Billy the eccentric, show tune lovin' cat consultant is severely lacking in his cat duties. A little less time on Betty, Billy, and stop being so picky. If you don't get that cat out of my brothers apartment someones take- out might have some fur in it.
Mark is pretty much over the cat. He's kind of had enough. Turns out the cats not only a sneeze waiting to happen, he's also kind of a pain in the ass. To start he apparently stares and paces at my brother until he plays with him. I'm not sure what this "playing" entails, but it lasts about thirty minutes and the cats still not happy.
Today Mr. Cat (who incidentally doesn't have a name, it wasn't that I didn't know it) decided to do his business while smirking at my brother. After he was done reading the paper he went over and used the couch as his toilet paper. The same couch Mark is forced to sleep on so he can sleep on the bed and Mark can breathe at night. The cat doesn't seem to have a ton of respect for Mark's sleeping quarters. Or maybe he thought it was a pleasant odor (one doesn't know what is pleasing to a cat odor wise) and decided to spruce the place up for him. Maybe he was just being nice...
After Mr. Cat (who is being with great love referred to as "Chucky" now) ripped down the shower curtain. For real. I got this information in a txt. It gave me delightful daydreams of Chucky the Mad Cat with his pointy little nails walking in the bathroom, just minding his own businesss...and then, he sees the shower curtain. What goes through his mind do you think? Maybe, "That would look better as a rug?" or maybe he just stretched his sweet little baby paw and accidentally his claws slipped out and inadvertently ripped down the shower curtain. That's the story I'd go with Chucky, I'm just sayin'.
Billy the Cat Consultant is called. He says, "No one is good enough yet for Chucky." I'm going to tell you something and it's the truth. One time I was in San Francisco and I saw this homeless man that had the most beautiful ragdoll cat on a leash. I swear to God. The person I was with (who is operating all the time on a half a brain at best) said, "Oh, look, they must have been friends forever." Um, I don't think so. It was about a $1500 cat, the guy had on a dirty trench coat, two different shoes and a beard as long as Rapunzel's hair. The cat was also pulling as far away as he could. It was a sin, for all parties. My point is, Chucky, shape up. You're in New York City. Just smile and look pretty... things could be worse.
Thursday, March 5, 2009
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Most of this story is right on target... Chucky (so named after that adorable little doll in the horror movies) howled at me straight for four hours today. No amount of attention would make him happy. I'm a sucker for a begging cat. I have a hard time setting boundaries. My friend, Donald, said I've already spoiled the cat and taught him that I will respond with love to the slightest wimper. Today, I tried to change that. Not that I didn't give him attention, but I rationed it between doing other much-needed house chores (dusting and vacuuming cat hair, cleaning the cat's box, etc.). Well, Chucky wasn't having it. He ripped down the shower curtain, knocked over a lamp, and wiped is dirty little cat behind on my couch. The part of the story that Amy has wrong is that Chucky and I both sleep on the couch. It's not comfortable for me, but I do it to keep him company, a habit I started to get him comfortable in his new home. BIG mistake. He runs the place now. Amy has also left out one very bizarre fact, which I will attempt to delicately convey here. Chucky has a habit of throwing himself on his back, meowing and pedaling his four paws in the air. It's very cute, so cute that I can't help but pet the little critter while he purrs with satisfaction. However, after a day or two of this I realized that Chucky had a way other than simple purring to express his satisfaction. You see, despite being neutered, Chucky apparently still has the ability to stand at attention, so to speak, very much like an excited little dog gyrating on your leg. It's quite disturbing, actually. So much so that I couldn't pet him for a while. That didn't stop Chucky. He simply threw himself backward on the couch, and well, figured things out for himself. Chucky is an odd bird. So is Billy. I think they'd do well together. Except that Billy is allergic to Chucky. Poor attention-hungry, self-pleasing, somewhat vindictive little Chucky. He's finding a new home this weekend, God willing.
Mark, you need to get yourself a Havanese dog. Have you ever seen these dogs? No shedding, tiny (8 pounds) and they were bred to do tricks. They are so cute and smart and easy to train and you'll love it. That's what you need.
Okay, I can't comment on Billy since I don't know him, but I can say that Chucky sounds like a normal @#$%$#@ cat. I know this because of Lil Chief's to do list so far:
Break heirloom crystal - check
Knock over urn, breaking it while damaging table - check
Eat various items intended for human dinner - check
Chew ever house plant - check
Claim favorite household chair closest to fireplace as his own - check
And yesterday's crowning achievement: shatter Kathy's favorite Royal Delft tulip vase brought from Holland by parents.
The list goes on and on...His response to all of this chaos? A good licking - I guess because he can. And yes, he stares, just stares at me all day, creeping me out.
If he weren't my daughters' cat, I would tell Chucky and Little Chief to go play dodge the car on I-95. (Hey, Amy. Shall I fire up the grill?)
Mark, love the blog post. I intentionally avoided that part of the Chucky story. It was unsavory. It still is, regardless, thank you for sharing. Hope you had a good night last night at the 21 Club.
Sue- This sounds like the perfect dog for me! 8 lbs, no shedding, tricks!!! How come this has never been mentioned before? You've been holding out on me.
Kathy- Forget the bean dip, bring some of that cat carcass over (just don't tell Sue, she doesn't eat meat.)
Chucky the cat needs his own blog...seriously. Tell Mark to get right that.
And your homeless man/gorgeous cat on a leash story made me sad. A cat on a leash? Terrifying!
Oh, I feel a poem coming on...
I'm googling rag doll cat. You've piqued my intrest. Why don't they have spell check on blogger comments??!! damn it.
Oh, and give that cat a dirt nap or set it loose. Cats are survivors. Yeah, that sounds horrible, but whatev.
I'm googling rag doll cat. You've piqued my intrest. Why don't they have spell check on blogger comments??!! damn it.
Oh, and give that cat a dirt nap or set it loose. Cats are survivors. Yeah, that sounds horrible, but whatev.
No poem yet, but a funny story from my sistah. Scroll down to "damn cat sex" under personal entries. V funny. http://vakadesign.wordpress.com/
Twist, here is a start to your poem:
There once was a cat from Nantucket....
Kathy,
These comments come through to my phone as e mails. I just actually spit out water laughing at that.
You rock so hard. Thank you.
Lunch was fun. If more people drank during the day, the world would be a funnier place.
Peace, love, yoga and cats from Nantucket,
Amy
Okay, Little Chief is back from the vet's - Yes, still breathing, sans cement Jimmy Choos - and I am still enjoying the lasting effects of a great lunch with great friends. So, here goes my song (which probably seems a lot better now than it will in the morning. Not my fault, Mark. Amy opened "The Box".)
To the tune of "Ya Got Trouble" from the "Music Man". (C'mon, "Cats" would have been sooooooo obvious!) Here goes:
Friends, Let me tell you what I mean,
Ya got one, two, three, four claws scratchin' up the curtains.
Curtains that make the difference between a shower and Norman Bates.
With a capital "B"
And that rhymes with "C"
That stands for Cats!
Oh, Mark, Ya got Trouble
Right there in New York City
With a capital "T"
That rhymes with "C"
and that stands for Chucky!
That stands for Chuck!
You surely have cat hair.
Right there on your sofa.
Remember to sneeze, don't forget to wheeze, all while you try to breathe.
(Chorus: "all the while you try to breathe."
"Chucky, Chucky, Chucky, Chucky")
Oh, Mark, you've got trouble.
You've got terrible, freakin' cat trouble.
That great, cute ball of fluff is the devil's stool!
(Chorus: devil's stool!)
Oh, yes, Mark has trouble.
Streaky-brown sofa trouble.
With a capital "T"
That rhymes with "C"
Ant that stands for CAT!
You all are really twisted... and right up my alley.
Sue--I'm through with pets for a while, but next time it's a dog. My father was a dog lover until his late 40s and then become a die-hard cat fan. I've done the same thing in reverse--a lifetime cat lover who will likely favor dogs from here on out. Thanks, sweet, little Chucky.
Kathy, you are so right. Chucky is just being a normal cat. He's is genuinely very sweet, one of the sweetest I have ever met. Unfortunately, my home is not the right one for him. I hope he lands in a home with another social cat, and they can live out their lives as best buds. He deserves that. And, thanks for the song, hilarious. Who knew being tortured by a cat could be so much fun?
Amy, it may be a little unsavory, but it completes the portrait of the special cat that is Chucky. It's a good thing he is neutered or he be prowling the streets spawning a million little other Chuckies. I think he's the feline version of Bill Clinton... sweet, charming, and a complete slave to his primal instincts.
Lula--alas, I will have no more Chucky stories after this weekend if we are successful at finding him a new home. So, you'll need to suggest a new blog subject for me to cover. I'm thinking of something like Amy's... life stories... but from a gay single NYC man's perspective. Entertaining, twisted, and PG-rated.
Twist, if I promise never to have sex with a naked bear or a naked man ever again, do you think your sister will marry me? I'm sweet, considerate, make a good living, and can be funny on occasion. I promise never to bring another cat in your home, and I will discreetly find a new "home" for your current kitty. Seriously, that "Damn Cat Sex" story made me howl. I want - no, NEED - to know your sister in some fashion. I'll start by reading her blog, but eventually, we must meet over a glass of wine just for the laughs.
Kathy, Your song is hysterical. I don't know the tune though. I will expect you to sing it to me in the car on Tuesday.
Kirsten, Dude, your sister is funny. Seriously, perhaps more twisted than you. How come I did not know this? Or did I???
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LI_Oe-jtgdI
Here you go,Amy. I lifted the end of the song. (Can you tell most of my music memories are from my high school musical days?)
The end is near, if not near enough. We have found a suitable place for Chucky. It means I have to keep him until next Friday, but I'd prefer that to having him in the shelter until he moves out of my place. Let's hope his next owner isn't allergic. Despite his recent shenanigans, he really is a sweetheart. I'll miss him.
Okay, it's 10:30 on a Saturday Night. A Saturday night which I spent at an 11 year old's soccer game, followed by a team pizza party at Pat's Pizza. Hey, do I know how to rock the 'burbs or what? But now, like a moth to the flame, Narcissus to his reflection, me to boxed vino, I have returned to check on all the Crazies, But The Cool Kind. And I mean all of you.
Mark, I will think of you during your last bittersweet week with the Chuck-ster. I'm sure we can work out a new song. Maybe even video: You both running towards each other in a sunlit meadow, "Memories" softly playing in the background. Hugging and laughing.... Nah, let's stick to reality: you are sitting on the sofa, eyes red and bleary with tears, barely able to breathe while Chucky is giving the little Chuck-ster a tongue bath to the tune of "Muskrat Love." On the up side, I am sure that Billy will find something wrong with the new home between now and the end of the week.
Amy, I have decided that we should try to go for a record number of comments on this one. If we can't set a record for feline bashing, we just aren't trying.......
Twist - surely you have a poem by now....... I know you can do it :)
And to all a good night!
I happen to think the Chuckster is simply exercising his cat's version of his right to free-speech. It's my contention that he sees the writing on the wall and is sending signals of his dissatisfaction at the thought of another re-lo. I trust my brother Mark implicitly and I suppose Flaming Billy sounds like a kind-hearted sort, but I'm hoping right down to my shoes that his next home is sweet and safe and warm and that it's his last.
Mark - men AND bears? I'm sure my sister will agree! Then Amy's friends can all live vicariously through Kate. And, oh, you forgot "hot" and "devastatingly handsome" ;)
Oh no, the end came sooner than I expected. I got word yesterday that my kitty's new home was ready for him today, and they requested I surrender him between 6:00 and 8:00 tonight. At 7:40, I got a phone call from the shelter asking if I was coming in, and I told them I would be there in ten minutes. I'd spent the past two hours entertaining kitty while he enjoyed all of his favorite things... he went out into the apartment hallway, probed every corner and marked his territory, and then lounged around for a while. I had to carry him back into the apartment to enjoy some dinner, after which we had an hour of so of petting. I took pictures, I shot some video. A friend came over and shot some pictures and videos of us together. When I got the cat carrier out, little kitty walked inside on his own, well, only halfway actually, but he offered little resistance in allowing me to gently guide him all the way in. At this point, I was in denial. Kitty, me and friend hailed a cab and showed up at the store. I distracted myself with laughter and stories to Billy about the little critter's shenanigans. I could not look at the carrier, but then I did, just for a moment, and I had to open the door to say goodbye. I broke down like a baby and had to leave the store. I stood outside for a few minutes and thought, "What the hell? Why do I care if people see me cry?" I walked back in and gave kitty his proper goodbye, tears streaming down my face the entire time. Billy, whose real name is Davy--Amy changed it to protect his privacy--started to cry, my friend started to tear up, some other cat volunteer started to cry. Davy assured me that kitty would be happy in his new home, but I am not convinced. I'm guilt-ridden, but as I sit here typing and breathing more freely, I realize I made the right decision. Still, it stunk. I wish it could have gone differently. I know we had a little fun talking cat shenanigans, but this little guy was about the most likable cat you will ever meet. If Amy allows me to post a brief video, you will see just how sweet. All we need is for Kathy to add the appropriate music.
Christopher, you know me. I love animals. If there had been any way to keep this most lovable of God's creatures, I would have.
Twist, you make a middle-age guy feel good.
Amy, thanks for the forum. Being able to share this experience with you and your extended online family made it a little easier to handle.
Thanks, everyone. I appreciate the comments and the support. All pray that kitty likes his new home.
P.S. For the record, his name was Gizmo when I got him. I changed it to Rocco, which was so the opposite of his sweet spirit that it fit. He was Chucky just for a day, and even then, it was just in jest.
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