Another few months have passed, and I have accumulated so many lovely cat pictures I just have to share. Along with some silly stories and facts about my feline roommates.
This is more of a little picture gallery for myself to aww and nawww over than anything serious, but I find those little tidbits are the stuff that makes life most worthwhile.
Let’s get into it, there’s much to be shown!
Tiny, Furry Burglars
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If there’s one thing my partner dreads most of all, then it’s tiny, furry burglars breaking and entering into his home office, knocking over glasses, feasting on his snacks and plants, blocking the couch, standing on his keyboard, or demanding pets in the loudest of voices.
Yes, a much-dreaded scenario leading to him locking the door whenever he gets a chance and racing the cats for his room to lock them out before they can crawl under his furniture and only emerge to beg to be let out (but then refuse to actually leave) a few hours later.
Much to his dismay, one of our cats is blessed with a considerable intellect, thus leading to them facing off in cognitive intrigues in the war for his office day after day.
Then again, we have another cat who simply screams at the top of her lungs until he worriedly gets up to look for her, only to discover she plopped down somewhere on the floor, rolling on her back and awaiting the gracious pets.
He’s much too good-natured to refuse, and thus both my kitties have wormed their way into his day-to-day life, unmovable, unbothered.
Cats Are Gymnasts, Actually
I think cats could be some of the greatest gymnasts in the world.
This year, I have rearranged quite a lot of furniture, and every single time it is accompanied by lengthy and very much lofty climbs from both the cats, who scale whatever is new, in the area, or just generally around.
They are true acrobats, attempting to even balance on ropes and strings like circus acrobats once or twice (to no avail, other than absolute hellscape messes in our flat).
What amazes me even more? Their odd abilities to sleep in the most knotted twists and oddest containers.
Just yesterday, I sat on my PC, legs drawn to my chest, and my cat started climbing me like a mountain. She kept trying, although slipping off numerous times, trying to burrow into crevices and generally being a bother.
The story ends like so many regarding Nala, our true household princess: she wins.
I rearrange my legs into a much more comfortable position for her to lay in, which is unfortunately much less so for myself.
Nala and the Feet of Doom
One more thing about Nala: she LOVES anything stinky.
Favourite thing to lay on: very stinky bag with moist bathing clothes inside.
Fav blankie: sports shirts.
Fav body part… welp, it’s feet.
Since she entered this domicile, our feet have learned what true fear means. One wrong move and it’s all over. There is no sock, not even a slipper, that could shield us from her clawed strikes.
She is merciless and swift, and the pain brutal—deadly, even, perhaps.
There are instances where she even pierces my thick double-layer terry-cloth-clad winter-planked feet, landing a painful jab at the underside of my heel.
I count myself lucky to only have so many appendages.
Puke Buddies
A not very appetizing story, but somehow an anecdote I hold quite dear, is how I became “puke buddies” with one of my cats.
A few weeks ago, both of my kitties had caught a stomach flu. I’ll try to spare you most of the unappetizing details, but for the story, one escapade is crucial:
The morning after the first cat had contracted the nasty flu, I opened my door to a clean apartment.
“Great,” I thought. “No throwing up at night.”
This thought occurred simultaneously with my other cat stumbling into my just-opened bedroom, where she looked around for one second and, as if prompted, immediately projectile-vomited all over a cardboard sheet I had laid out on the floor to do crafts on.
To make a short story short: it’s a whole mess, and I empathetically pat my cat Mina’s back until she’s done, to then disgustedly carry out the entirety of the cardboard and toss it into the trash downstairs.
Well, well, well, I thought. That’s what parenting must feel like.
Mina was not permitted back into my room the following day.
Jumping a few weeks ahead: after a night out drinking, I had an uncomfortable appointment with our porcelain throne in the aftermath of it all.
It just so happens that the bath is also where Mina spends most of her nights, curled up in a proper cinnamon roll.
This benevolent angel, however, is quite tolerant of my disruption with my unruly after-drinks activities, though. So much indeed, that she comes up to me whenever the hurling starts and rubs against my leg until I’m done.
She even allows me to pet her in between bouts, although I must be the grossest, most miserable wretch there can be at that point.
I might just have found the most empathetic-to-throwing-up creature in the entire city (she has a very delicate stomach in general).
Somehow, I felt lucky in those most miserable hours of the deep, dark night. All thanks to a companion who knew my suffering and offered me utmost kindness.
Thank you, Mina. I love you so much.
