cat

Street Taco

Now normally… karma is something attached to your life now but it doesn’t kick in until your next life. Think of it as a kind of inheritance for your kids but way more important because it is going to the future you. So if you do something bad then you are just packing that karma bag full of unclaimed turds from the dog park for future you to sift through on a hot summer day. But if you are good and spread the love then you are packing the overnight delivery full of happiness, love, drugs, and money so that future you has an even more chill life and eventually you can reach Nirvana. Thats how I like to picture it.

My own karma is a thoroughly mixed bag but one of my latest deposits was a bag of dead pets into a waste management can in a pink shoe box. I am not exactly in the black on this account. I get it. So that is why what happened last Thursday should be more understandable. It started when I came back to the office from lunch. There was a small shabby kitten hanging around the foyer. Some do-gooder volunteer had prepared a kitty cat similac in a small bowl. The cat tried some the non-dairy creamer and water concoction and was not impressed. He mewed and chased everyone trying to get inside and be held. He was pitiful. I left the office for a field visit and I had high hopes that he would be gone when I returned.

Upon my return I found that he had not left and, even worse, had taken refuge under my tires to get out of the blistering 87 degree sun. Here was a sweet helpless baby cat that I can guarantee would be dead tomorrow. Don’t read anything into that. I wasn’t going to find a sack. He didn’t threaten my children, eat his brother, or try to bite me. It is a strict list.

SO I did what any reasonable man would do and picked up the little kitty kitty and put him in my passenger seat. All the while telling myself the age old lie that “We will get him healthy and clean and find him a great home.” We’ve done the first two and the rest of my family feels that number three is already satisfied as well.

Fast forward three days. We have a cat named Street Taco. The kids think Lucifer Long Tail is the correct name but I disagree and I have a blog and those girls don’t so here we are naming this fucking cat Street Taco because our dog is Judy Cornbread and a food theme seems fun. I think Taco for short. Everybody don’t need to know he came from the streets.

SO for all the people worried that I had too much baggage on the back side of my karma; I saved a life. That has to count for something. The kids are happy. The cat is happy. The other cat is miserable. The dog is confused. You’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Crystal Cat Litter

Let’s talk about cats.

One of the banes of my existence…

is cleaning out the cat litterbox. I don’t even know if I have multiple banes or just one but either way the litter box is tops. We have to keep the box in a cabinet with a half-cracked door so only the cat can squeeze in and out. If we don’t then our dogs constantly sneak into the laundry room and eat hot-n-ready cat snacks. I generally wouldn’t mind because I think people (and dogs) should be free to live their best life but all the attempted face licks and crumbles of litter expanding in the water bowl are too much. I tried switching to the minty litter and telling myself it was good for the dogs’ breath but I knew… Then they puked a belly of sparkle minty cat cookies in the foyer only to eat them again and puke them again elsewhere. So… in the cabinet the box goes. Out of sight. Out of mind.

The trouble with the out-of-sight approach is that I forget about it. Not for a day or two but for a week. I remember when I start seeing cat tracks created by standing in super-saturated litter and then walking across the hardwood. How is the litter wet? How does my cat pee that much? Does she have cat diabetes or something? It just seems to happen too quickly. There is more liquid in the box than I have physically put in her water bowl. Physics can’t explain. At that point, the litter is so soggy and soaked that I just throw the whole pan in the trash and empty a new thing of litter. Glamorous.

I’d feel bad but I didn’t want the damned cat and a pregnancy fourteen years ago was the excuse for why I needed to be the primary cat-shit handler. Apparently there is a risk of toxoplasma-something that is bad for babies. Once baby Jane and her three other siblings were born and I had my snip, I made an appeal to transfer cat duties to Supermom but I was denied a hearing. So I am trying to do it poorly until I am relieved of my curse.

Which brings me to my story.

In a particularly bad round of litterbox forgetfulness, the cat decided that the dense fog of ammonia hanging over a mound of moist turds was too much. She made the executive decision to piss and shit on my favorite jacket for what smelled like three to four days. Side note: The lavender scoops of scented pellets (that are supposed to give laundry a relaxed feel) transform into anxiety and shame when mixed with a tainted jacket.

Supermom got tired of hearing me fuss about a jacket that used to be my favorite but now I drag around the perimeter of my property to ward off strays. She bought a fancy automatic litterbox. The box advertised a laser and special litter “crystals”. There was even a hunched cat that looked satisfied to be relieving himself. There is a timer to optimize turd drying time and minimize accidentally scooping the cat into the dump tray. What more could a lazy cat owner hope for?

But this my dear friends …is where things go wrong.

Since the previous box was an enclosed cave sort of deal we decided that Cat might be confused. We decided that she needed an introduction to this new golden toilet.

We wanted the date to go well. We needed it to. I couldn’t afford to lose another jacket in the midst of winter.

We removed the old seepy box of litter and arranged the new space-aged box in its place. Supermom placed Cat in the new litter so she could know this was her new bathroom. The fancy “crystal” litter made a sound that was slightly like scooping ice out of a cooler. Cats don’t use coolers or ice so Cat was sure that she had been placed in crushed glass. She tried to run and Supermom held out her hand to block the exit. This made Cat more concerned and she tried another route to escape. At this point I stepped up to help keep her corralled in the litter pan. She panicked and tried to run but found little purchase for her tiny paws in the fancy litter.

Supermom set Cat free and we retreated to discuss everything we did not achieve.

By setting up a cascade of panic we ensured that no matter where Cat decided to shit, it would 100% NOT be in the new litterbox. She was so panicked that we couldn’t find her for an hour.

The cheap Walmart box that worked for ten years was replaced by an expensive box that failed on day one. Fantastic.

I will never own another cat. Easy life was not meant for me and neither are cats. They can stay outside and shit in any old crack in the ground where a hundred natural animals can then eat it up and it not require a scoop or fancy timed turd rake. Yum. Yay nature.

If your best intended plans ever backfire, this post is for you. We did coax the cat into using the box by hiding an old turd in it and locking her in the room. She had food, water, and a litterbox; cat prison. It worked. You’re welcome. I don’t have an answer for the smell in the jacket. Maybe fire.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

A Case of Cant-Evens

I’m thankful for many things in life. I have one of the most blessed, first-world, placid existences that anyone could hope for. My girls are wonderful people. My wife is my beautiful partner in crime. We don’t worry about where our next meals come from or if we can afford medical care for our children. Our sink produces some of the best quality water in the world. These things make us extremely lucky in the game of life.

I only mention these things to preface the fact that I want to spend a few minutes bitching about small pointless things. Things to which I cant even…

TGI Fridays: We were greeted by a ho-hum staff of three sixteen year old hostesses who were training each other in the art of taking people to their seat. They giggled about seating a particular server five times in the last thirty minutes. Hilarious joke because we would be receiving poor service. I’m quite certain that I had to clean a booger off my chair before sitting down. I went to the bathroom to pee and possibly vomit from the booger incident and our server was talking on his cell phone. It didn’t even sound important. His conversation could have been mistaken for middle school yammering with that cute girl who has you in the friend zone. I know what that sounds like buddy and you are in the friends-zone. My tea was old. The food was weak. Then to top it off our bill had a suggested tip of 18% written in bold right under the total. I’m a consistent 20% kind of guy but I barely got 10% service and for my receipt to make the assumption that I should just fill in the blank with a “calculated” tip is insane. Congrats TGI Friday, your effort to alienate me at every opportunity has borne fruit. Your skillful combination of fast-food quality meals coupled with five-star dining prices has ensured I am done as a customer.
Cat: My cat has become entirely too comfortable with personal space. She tries to sleep on Supermom’s face sometimes. When we are eating nighttime snacks she has been progressively encroaching on us. Tonight we enjoyed some nachos. My favorite part is rounding up the crumbs and little bits of cheese. Not tonight because some asshole ruined it.
Laziness in Manufacturing: In the past week I have noticed some laziness in my processed foods. My elbow shaped Macaroni and Cheese had a Velveeta Shells and Cheese noodle in the mix. Then, in my bowl of mini-ravioli, a stray Spagettio. What’s next? These may seem like small issues but the implications are large. How does something from one process end up in another? There is just an air of apathy to it all. Then, to top it all off, I went and got a Nutty Buddy because my nacho crumb snack was ruined and what did I find? More half-assed snackery.
Tapered edge cheats me of delicious wafer and peanut butter enjoyment. Once again the little man pays in the name of profit! (I still love you guys. At least you aren’t TGIF.)
Judy Cornbread: This goofball of a dog is killing me. She got into some kind of stinging insect in the backyard and enjoyed an allergic reaction. She looked like Popeye for a couple of days. We spent a few hours making pirate jokes. They are even funnier when you know this dog and the fact that she is scared of cardboard boxes and bed sheets.
Arrgh matey. Curiosity kills the cat but just makes me look silly.

If you have little things that annoy you despite your best efforts to be thankful, this post is for you. You’re welcome. We got school photos in this week. They are ever bit as funny as last time. Just so you know to keep a lookout.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Ides of September

You just never know what to expect at our house. These past few weeks have been no exception. I walked into the living room yesterday morning and Kolaso the rabbit was sitting beside Jane on the couch watching cartoons. He has been neglected a little lately with all the new pets cycling through so I was glad to see him getting some love. Just a normal morning around here.

We recently fostered a squirrel baby who lost his mother and hurt his leg. His name is Phillip.

He loves to hang on the front of your shirt like you are a tree and he loves his special milk. For anyone taking notes the milk is puppy formula with heavy cream mixed in and he is growing really well. He should be big enough to release back into the great outdoors here soon. The girls are no longer surprised when we get a new animal to look at, they are mildly interested and learn just enough to tell their friends at school.

Our other “new” pet Judy Cornbread has been growing quickly and is still working on her place in the pack (the bottom). We think she might have the dog version of pica because she really enjoys eating plastic pieces that she chews out of cups and water bottles. This is extra fun because she will randomly puke up a wad of flotsam that has been rolled around in her stomach. They look like an owl pellet if owls ate small plastic toys. Sometimes it is worse than owl pellets. Sometimes she gets carsick like on Labor Day weekend on a long car ride to the river. I heard a slimy sound and smelled something akin to grease and corn chips for about five miles. It was dog vomit.

Oh God. Look at the bubbles. I can still smell it.

At least she is potty trained now. Crazy mutt.

The cat has been getting in the story mix as well. This morning I stumbled into the kitchen in my early morning haze and heard a desperate meow. I couldn’t tell where it was coming from but luckily the cat talks with me when I say, “caaaat”. She responded to my voice in an impromptu game of Marco Polo that led me to the stove. Confusing because there is only one way to get stuck behind the stove and that is from falling behind it against the wall. I noticed our bacon grease container had been knocked over near the edge of the abyss.

Mystery solved.

I slid the stove out and the poor cat began singing my praises. Meow-lelujahs. She had been wedged in one place while the spilled bacon grease slowly dripped on her rear end. I don’t know how long she was back there but it was long enough for her entire bottom half to resemble Danny Zuko’s hair.

So instead of making my coffee I held the cat under the sink faucet and scrubbed her butt with Dawn dish detergent for the better part of five minutes. She still looks like the napkin under microwaved bacon. Another added bonus, the smell of old grease is well dispersed in the kitchen. This brings us back around to Ms. Judy Cornbread who already has a mild obsession with the cat. She knows the cat is a friend but her instincts tell her to be really, really interested. If the cat were outdoors and ran away fast enough I think Judy would try to eat her. Fair enough because I think if the cat were bigger she would try to eat us. Now that Judy suspects the cat is bacon flavored she has been hovering around the kitchen and licking her lips. Strange to see your children thinking of eating each other but…. Nature.

In non-pet-related news, someone in our neighborhood called several homes in to the local City inspectors for grass that was longer than the regulation of six inches. It wasn’t at the time but if I’m going to be accused, I might as well be guilty. Game on assholes, game on. It needs to be mowed for sure but public nuisance… hardly. I can’t believe they called me out on this while the dead pumpkins were a non-issue for nine months.

I am counting down the days to our cabin in the woods. (It is hard to count when I don’t really have an estimated timeframe but I long for it.)

I haven’t been writing much of anything. Life is busy. Work is interesting because we are in the dry season which = work season. I designed a new outlet system for lakes and we are finishing the installation this week.

I have an underused engineering blog where I will put the details and story for all you STEM nerds. Also, we are taking a vacation to Arizona soon to Sedona. We want to see the Grand Canyon and the beauty of the southwest for our tenth anniversary.

If you hang around and wait for new stories, this post is for you. Thank you! Oh and you’re welcome.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.

Do We Become Our Pets

Have you ever seen someone walking a dog and thought, “Wow, pets really do match their owners.”? I have on several occasions. Check out some pictures of dogs and their owners.

Creepy right? Funny too, but creepy.

That makes me wonder if the phenomenon applies to all pets. Which pet do I favor?

Is it the dog, Biscuit?

I don’t wear diapers but I do have to pee a lot. I assume it is because I drink lots of water but maybe I am sympathizing. I have selective hearing and I am getting some grey in my hair. I want to lay around but am nervous that something will pounce on me. Hmmm.

Maybe I am more like the cat?

I like to snuggle up to Supermom because she is warm. I clunk around late at night and knock things over. I also prefer my bathroom time to be private time, which is something that only the cat can relate to. I can’t pay these people to shut a freaking door. And for God’s sake, flush the toilet!

No. I don’t think I am exactly like the cat either. Maybe the wallaby.

While I do have several stories about how I am an idiot, this guy is actually stupid. I refuse to think I am anything like the wallaby.

They are dumb as a box of rocks. I don’t know how wallabies have evaded natural selection for so long. Check out this picture.

He sees his reflection in the door and engages in a fight for dominance. FOR. HOURS. Other times he thinks the glass is a portal to another world. Like the brick wall that leads to the Hogwarts Train, he hops at normal speed and plows into it face first. Five minutes later… same thing.

He also has no control over his urges because we haven’t chopped off his man-berries yet. Poor yellow-dog. He has endured things that no stuffed animal should have to suffer. Yellow dog is part of Toby’s harem of stuffed animals and pillows. As he hops through his kingdom he might decide to stop and have an afternoon delight at any moment. Definitely not a leisure that I enjoy but then again he isn’t married. Just to be clear and not totally weird, I meant afternoon sex and not the leisure of humping stuffed animals. You know what… nevermind. Moving on.

Toby also eats crayons. He searches them out from the couch cushions, under the edge of the recliner, and from various nooks and crannies around the house. If you don’t catch him immediately, he will plow through the whole crayon like a wood chipper. There will be a few pieces of paper from the wrapper and some oddly colored poo balls in a few days. He likes chalk too. I can see chalk for mineral deficiency or whatnot but who is short on wax? I am waiting on the day I have to explain to a vet that he died from a 64 pack of crayolas.

DR: “What happened?”

ME: “He overdosed on Burnt Umber.”

DR: “Tragic. We need more awareness for Obsessive Wallaby Crayonitis, O.W.C. is a real problem.”

ME: “Yep.”

Stupid wallaby.

If you ever wonder what your pets might be saying about you, this post is for you. Apparently mine say I’m incontinent, I vomit hairballs, and I walk into solid surfaces expecting to magically pass right through. You’re welcome.

Tell me about your pet and what they say about you. I am curious.

-Underdaddy to the rescue.