O holy night

Sometimes at night I walk around my neighborhood while drinking beer. Walking on its own is kind of boring, and alcohol enhances everything….so, ya know. So anyway, these nightly walks have been really nice lately since everyone has been decorating their lawns for Christmas. Holiday decorations are just about the only thing I like about living in the suburbs, and my neighbors like to do it up big so I’ve been walking (drinking) more frequently and really enjoying myself.

I typically meet a few neighborhood cats on these walks…just out and about, murdering small rodents and terrorizing frogs, fighting with their neighbor cats, business as usual. On one particular night, I spotted this:


I know that picture doesn’t look like anything to you, so allow me to point out a few things:


There’s a black cat in that manger. THERE’S. A. BLACK. CAT. IN. THAT. MANGER. Now, it’s common knowledge that cats like to do three things:

  1. Annoy their owners.
  2. Ruin Christmas.
  3. Murder things.

This cat is just hitting all three in one fell swoop.

  1. Owner will be annoyed that the cat is fucking up the Christmas display.
  2. The cat is fucking up the Christmas display.

Of course, the greatest thing about this photo is this idiot chilling in the bushes:



The One Where Three Idiots Stare at a Moth for an Hour

Twas a month before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse.
Except for one moth, flying against the window in vain
While the cats watched from below, the futile fluttering driving them insane.

Seriously. They did this for at least an hour.

And then they all took a nap. Good work, everyone. Solid night all around.


How One Cat Escalated from Jewelry Theft to Attempted Murder in Just One Week


Attempts to steal my David Yurman necklace, probably to sell on the internet in order to procure funds to hire someone to kill me.


Holds owner hostage. Attempts to prevent communication with the outside world.


Realizes his previous attempt to sever owner’s ability to send a distress signal has failed. Tries new tactic.


Attempts to control owner through food deprivation; learned on the internet that starvation tactics may make his hostage more cooperative.


No explanation required.


Watches an internet video of a blind kitten playing with his first toy. TRIES TO STEAL TOYS FROM A BLIND KITTEN.



Nightmare Fuel

Some people look into their pet’s eyes and see human qualities…love, compassion, empathy, understanding…. I’m specifically talking about dog people of course because cats experience none of these emotions.

I do see certain things when I look into my cats’ eyes though….with Jaegar, I see a half bored interest in food and with Isis, I see hatred tempered by a mild surprise/disappointment that I’m not dead yet.

But with Ernest….with Ernest, I see things that can be neither understood nor forgotten. It can best be described as looking into “The Nothing” from my favorite acid trip of a movie from childhood, ‘The NeverEnding Story’. “The Nothing” is a void of darkness that consumes everything…and that, my friends, is what lurks beneath these hardened eyes:




So there’s a nice little dose of fuel for your nightmares tonight. Goodnight, dear readers!

So you’re thinking of fostering kittens…..AHAHAHAHA YOU FUCKING IDIOT.

A few months ago I decided to join the local humane society’s foster program. If you’re not familiar with what it means to be an animal shelter foster parent, basically you take on pets that are too young or sick to be adopted and you take care of them until they are either rehabilitated or old enough to find a permanent home. So I figured I love animals, I’d like to help out the shelter but don’t have time to volunteer, and I have the perfect space to house animals and keep them separate from my own cats (a sunroom at the back of my house).

Besides all that, I figured kittens would be easy. I know how to care for cats, I thought….why would caring for kittens be much more difficult than making sure my own cats didn’t die? In fact, I reasoned it had to be easier than caring for my own cats, since like humans cats become more evil with age. In my head, I knew it would be perfect…. imagined long Saturday afternoons filled with purrs and sweet little cat babies lounging in the sun and looking very silly whilst chasing ribbons and sunbeams.

I am a stupid, stupid woman.

The first batch of foster kittens were three siblings, and to be honest they weren’t that bad. They did cute things like this:

oh my precious

And this:

there are too many books on the kitty shelf! oh noes!

But they got bigger, and consequently went back to the shelter where they were all adopted and went on to forever homes where they will grow into cats that will someday terrorize their forever families. DAWWWW!

With the next round of fosters, I’ve discovered a rather disconcerting fact. The reason why kittens are so sweet and non-destructive comes from the simple fact that they are small and defenseless. As such, it’s necessary for them to befriend you so that they are afforded some sense of protection until they are older and larger and develop bigger claws and more hateful dispositions. Basically, kittens are just manipulative little bastards that use you to keep them alive and clean up after them, much like babies. With the second batch, I took on nine foster kittens and learned that with their powers combined…they no longer need to be my friend. Like an angry mob armed with endless mews and tiny claws, they’ve overtaken and destroyed everything in their path.


Since there are so many of them, they’ve become emboldened enough to undertake escape attempts. Like the velociraptors in “Jurassic Park”, they try to open the doors:

Clever girl.

You can’t walk past the sunroom door without being assailed by taunts and demands:

pssst. PSSSST. I pooped on the bookshelf.

If you are stupid enough to enter the room and attempt contact, you’ll likely find yourself in this situation after being climbed like fucking Mount Everest:

How can a cat be only 6 inches tall, yet somehow always have its ass right in your face??

They’ve shredded books. They’ve eaten photographs. They’ve thrown up in their own food bowls and sprayed diarrhea all over the floor right next to their box. Every attempt to enter the room is met with an attempt to escape, usually accomplished by three scaling your legs while the others flee and hide under beds and couches. But there is a silver lining, my friends….

These kittens are healthy and old enough for adoption and are going back to the humane society. After a long and arduous six weeks, it is time for them to find their forever homes, filled with new people that they can forever torture. After tomorrow, I am taking a break from fostering since I plan to be traveling for the holidays and besides that, holy shit I need a break. The nightmare will be over. I will get my sunroom back and it will just be me and my three…..fully grown…….much larger and able to do much more damage….pissed off from lack of attention….holding a grudge and anxiously awaiting the departure of the kittens before they exact their revenge….my own cats….

oh fuck.

going HAM on some ham

I’m not a big fan of giving people food to my cats. And it’s not because of some concern for my cats’ well-being, like I think that it’s animal abuse or something crazy like that.

I don’t feed people food to my cats because it would inconvenience me in the following ways:

  1. Cat food is pretty much the only way to shut them up. I don’t mean to overfeed them, but I often do just to keep them quiet (I’m going to be a great parent to actual humans some day!). If I start giving them people food and they become wise to the fact that cat food pretty much sucks, I’m never going to hear the end of that yowling.
  2. Everything else already belongs to them. My house, my furniture, my clothing, my shoes, my belongings…..all have been claimed by tiny claws and are covered in long white and orange hairs. Some of my stuff has even been graced with their bodily fluids…on more than one occasion, I have found either poop or vomit (or when I’m really lucky, both–DOUBLE PRIZE!!!) on my bed. MY FOOD IS ALL I HAVE LEFT YOU GUYS. It is the only thing that still belongs to me. The only reason they haven’t taken it over is because I keep all the food locked away where they can’t reach it because they don’t have opposable thumbs.
  3. Cat farts are the worst.
  4. If I started giving them food, I would never get through another meal in peace. They’ve already claimed the table as their bed:

It’s bad enough that I have to already share the table with their fat asses while I eat; I don’t want to have to contend with trying to keep their giant heads out of my food too.

However, my refusal to feed people food to my own cats does not preclude me from giving it to other people’s cats, mostly because I’m a huge jerk. Seriously, don’t be friends with me. I have one cat-friend in particular named Berkeley who has acquired a taste for deli meat (mainly due to the fact that I feed it to him on the reg), and now, much to his owner’s chagrin, he goes NUTS when he smells or sees it:

You seriously cannot keep him away from it if you have it in the house. And really, the side effects aren’t that bad. He just acts like a psychopath when you’re eating a ham sandwich and pukes a lot, neither of which really affect me all that much since I don’t live with him. And really, the only things I’m ever concerned with are those that affect me so…..carry on, Berkeley. You go HAM on that ham.

This bitch.

Seriously, you’re a cat. I’ve seen you sleep on the bathroom floor, in sinks, on shelves, in my dresser, on the fireplace, in the middle of the damn floor where I’m guaranteed to trip over you, etc. Point is, you can and do sleep anywhere. But when I’m ready to go to sleep, this is apparently the only place in the house befitting your sleeps?! MY fucking pillow?!