Not so much a blog about writing, more about T and I rapidly approaching the 'Crazy Cat Person' threshold.
I have this theory. If you have more then three cats you are--by my definition--a 'Crazy Cat Person.'
It's not a bad thing. Honest.
Rewinding the clock a little, I used to hate cats. I mean there was a time in my life where one of my favorite books was '101 Things to Do with a Dead Cat.' I'm more of a dog person, or so I thought.
Then I was introduced to Tina's cats....and I fell in love. With her and 'her babies.' Although I still have my ol' dog Jack and he is still my buddy, the cats became a part of our extended, strange family.
A week ago, a stray came into our lives. He's a white cat we've named (intriguingly enough) "White Kitty."
Well White Kitty is fixed (I still don't know why they call it that since what you are actually doing is 'breaking' them), flea infested and cute as all Hell. It's obvious he was a pet, but had gotten dumped. Which pisses me off, but that's for another rant.
We had our visiting vet come by and check him out....and the cat was in good shape, a bit dirty, but healthy. A couple hundred bucks later, the cat is now up on its shots etc. And no more fleas.
But see, White Kitty's been living outside for a while (let me know if you see what's coming next).
White Kitty's fed, watered and is just loving all the attention we've been giving it. I should also mention at this point that our two existing cats HATE change. I mean hate it more then my dad did when e-mail was introduced to him at work.
Anyway --we made a spot in the garage for White Kitty while we wait on the freakin' CONDO we bought for him to arrive. It's all cedar and has two porches and a space to put in a solar heater for the winter if we want. It's a lot nicer then my first apartment. But I digress.
So we settle all the animals in their perspective places....Jack (my dog) on his cushion by the fireplace. One cat on Tina's lap. The other nestled in the couch next to us, and White Kitty in the garage.
Then, of course, it began to rain.
Now we KNOW White Kitty's an outdoor cat because we've seen him around for months. But see, White Kitty is getting attention now. And Food. And two bleeding heart do-gooders who are all soft an' stuff when it comes to animals. And it KNOWS. Cats always do.
The rain came down harder. White Kitty trotted to the door. And began to cry.
"No Rich!" I can hear you all shouting. "Don't go into the dark room without a light because the psycho killer with the chainsaw is there!" Or something to that effect.
We let White Kitty in to our three-season porch.
Chaos ensued. Cat number one lost it and started hissing and growling. She actually tried to take White Kitty out via frontal assault. Cat Number two jumped to a high perch and tried a blitzkrieg-esques attack from above. White Kitty ran around the porch joyfully ignoring the two feline aggressors with a playful swat of a paw.
Jack just laid there like Ralphie's brother from 'A Christmas Story.' It was his best defense.
An hour later, we got things settled back down. White Kitty was sealed on the porch, warm and dry and content as he could be. Jack was back in his 'house,' cat number one was in Tina's and my bedroom (pouting), and cat number two was hiding upstairs in the kids' loft (for when they visit). Also pouting.
Frazzled, Tina and I went to bed. Only to be woken at 3:30 AM by White Kitty trying to breakdown the porch door.
Three cats. Now I understand why they call us 'Crazy Cat People.'
Tomorrow: Chapter Three
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