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.



That one time we went to a cat circus.

I know what you’re thinking. “Cat circus? That’s not even a real thing.” Well, you skeptic, it most certainly is a real thing and this blog serves as proof.

Suzanne came to Austin (so, now you know where I live…please don’t stalk me) Friday night. As fate would have it, there was also a cat circus in town the same night. So, duh we had to get tickets to that.

Naturally, we couldn’t show up to this thing sober because neither of us really knew what the hell to expect out of this. And, because it was on the east side of Austin, we weren’t sure if we’d die or not, and no one wants to die sober.

We walked into the little theatre and were immediately warned to close the door because there was a loose cat running around somewhere. We both got really excited at this point and wanted to find the loose cat. Editor’s note: there was no loose cat, so that was some bullshit.

We finally found seats (all six performances were sold out…I’ve truly missed my calling) and waited for the show to begin. The ring master came out, and was dressed like a character from Josie and the Pussycats–I’m talking cat ears and crushed velvet from head to toe. It was purrfect.

She has about 12 different cats kenneled that she pulls out at different times throughout the show, depending on what trick she’s trying to get them to perform–there were a couple hoop jumping cats, a skateboard cat, tight rope walking cat, shopping cart pushing cat, instrument playing cats, tight rope walking cat. I say ‘trying to perform’ because cats are dicks (celebrity performer cats included), and a good 80% of the time she let each cat out of its kennel to perform, it just walked out and stretched and sat down, and begged for its treat like it had done something spectacular.

20121119-190218.jpgThat’s a cat riding a skateboard.

20121119-190315.jpgThis was the star of the show–a bitchy cat named Tuna. Prior to the show ending, we were warned not to touch Tuna because Tuna is a huge dick who hates humans and doesn’t like being petted and doesn’t enjoy other signs of affection either. So, naturally I tried to touch Tuna (because I WANT TO HUG ALL THE CATS but I can’t) and honestly, I’ve never been more scared for my life. That cat is 100% evil.


Here we are with the star of the show. Suzanne is terrified. And this was before I tried to pet her, so I still thought I stood a chance and could make her love me. I was let down approximately 45 seconds after this photo.

The best part of the entire show actually had nothing to do with cats. A guy in the audience attempted to start a slow clap and it went a little something like this…


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.

If it fits, we sits.

So, I’m going to start off this post by saying today is National Cat Day, and not one of you people have wished us a Happy National Cat Day today. Even though it’s probably not dedicated to cat owners, and created by a cat to celebrate cats’ and their existence on this planet. They’re dicks like that. Like, it’s different than the other 364 days in the year. Moving on now, just don’t forget our birthdays.

Cats are known to sit in precisely the places where they know they shouldn’t. Like, somehow squeezing their bodies behind your tchotchkes on your bookshelf so that when you grab them, they knock over everything.

Last week, I was packing for Los Angeles and got this weird feeling something was watching me.


Found it.

Then this happened, because it has to happen every time I try to leave. It’s like he’s staging his own little cat sit-in.


It’s his way of punishing me for leaving, as if to say, “Fine. You can go. But I’m just going to cover the inside of your suitcase with cat hair so you look like shit the entire time you are gone.”

Don’t believe everything you see on Pinterest.

First, just let me say that I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have some degree of an addiction to Pinterest.

Pinterest teaches you things. Empty lotion containers? Fill those bad boys up with ketchup, and voila. Used wrapping paper? Let me show you how to somehow turn it into a picture frame that looks store bought.

But there is no way in hell I’m buying this shenanigan, Pinterest:


Cats hate everything. It’s why this blog exists in the first place. “OH, look at this cute, creative way to incorporate your family pet and your unborn child into one picture.”

Pinterest, I call bullshit. That cat didn’t pose for a picture because cats hate posing for pictures. That cat also hates that collar because, duh, those are for dogs. AND, the most important–cats HATE babies. There is no way you’re leading me to believe that a cat willingly let itself be photographed wearing a collar next to a pair of empty baby shoes. Maybe if this was a picture of a cat slapping a baby and knocking its bottle over I would believe it more.

Won’t you be my neighbor?

I don’t even know where to start this blog.

I guess I can start with Noah being stupid enough to rescue a male and female cat and make sure they were on the ark before that big earthly flood thing happened, therefore allowing them to reproduce for the rest of eternity.

Fast forward a couple thousand years, and cats still think they can be dicks to everything around them. I only assumed that the dickish cat behavior I’m exposed to on a daily basis would come from my two cats. Wrong.

I step out my door this morning, and this little treasure is waiting for me.


I’m a lady, so I put a troll face over it. But what’s under that troll face was a cute little pile of cat crap. Not only was this land mine put on my welcome mat, it was also put on the side where I step first. So, because I, myself, have cat-like reflexes I was able to dodge it. I get to the bottom of my stairs, AND THIS STRAY CAT HAS THE GALL TO BE SITTING IN A BUSH WATCHING ME, hoping with all his tiny cat might that I would step in it. Well, I didn’t, you stray asshole.