Don't piss off a cat.
I've learned this lesson many times in the past few years. But it never sticks. Mainly because I don't actually know how to actively piss off a cat. I just happen to do it on a regular basis.
Kay, my "responsible" cat, never really seems to stew for very long. He just kinda accepts that he's been pissed off, then hides somewhere until he calms down.
Sagremor, on the other hand. Well... he's a bit more stubborn. He's also a bit more clingy, even though Kay is the one who likes to follow me around like a puppy.
I typically let both cats outside in the morning. It's part of the daily routine. I get up, go to the bathroom, let the two cats and one dog out of the house, then go about making breakfast, getting dressed, etc. Kay is great. He goes out, plays outside damn near all day, and only comes home when he wants to eat dinner and go to sleep. Basically, he's out, then in, and that's it.
Sagremor... ugh. He likes to go out, come back in, go back out, come back in, go back out, come back in, go back out... yeah... ugh.
One night this last Halloween weekend, I had guests. Sagremor went out, came in, went out, came in, went out, came in... It got kinda irritating. After everyone else was gone (sometime just before 2:00 AM on Saturday), I'm doing my habitual last email check before bed (yes, I'd been sleeping at that point). I hear Sagremor meow outside of the window. Usually, this means he's ready to come in, eat, and fall asleep. So I let him in. And then I went to bed.
Or tried to, anyway, since he decided to meow incessantly in a futile attempt to be let back outside. Sorry, dude, but I was comfortable and teetering on the edge of an all-too-rare-these-days passing-out sleep.
The next morning I'm feeling quite refreshed. I get up, use the bathroom, and let the animals outside (except for Kay, who continued to sleep for most of the morning). And that's when I see it. A piss stain on the carpet. That big "fuck you" that only a cat is capable of.
Fine. Whatever. I clean it up. Since I was cleaning already, I decided to do a complete run-through of the entire house. Bathroom. Kitchen. Vacuum. And, shit, since I was well-rested, I decided to vacuum the couch and fit it for a couch cover. Removing the three cushions, that's when I see it. Or them, rather. Piss stains all along the backing of the couch.
They're clean now. The couch is covered now. And I'm calm now. But Sagremor is very lucky he was outside.
Showing posts with label Sagremor. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sagremor. Show all posts
Monday, November 8, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Sagremor
He was born sometime in the latter half of 2004, shortly after the first time I moved to Wilmington, North Carolina. It was August, I think... September at the latest. I can't recall exactly, but I do have the date written down somewhere. I watched him come out of his mother, Guinevere, along with his two twin brothers - Arthur and Kay - and his twin sister, Isolde. Yes, he was part of my Cats of the Round Table, and while I fear the worst, I hope that he still is.
But he's probably dead. Being abandoned in a place where coyotes and hawks hunt freely tends to lead to that.
Sagremor wasn't always the friendliest cat, at least not as I remember. He wasn't my favorite - Guinevere and Arthur were - though my ex-girlfriend claims that he was hers (along with Tristan, from Gwen's first litter). As such, the first year-and-a-half of his life is lost on me. Upon preparing the leave Wilmington in early 2006, my ex and I made the decision to give up two of our cats. We had six, and trying to move nine animals (counting the three dogs) from North Carolina to California didn't seem like an ideal situation. So, using a strange method of determination, Kay and Sagremor were selected to be given to my ex's mother.
Now, as I implied, I didn't spend a lot of one-on-one time with Sagremor and even though I wasn't giving him up lightly, I felt that it was something that wouldn't keep me up at night. The day before he and Kay were supposed to go to their home, that all changed. For whatever reason - be it animal instinct or some other paranormal observation - both of those cats knew something was up. One at a time, they came up to me as I watched television, climbed into my lap, and pulled a cute act... cuddling at purring as if begging to stay. Obviously, given my attachment to my pets (and animals in general), they were loaded into the back of the truck with the other seven four-pawed members of my family.
Once in the West, misfortune forced all of us to settle in a small desert town in Northern Nevada. It was there that four of the cats - Isolde, Guinevere, Arthur, and Tristan - disappeared (I later saw Isolde and Guinevere hunting together in the middle of the desert a few miles away, but that's another story). Sagremor and Kay, however, stuck around as if to emphasize their loyalty to me for making the choice to remain loyal to them. I miss the others, sure, and often dream of them, but Sagremor and Kay became my favorites... and not just by default of them being the only ones left.
Sagremor was, by all accounts, a cuddling cat. He liked to hunt, loved the outdoors, but he always came back within a few hours to use the bathroom and take advantage of a free hand for a petting. He had an obnoxiously loud meow, but it was an effective tool to let one know that he wanted inside (or outside, depending). He loved being picked up, held upside like a baby, and having his stomach rubbed. And he had ridiculously long teeth... so long that I often called him "Vampire Cat." He also had a recurring problem with his wrists and could often be seen limping, particularly after attempting too high a jump (usually from the top of a refrigerator).
Like all cats, he hated traveling by car, but he tolerated it as we returned to Wilmington in the summer of 2007, settled in a sub-let, then settled again in our own place (barely 15 minutes from where he was born), then left again in October of 2009. He tolerated living in a garage outside of Fort Bragg while I tried to tie as many loose ends as I could before returning to the West.
Upon our return, I knew that I would need to place him temporarily with someone while I yet again found us a home. So I left him with my sister, thinking he would be well-taken care of and babied as much as he was used to. While I stayed with her, she let him (and Kay) in the house, got familiar enough with him so he'd sleep on her lap, and everything appeared to be going according to plan. But, on Wednesday, May 12, I left for Seattle to take care of some things. I last saw him cleaning his brother's forehead in my sister's living room. He looked happy.
She kicked him out of the house while I was away. In my head, I know what happened, because I know Sagremor very well. No doubt from his "let-me-in" meows being ignored, he took off in search of friendlier pastures... pastures that were never meant for him to find. I've been scouring the desert, all through the night for the past two days, in an attempt to bring him home.
There's a chance this eulogy is false, rash, and the result of too pessimistic an imagination, and I hope this to be the case. But in that there are no signs of him, combined with the strange behavior of his brother - behavior I saw in Tristan when Isolde disappeared - he's probably dead. And I will lose sleep over it.
*Serendipity smiles upon me... within 20 minutes of this post going up, the chubby bastard came home. He'd been gone for almost 8 days. I'll admit, I overreacted. But I'm happy and don't care if you sneer, roll your eyes, or laugh. And neither does his brother, who seems happier than I am.
But he's probably dead. Being abandoned in a place where coyotes and hawks hunt freely tends to lead to that.
Sagremor wasn't always the friendliest cat, at least not as I remember. He wasn't my favorite - Guinevere and Arthur were - though my ex-girlfriend claims that he was hers (along with Tristan, from Gwen's first litter). As such, the first year-and-a-half of his life is lost on me. Upon preparing the leave Wilmington in early 2006, my ex and I made the decision to give up two of our cats. We had six, and trying to move nine animals (counting the three dogs) from North Carolina to California didn't seem like an ideal situation. So, using a strange method of determination, Kay and Sagremor were selected to be given to my ex's mother.
Now, as I implied, I didn't spend a lot of one-on-one time with Sagremor and even though I wasn't giving him up lightly, I felt that it was something that wouldn't keep me up at night. The day before he and Kay were supposed to go to their home, that all changed. For whatever reason - be it animal instinct or some other paranormal observation - both of those cats knew something was up. One at a time, they came up to me as I watched television, climbed into my lap, and pulled a cute act... cuddling at purring as if begging to stay. Obviously, given my attachment to my pets (and animals in general), they were loaded into the back of the truck with the other seven four-pawed members of my family.
Once in the West, misfortune forced all of us to settle in a small desert town in Northern Nevada. It was there that four of the cats - Isolde, Guinevere, Arthur, and Tristan - disappeared (I later saw Isolde and Guinevere hunting together in the middle of the desert a few miles away, but that's another story). Sagremor and Kay, however, stuck around as if to emphasize their loyalty to me for making the choice to remain loyal to them. I miss the others, sure, and often dream of them, but Sagremor and Kay became my favorites... and not just by default of them being the only ones left.
Sagremor was, by all accounts, a cuddling cat. He liked to hunt, loved the outdoors, but he always came back within a few hours to use the bathroom and take advantage of a free hand for a petting. He had an obnoxiously loud meow, but it was an effective tool to let one know that he wanted inside (or outside, depending). He loved being picked up, held upside like a baby, and having his stomach rubbed. And he had ridiculously long teeth... so long that I often called him "Vampire Cat." He also had a recurring problem with his wrists and could often be seen limping, particularly after attempting too high a jump (usually from the top of a refrigerator).
Like all cats, he hated traveling by car, but he tolerated it as we returned to Wilmington in the summer of 2007, settled in a sub-let, then settled again in our own place (barely 15 minutes from where he was born), then left again in October of 2009. He tolerated living in a garage outside of Fort Bragg while I tried to tie as many loose ends as I could before returning to the West.
Upon our return, I knew that I would need to place him temporarily with someone while I yet again found us a home. So I left him with my sister, thinking he would be well-taken care of and babied as much as he was used to. While I stayed with her, she let him (and Kay) in the house, got familiar enough with him so he'd sleep on her lap, and everything appeared to be going according to plan. But, on Wednesday, May 12, I left for Seattle to take care of some things. I last saw him cleaning his brother's forehead in my sister's living room. He looked happy.
She kicked him out of the house while I was away. In my head, I know what happened, because I know Sagremor very well. No doubt from his "let-me-in" meows being ignored, he took off in search of friendlier pastures... pastures that were never meant for him to find. I've been scouring the desert, all through the night for the past two days, in an attempt to bring him home.
There's a chance this eulogy is false, rash, and the result of too pessimistic an imagination, and I hope this to be the case. But in that there are no signs of him, combined with the strange behavior of his brother - behavior I saw in Tristan when Isolde disappeared - he's probably dead. And I will lose sleep over it.
*Serendipity smiles upon me... within 20 minutes of this post going up, the chubby bastard came home. He'd been gone for almost 8 days. I'll admit, I overreacted. But I'm happy and don't care if you sneer, roll your eyes, or laugh. And neither does his brother, who seems happier than I am.
Monday, May 3, 2010
Separation Anxiety
I'm in the process of giving up my pets, and it sucks. No, it's not a permanent situation, merely one borne of necessity as I attempt to resettle into an oversized city and get back to work. As soon as I'm able to acquire a place with a decent backyard, I'll retrieve my four-legged companions (all five of the bastards) and live happily ever after... at least in terms of cats and dogs.
I've done it before with two of my dogs (Jasper and Starbuck), but this will mark the first time that I'll be separated long-term from my alpha male (Jax, who's very close to getting his nuts chopped off) and the two most loyal cats I've ever known (Kay and Sagremor). Oh, there's a possibility Jax's adopted mother won't be able to handle him and he'll wind up with me in the city of angels, but until that presents itself, I'm planning on not seeing him for a while.
And it sucks.
I'm not a worrier. That gene seems generally absent from my DNA, but I am going to feel a bit sad at not being able to run and spoil these guys (yes, they're all male... that's another story). I know this beyond any reasonable doubt. A while back I drove to Las Vegas for some work. This drive marked the first time I made a long-distance drive without my dogs in the back of my truck. I couldn't help but checking the bed every so often to make sure they were doing okay, even though there was nothing back there.
And now I'll be making another long-distance drive to drop them off with a friend of mine so I can concentrate on getting back into the industry that I left over a year ago. And it sucks. I can already see myself suffering from depressing separation anxiety on the drive back. It's bad enough that I've already left my two cats with my reluctant but willing sister. I feel as though I'm somehow punishing them for their loyalty (that, too, is another story).
But, people have to do what they have to do.
It still sucks.
Sucks, sucks, sucks, sucks, sucks.
I've done it before with two of my dogs (Jasper and Starbuck), but this will mark the first time that I'll be separated long-term from my alpha male (Jax, who's very close to getting his nuts chopped off) and the two most loyal cats I've ever known (Kay and Sagremor). Oh, there's a possibility Jax's adopted mother won't be able to handle him and he'll wind up with me in the city of angels, but until that presents itself, I'm planning on not seeing him for a while.
And it sucks.
I'm not a worrier. That gene seems generally absent from my DNA, but I am going to feel a bit sad at not being able to run and spoil these guys (yes, they're all male... that's another story). I know this beyond any reasonable doubt. A while back I drove to Las Vegas for some work. This drive marked the first time I made a long-distance drive without my dogs in the back of my truck. I couldn't help but checking the bed every so often to make sure they were doing okay, even though there was nothing back there.
And now I'll be making another long-distance drive to drop them off with a friend of mine so I can concentrate on getting back into the industry that I left over a year ago. And it sucks. I can already see myself suffering from depressing separation anxiety on the drive back. It's bad enough that I've already left my two cats with my reluctant but willing sister. I feel as though I'm somehow punishing them for their loyalty (that, too, is another story).
But, people have to do what they have to do.
It still sucks.
Sucks, sucks, sucks, sucks, sucks.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Unaccomplishments: April 7, 2010
You ever have one of those days that you actually get a lot of what you needed to get done done? You know... days in which asking a question that ends with the same word repeated somehow makes sense in your head? Or... a rampant use of ellipses seems cool for some reason? Yeah... ?
In other words... well, no. Let me back up. I don't even want to present a question. I merely want to present a statement: I'm exhausted. I don't know why. I took care of a banking matter today. I took care of a Veterans Administration matter today. I'm taking my dog to the vet (as in veterinarian, in case you were wondering if my dog is a former soldier) tomorrow to finally rid him of those nasty tape worms he carried with him from North Carolina. I'm also beginning many sentences with "I" and "I'm." I don't know why. I just am.
Oh, yeah... (look at that ellipses!) I'm exhausted. I guess I didn't sleep well last night. Somehow I passed out on my niece's bed at 4 in the morning or so. I think I was writing something. I know I was conversing with a friend in Australia (time differences suck). Oh, yeah... oh, yeah... I was definitely typing something. Something about people who claim to want to be writers but refuse to write. It was going to be ready today, but it's not. Instead I'm rambling in a zombified and catatonic state. Speaking of cats... there's one trying to fall asleep on this keyboard. The bastard.
I just watched my nephew beat a racing cup in Mario Kart Wii. Not that you care. I don't even care. I just had nothing else cross my mind at the moment just prior to typing that.
Ah, where would the world be without Nintendo? Anybody else think that Nintendo prevented the Cold War? A decade of Atari's lack of rapid technological advancement made better by a little-known Japanese import accompanied by a zapper gun, foot pad, retarded robot, and creepy mushrooms attacking Italian plumbers.
Come to think of it... that kind of sounds like the Cold War, doesn't it?
Anyway, one thing I forgot to do (well, I didn't forget... I procrastinated in lieu of a nap) was to check on if I'm working in Las Vegas next week. I really need to do that tomorrow.
I should probably clean the litter box and clean up all the dog crap in my sister's backyard, too. But I'm sitting in a reclining love seat (alas, with no lover... unless you count Sagremor... one of my cats... who's not even female...) and have no desire to get up. Not even to use the bathroom. Now would be a good time for someone to invent a toilet/couch combination. And deliver it to my sister's house before I have an accident.
Then again... accidents can be liberating. A little humility goes a long way, no?
I have no idea why I wrote any of this. It wasn't to prevent insanity. I'm already insane.
Maybe I just wanted to share it. And my lack of accomplishment today (well, yesterday by this point).
Eat me.
In other words... well, no. Let me back up. I don't even want to present a question. I merely want to present a statement: I'm exhausted. I don't know why. I took care of a banking matter today. I took care of a Veterans Administration matter today. I'm taking my dog to the vet (as in veterinarian, in case you were wondering if my dog is a former soldier) tomorrow to finally rid him of those nasty tape worms he carried with him from North Carolina. I'm also beginning many sentences with "I" and "I'm." I don't know why. I just am.
Oh, yeah... (look at that ellipses!) I'm exhausted. I guess I didn't sleep well last night. Somehow I passed out on my niece's bed at 4 in the morning or so. I think I was writing something. I know I was conversing with a friend in Australia (time differences suck). Oh, yeah... oh, yeah... I was definitely typing something. Something about people who claim to want to be writers but refuse to write. It was going to be ready today, but it's not. Instead I'm rambling in a zombified and catatonic state. Speaking of cats... there's one trying to fall asleep on this keyboard. The bastard.
I just watched my nephew beat a racing cup in Mario Kart Wii. Not that you care. I don't even care. I just had nothing else cross my mind at the moment just prior to typing that.
Ah, where would the world be without Nintendo? Anybody else think that Nintendo prevented the Cold War? A decade of Atari's lack of rapid technological advancement made better by a little-known Japanese import accompanied by a zapper gun, foot pad, retarded robot, and creepy mushrooms attacking Italian plumbers.
Come to think of it... that kind of sounds like the Cold War, doesn't it?
Anyway, one thing I forgot to do (well, I didn't forget... I procrastinated in lieu of a nap) was to check on if I'm working in Las Vegas next week. I really need to do that tomorrow.
I should probably clean the litter box and clean up all the dog crap in my sister's backyard, too. But I'm sitting in a reclining love seat (alas, with no lover... unless you count Sagremor... one of my cats... who's not even female...) and have no desire to get up. Not even to use the bathroom. Now would be a good time for someone to invent a toilet/couch combination. And deliver it to my sister's house before I have an accident.
Then again... accidents can be liberating. A little humility goes a long way, no?
I have no idea why I wrote any of this. It wasn't to prevent insanity. I'm already insane.
Maybe I just wanted to share it. And my lack of accomplishment today (well, yesterday by this point).
Eat me.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Pet Musings: October 12, 2009
Well, well... this week has turned out to be an eventful uneventful week, and I just figured I'd share a few things concerning my dogs and cats...
As some of you are aware, my two lost dogs have returned to me. They were gone for 94 hours (from Sunday at 3:00 PM to Thursday at 1:00 PM) in a place that they were unfamiliar with. I posted an ad on craigslist.org, went to the local animal services, and was about to put up about 50 fliers in the neighborhood they disappeared in when, in typical fashion (don't ask), I watched in relative disbelief as my two dogs walked down the road towards the very spot I was standing. Also in typical fashion, they didn't seem to think their disappearance was a big deal, although they were both a few pounds lighter. Jerks.
My German Shepherd (you know, the loyal dog that DIDN'T run away) was at first extremely happy to see the other dogs, but quickly realized that all the one-on-one attention he had been receiving had gone away. So, he did the grown-up thing and cried all freaking night because there was no half-asleep guy sleeping in an open garage throwing him the tennis ball at 2 in the morning.
One of my cats made a break for it on Sunday (yesterday at the time of this posting), primarily because they've been stuck living in the bed of my truck for an extra week, thanks to the missing dogs. And now, due to occupational requirements, they're going to stay in the bed of my truck for yet another week because I have to finish a book and submit a critical analysis by the 23rd... and driving across country isn't really conducive to that.
Pointless Musings
The San Diego Padres finished the season with 75 wins and 87 losses... good enough for 4th place in the National League West. Crappy, I know, but a far cry better than the 5th place they held for most of the season. Ah, well... there's always next year.
Thank you, NFL Mobile (only on Sprint) for allowing me to catch last Sunday's Pittsburgh-San Diego game when I was devoid a television. And thank you, NFL, for scheduling a Chargers bye week this Sunday while I was still devoid a television.
This just in: I am reactivating all of my paper bills from all of my utilities and banks. Not having the Internet whooped my ass last week, and I ain't letting that happen again.
Eh... I'd complain about more things, but I'm tired. I'll be returning to form in a couple of weeks (I think).
As some of you are aware, my two lost dogs have returned to me. They were gone for 94 hours (from Sunday at 3:00 PM to Thursday at 1:00 PM) in a place that they were unfamiliar with. I posted an ad on craigslist.org, went to the local animal services, and was about to put up about 50 fliers in the neighborhood they disappeared in when, in typical fashion (don't ask), I watched in relative disbelief as my two dogs walked down the road towards the very spot I was standing. Also in typical fashion, they didn't seem to think their disappearance was a big deal, although they were both a few pounds lighter. Jerks.
My German Shepherd (you know, the loyal dog that DIDN'T run away) was at first extremely happy to see the other dogs, but quickly realized that all the one-on-one attention he had been receiving had gone away. So, he did the grown-up thing and cried all freaking night because there was no half-asleep guy sleeping in an open garage throwing him the tennis ball at 2 in the morning.
One of my cats made a break for it on Sunday (yesterday at the time of this posting), primarily because they've been stuck living in the bed of my truck for an extra week, thanks to the missing dogs. And now, due to occupational requirements, they're going to stay in the bed of my truck for yet another week because I have to finish a book and submit a critical analysis by the 23rd... and driving across country isn't really conducive to that.
Pointless Musings
The San Diego Padres finished the season with 75 wins and 87 losses... good enough for 4th place in the National League West. Crappy, I know, but a far cry better than the 5th place they held for most of the season. Ah, well... there's always next year.
Thank you, NFL Mobile (only on Sprint) for allowing me to catch last Sunday's Pittsburgh-San Diego game when I was devoid a television. And thank you, NFL, for scheduling a Chargers bye week this Sunday while I was still devoid a television.
This just in: I am reactivating all of my paper bills from all of my utilities and banks. Not having the Internet whooped my ass last week, and I ain't letting that happen again.
Eh... I'd complain about more things, but I'm tired. I'll be returning to form in a couple of weeks (I think).
Friday, August 1, 2008
Priorities
I have cats. And I love my cats. Okay, sometimes I hate my cats, but for the most part I love my cats. Everyone has a crazy cat story, of course, and I am no different. I've found poo in strange places, woke up to a piss stain on the pillow next to my head, discovered dismembered small-animal parts in my living room, and laughed as a kitten attached itself to my German Shepherd's face.
Despite all of this, I have never had to make a decision of priorities while watching my cats do something that, well, I'd regret later.
Tonight, however, and merely a few moments ago, I did.
Now, my cats adore me. I'm not exactly sure why, as I don't treat them any better than my dogs, but these two cats adore me. They follow me around like begging dogs, watch TV with me, sleep with me, and fight over which one gets to sit in my lap. I haven't been a cat person for very long, relatively speaking, so forgive me if this all comes across as "normal" to some of you. To me, it's downright strange.
Usually when I watch television, one cat will take station on the back of the couch, right above my head. Most of the time, that cat will simply fall asleep, but other times, he'll attack my hair. The other cat will, as implied earlier, simply curl up on my lap.
Now, I'm a fairly avid drinker of Vitamin Water. I like it, and it doesn't damage your teeth as badly as Gatorade does. And, since I usually don't eat as balanced as I should, I take solace in the extra vitamins the drink provides. My current favorite flavor is "power-c." Mind you, Vitamin Water isn't the cheapest drink in the world, and when you add up the gas you use to drive to the nearest convenience store to buy a bottle, it's about, oh, $57.12 for a 32 fluid ounce bottle.
Currently, my favorite comedy is a little-known British comedy called Spaced. To be blunt, it is the funniest fucking 30-minute comedy series I have ever seen. And that's not an exaggeration.
So there I was...
Watching an episode of Spaced, drinking a bottle of "power-c" Vitamin Water, when my dark cat decided he wanted to sit in my lap. Normally, he'd walk to the front of the couch by my feet and jump into my lap. But, since this particular cat suffers from frequent bouts of laziness, he decided to take the short route... which was from the left, over the armrest, which just happened to be where my arm was resting. Go figure, right?
Unfortunately for me, the cat misjudged how much higher he would have to pounce in order to clear my arm, and, as such, didn't quite make it. Instead of simply falling to the ground and trying again, however, he went with "Option B."
Now, I assure you that "Option B" is quite painful, as it involves my cat attempting to maintain altitude by latching onto the nearest surface with his claws. That nearest surface happened to be my arm.
Since I love my cats, I'm always willing to lend a helping hand. The problem here was that one hand was pinned to the armrest, and the other was holding my drink. So, in reactionary fashion, I instantaneously set the bottle between my thighs, reached over with my now-free right hand, grabbed my cat by the neck, and pulled him up to safety... right into my lap. Spilling at least 12 ounces of my 32 ounce drink onto the floor.
Result? Cat not on lap, Vitamin Water not in mouth, me no watch Spaced.
As I knelt there, cleaning up the liquid mess, I went over the incident in my head. I came to the conclusion that my priorities were wrong. I shouldn't have attempted to save the cat, who would've been fine anyway, and lose my drink while interrupting my entertainment.
I should've just hit the cat with the drink bottle, tapped the "jump back" button on the DVR, and finished my show.
Next time, I'll be ready.
Despite all of this, I have never had to make a decision of priorities while watching my cats do something that, well, I'd regret later.
Tonight, however, and merely a few moments ago, I did.
Now, my cats adore me. I'm not exactly sure why, as I don't treat them any better than my dogs, but these two cats adore me. They follow me around like begging dogs, watch TV with me, sleep with me, and fight over which one gets to sit in my lap. I haven't been a cat person for very long, relatively speaking, so forgive me if this all comes across as "normal" to some of you. To me, it's downright strange.
Usually when I watch television, one cat will take station on the back of the couch, right above my head. Most of the time, that cat will simply fall asleep, but other times, he'll attack my hair. The other cat will, as implied earlier, simply curl up on my lap.
Now, I'm a fairly avid drinker of Vitamin Water. I like it, and it doesn't damage your teeth as badly as Gatorade does. And, since I usually don't eat as balanced as I should, I take solace in the extra vitamins the drink provides. My current favorite flavor is "power-c." Mind you, Vitamin Water isn't the cheapest drink in the world, and when you add up the gas you use to drive to the nearest convenience store to buy a bottle, it's about, oh, $57.12 for a 32 fluid ounce bottle.
Currently, my favorite comedy is a little-known British comedy called Spaced. To be blunt, it is the funniest fucking 30-minute comedy series I have ever seen. And that's not an exaggeration.
So there I was...
Watching an episode of Spaced, drinking a bottle of "power-c" Vitamin Water, when my dark cat decided he wanted to sit in my lap. Normally, he'd walk to the front of the couch by my feet and jump into my lap. But, since this particular cat suffers from frequent bouts of laziness, he decided to take the short route... which was from the left, over the armrest, which just happened to be where my arm was resting. Go figure, right?
Unfortunately for me, the cat misjudged how much higher he would have to pounce in order to clear my arm, and, as such, didn't quite make it. Instead of simply falling to the ground and trying again, however, he went with "Option B."
Now, I assure you that "Option B" is quite painful, as it involves my cat attempting to maintain altitude by latching onto the nearest surface with his claws. That nearest surface happened to be my arm.
Since I love my cats, I'm always willing to lend a helping hand. The problem here was that one hand was pinned to the armrest, and the other was holding my drink. So, in reactionary fashion, I instantaneously set the bottle between my thighs, reached over with my now-free right hand, grabbed my cat by the neck, and pulled him up to safety... right into my lap. Spilling at least 12 ounces of my 32 ounce drink onto the floor.
Result? Cat not on lap, Vitamin Water not in mouth, me no watch Spaced.
As I knelt there, cleaning up the liquid mess, I went over the incident in my head. I came to the conclusion that my priorities were wrong. I shouldn't have attempted to save the cat, who would've been fine anyway, and lose my drink while interrupting my entertainment.
I should've just hit the cat with the drink bottle, tapped the "jump back" button on the DVR, and finished my show.
Next time, I'll be ready.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Pointless Musings Beginning with "S"
Let's see... things I've noticed and things that have happened recently beginning with the letter "S." Hmm... don't know why I feel compelled to write about this, but it probably has something to do with a recent discussion of Sesame Street.
A squirrel came up to me and my cat the other day. Brushed against us through the window screen. Ironically, my cat's name is Sagremor.
There's a Sunset Beach in North Carolina. Now, while I haven't physically seen how the beach is laid out (perhaps there's an inlet that faces West or some such feature), I wonder why the city isn't called "Sunrise Beach." It is, after all, on the East Coast.
I love strawberries; hate strawberry flavoring. Conversely, I hate cherries; love cherry flavoring.
Sugarfree gum gives me a headache. Not sure why.
If you're making a short film or an independent feature, consider hiring the sound guys from NorthStar Post & Sound in Wilmington, North Carolina. Especially if you need Foley or ADR work. Do it.
The term "soldier" refers to those in the Army. Sailors, Marines, and Airmen do not refer to themselves or each other as soldiers. So fucking stop it.
You all suck. Vote for Clint Eastwood. A SAG member.
A squirrel came up to me and my cat the other day. Brushed against us through the window screen. Ironically, my cat's name is Sagremor.
There's a Sunset Beach in North Carolina. Now, while I haven't physically seen how the beach is laid out (perhaps there's an inlet that faces West or some such feature), I wonder why the city isn't called "Sunrise Beach." It is, after all, on the East Coast.
I love strawberries; hate strawberry flavoring. Conversely, I hate cherries; love cherry flavoring.
Sugarfree gum gives me a headache. Not sure why.
If you're making a short film or an independent feature, consider hiring the sound guys from NorthStar Post & Sound in Wilmington, North Carolina. Especially if you need Foley or ADR work. Do it.
The term "soldier" refers to those in the Army. Sailors, Marines, and Airmen do not refer to themselves or each other as soldiers. So fucking stop it.
You all suck. Vote for Clint Eastwood. A SAG member.
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