisition of the cats is important to keep in mind when sorting out who is responsible for clawed up furniture, broken possessions,  hairballs and bowel atrocities of all kinds.  Basically, we have joint custody until something needs cleaned up or one of them committed a crime.

Or until he wants to shave one of them.

I imagine it will be much the same when we have children.

It’s all my fault, I suppose.  I was jamming a needle full of Facebook status updates right into my artery when I noted that a mutual friend of ours was taking a poll on whether or not he should shave his cat for the summer.  It went something like “pros: cats not dying of heat in summer, no fur around the apartment.  cons: pissed off death rat staring me down while I sleep”.

When I passed along my amusement to Dave, I expected him to laugh along and perhaps weigh in on the poll.  Instead, he said it was a great idea and that he should shave Hobbes.

This is, of course, in retaliation to the Air Conditioning War of 2011, wherein the defendant, Jackie, refused to spend money on air conditioning to help carry the apartment through the sweltering hot summer.  The defendant cited the oncoming autumn, a pride in low electric bills and a general distaste for the unnatural as her exhibits.  The prosecutor solely cited the blistering heat and the insanity of the defendant.

We got through the summer without air conditioning, but not without throwing the cats in the refrigerator on occasion.   You know, just to make sure they survived the heat wave.

So it seems that Dave is gearing up for Summer War of 2012 and has pitted his threat to shave the cat against my unwillingness to invest in an air conditioner.  And honestly, it’s likely he’ll win.  I can’t live with a shaved cat.  I certainly can’t touch one.  Oh my good great grossness I can’t even imagine how I would drag my hand along its raw, stubbly feline exterior without instantly flinging it from my arms in disgust and fear.  How revolting.  I can’t love a hairless cat.  I can’t.

Remember the Friends episode where Rachel brings home a hairless cat and names it Mrs. Whiskerson?  She pays a grand for it because it reminds her of a cat from her childhood.  But Mrs. Whiskerson goes crazy and rips her to shreds and Rachel ends up giving it to Gunther.  


She had to wear oven mitts to hold it.  I don’t want to wear oven mitts to hold my cat.  

Sometimes my cats surprise me in the morning by staring at my face until I open my eyes and promise to feed them.  Right now it’s cute because they’re furry and adorable and they need my love and my kitty food.  When Dave shaves Hobbes, waking up to him staring me down will be so traumatic I’ll have to go to therapy to recover.  I can’t wake up to this:

*Shudder* I mean, I know it’s not its fault but look at that wrinkly gathering of flesh around its neck where a ball of fluffiness should be. I don’t think I could ever sleep again, knowing this beast is slinking about the place.  Just thinking of it brushing up against my leg gives me the heebie jeebies.  I would probably involuntarily kick it.  Like a fight or flight thing. Listen, I can’t be held accountable for what my body does when confronted with great disgustingness.

Of course, this is assuming Dave will be successful in his shaving adventure.  How does one even shave a cat?  Are you just supposed to lather it up and hope it holds still until you finish the job?  Do you give it a sedative, do the deed, place a bottle of liquor and a razor beside it and hope it wakes up and blames itself?  I mean, I’m an intelligent girl but I can’t think of a single sensible way to shave a cat.   In an effort to introduce sanity to the situation, I suggested that if he was going to get the cat shaved he should at least agree to take it to a groomer.   But then I remembered that the groomer returns our cats with enormous bows around their necks.  And being given a hairless cat with a bow around its neck seems more like a warning gift from the mob than a professional grooming service.  No; there’s no way to do this that isn’t nightmare inducing.

It looks like I’ve gotta give in on this one.

It’s only Spring and the Summer War of 2012 is already over.   The defendant is found guilty of withholding sweet, manmade cooling winds from the prosecutor and when faced with the threat of one hairless cat, settled out of court.

One air conditioner, coming right up. 

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Jackie’s Cat Cafe

15 Jan

Today I was informed that in Tokyo people pay money to enter cafes solely based on the activitiy of cat-petting.

Actually, I was told this piece of information a long time ago but I’m so soaked, wringed out, and soaked again in cynicism that you couldn’t have actually expected me to believe it.

But yesterday I was at work and amongst the filthy ruins of my corporate emails was a gem- a precious gemstone in the wastelands: a YouTube video featuring a Japanese “cat cafe” where visitors pay up to $16 for unlimited petting privileges of a variety of felines.  The Cafe was lined wall to wall with perch stands, where cats were lined up like items on a shelf for the picking.

Do you understand what this means?

All this time I’ve just been trying to figure out a way to do theater, pay my bills, and absolutely nothing else.   I’ve come up with clever inventions, hoping they would be my one-time payoff to fame.  Like Oscar the Elephant, a children’s cartoon about an elephant who was unpopular because he was overweight. 

A lot of my ideas seem to revolve around the creation of a children’s cartoon featuring an animal with a glaring physical challenge that accounts for its being ostricized from the rest of animal society, e.g. Larry the Lump-Necked Giraffe.

But it turns out that all I’ve had to do all along is open the door of my apartment to vagabonds and prostitute my cats. 

Hey.  Don’t judge me.  One of my cats is antisocial and the visits could do him some good.  My other cat is absolutely insatiable.  I can pet her for an hour and she will still ram her head into my hand like a black rhino.   This will be good for them both.

Except this could seriously  interrupt my constant watching of Arrested Development and my playing of Fat Princess.  So I’m going to have to divide the apartment into people I would be okay hanging out with all the time while they pet my cats and people that I really don’t want in my house at all but need money from.

The only thing stopping me is my questionable neighbor down the hall.  She, like all crazy ladies, is incredibly fond of cats – present company inluded.  In fact, upon spotting my cat in the window of my apartment, she has since requested to visit simply to pet them.

What a brilliant marketing tactic:  I’ll be like Subway and Starbucks and stick my merchandise right in the window.  And I’ll have Questionable Neighbor there, demonstrating proper petting techniques.

No.  …No I can’t possibly play Fat Princess and watch Arrested Development with crazy cat lady in my window.  It would be super weird.

I guess it’s Oscar the Elephant and Larry the Lump-Necked Giraffe: a children’s cartoon about love, friendship and above all, acceptance. *cue music*

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