People always react with shock and disbelief followed closely by concern for my well-being when I tell them that I have five cats. (YES FIVE IT’S REALLY NOT THAT BIG OF A DEAL, OK?!? Some people have five kids, which is like, fucking bananas to me). I understand that there is a stigma attached to owning several cats, and I get where it comes from. Dogs are full of love and loyalty for their owners, while cats really could not give less of a shit. So if you willingly choose a pet that merely tolerates your existence rather than a pet that dies with happiness every time you so much as glance at it, then there is obviously something fundamentally wrong with you and your life choices.

The way I see it though, I took in these homeless animals and gave them a place to live comfortably. I’m a good person, and I’m definitely not crazy (ed. note: if you want to sound crazy, you should insist that you’re not crazy). So suck it, haters and concerned acquaintances…


I will admit that having five cats really can be a pain in the ass at times though. I have no time to blog, as evidenced by the fact that I never blog. The reason for this is that when I try to do any work at home, this is what happens:

If not for sits, then why is made of warm?
Pay no attention to the lady in the leopard onesie.

It’s times like this when I’m trying to be productive and get shit done while my cats are climbing all over me that I start to wonder if maybe….just maybe….five cats is in fact just a little much. Since that awful show ‘Hoarders’ premiered a few years ago, I’ve gotten more than my fair share of jokes about cat hoarding. I think some people believe that because I have five cats, I must also have a mountain of garbage in my living room and raccoons living in my closet. Thanks for that, A&E! But when I’ve got two cats in my lap, a cat on my keyboard, a cat climbing my leg, and a cat meowing at me from across the room for no discernible reason, I can’t help but start thinking about what it means to be a crazy cat lady or cat hoarder.

So I googled, “Am I a cat hoarder?”.

This might be a question better posed to a mental health professional, but since there’s an internet quiz for it, I’m just gonna do that instead.

Have friends or family expressed concern over the number of cats in your home?

Kind of….but mostly like in a “hahahaha holy shit, you’re insane” sort of way. Not like a call Dr. Phil sort of way.

Do you have cats that run away when you get near them?

Yes, but I’m pretty sure it’s because they know I’m going to hug them. They’re not dogs; they aren’t putting up with that shit.

Are you sacrificing your own basic needs for your cats?

Is privacy a basic need? Because they are super weird about sitting across from me while I’m on the toilet.

Do you refuse to let people into your house because of your cats?

I refuse to let people into my house, but that has more to do with the fact that I hate most people.

Do your cats continually have kittens?

No, spay and neuter your pets for fucks sake, people.

Have you been unable to clean or make needed repairs to your home?

The not cleaning thing is more a result of laziness…

Have you received warnings about your cats?

No, but I have received warnings about getting drunk and breaking bottles in my own driveway. Because we live in Soviet fucking Russia I guess and I am not a free American on my own goddamn property.

Have you become increasingly ill?

This is kind of a personal question for an internet quiz to be asking. Mind your own beeswax, internet quiz.

Do you believe that nobody else could care for the cats like you do?

Yes, but it’s because I’m the only person that will put up with their high maintenance bullshittery.

So according to the internet, it doesn’t seem to me like I am actually hoarding cats. Knowing this makes me feel a little relieved, and now I can just tell anyone that asks that I took an internet quiz and I’m definitely not crazy (see previous note on insisting that you’re not crazy). Of course, while this does absolve me from hoarder status, it doesn’t exclude me from another category of which I suspect I am doomed to become a member….


Oh well. Fuck it.

Who’s the boss

ETA: I just learned that today is International Cat Day. So this post can also serve as a celebration of cats doing whatever the fuck they want, as always. Because every day is Caturday, bitches.

At times, it can seem like the sole purpose of a cat’s existence is to do literally the opposite of what you want or need it to do at any given time. It’s almost as if the cat derives a sense of purpose or pleasure from disregarding, disobeying, inconveniencing, and/or ignoring you and your commands. You may think to yourself: “Oh, they are just tiny little animals with tiny little animal brains that don’t understand what I want or just misunderstand what I’m trying to tell them to do.”

WRONG, stupid.

Of course they understand what you want and what you’re saying. Research shows that cats not only can communicate with humans, they can also pretty much control your mind¬†and your actions. So, while you’re all like , “I guess I’ll stop telling Socks to get off the kitchen counter as he obviously doesn’t understand what I’m saying, and my attempts to keep him off are futile”, Socks is all like, “Whatever, bitch. I’m going to plant my dirty cat butthole right here on the kitchen counter over and over until you just resign yourself to the fact that you can’t control me. Then I’m going to manipulate you into feeding me treats by mimicking a human baby crying. LOLZ.”

My cats disobey me in pretty much every capacity, but the thing they seem to enjoy doing most is just sitting on and/or staring at me at inconvenient times when I don’t want to be sat upon or stared at. These times include the following:

During meals….
In the bathroom….
Whilst tying a shoe (not me pictured, DUH)….
In the middle of wall squats….
While I’m cooking dinner…(and yes, she is in the process of climbing up my leg)
When I’m trying to clean the house….
During my shows….

It doesn’t matter how gently I remove them from my face/lap or how forcefully I say “NO”, they continue to come back again and again until I give up and let them do whatever they want. Which, obviously, was their plan all along. I know it, they know it, and they just want to keep showing me who’s the real boss around these parts.

Cats Continue Bid for Complete World Domination

In cat news today, it’s been decided that Hasbro’s Monopoly game (or as I like to call it, “that game that never ends where everyone just ends up walking away”) will add a new game piece to the arsenal. Being as this is cat blog, anyone want to take a guess at what the new piece is going to be?

That’s right. Monopoly fans voting in 120 countries (I really don’t see the point in making this a global decision, btw) have voted to get rid of the iron piece (that’s what that was!) and instead, replace it with a cat. Take a look at this dick:

Monopoly New Token


Look at how smug that cat is. It’s perfect. Oh, and I really don’t understand how it took this long to add a cat because there has been a dog piece forever. DISCRIMINATION.

Cats don’t care and will totally eat your last treat out from under your face.

I found these treats at Target that have catnip in them so naturally I bought them. I didn’t buy them because my cats behave all the time and need to be rewarded, or for the extra 2 calories in each treat that these fat assholes definitely don’t need.

I bought them because catnip makes these morons lose their damn minds just from smelling it (okay, Quigley sometimes eats dried catnip but he doesn’t know any better), so imagine if they actually INGESTED it?

Well, I never get to witness them losing their minds because every time I give them some, Browing scarfs his down quickly and then shuffles his fat ass over to Quigley’s pile and eats those, and this behavior makes me want nothing to do with them.

I even put them in two separate piles.


Doesn’t work. Browning must eat all the treats.



I’ve blogged before about cats mocking you when you do things like cleaning and unpacking, and just general things like cats complicating your life when you’re trying to get shit done. I was cleaning a few days ago, which is a strange occurrence in the first place.

Then this happens:


So, basically, you’d like me to believe that you’re perfectly comfortable standing in a square inch of space?