I'm not much of a blogger, but as my friend, joedangerpants, tells me, one must blog in order to make oneself known on SG. So here goes:
My cat is an evil mastermind. Yes. He was a Valentine's day gift about two years ago, and was chosen for his mixture of beauty and boisterousness. Rational persons know this to be a dangerous combination of traits in humans. Perhaps the same consideration should be extended to the selection of pets.
Zooey proved to be entertaining, cute, and affectionate, but also surprisingly intelligent. He quickly learned to open cabinet doors as a small kitten, and then progressed to opening the fridge when mom was at work, selecting his desired object and leaving the rest of the food to spoil. Finally, he mastered doorknobs, ensuring a lack of privacy for me and a lack of security for all the things I loved: a red feathered bra I'd brought back from Florence (he'd find it no matter how deeply I'd buried it in the drawer), a pair of gold sequined kitten heels that apparently screamed "chew toy," and of course, absolutely anything made of glass from picture frames and lowballs to a ceramic incense burner my sister had given me. However, I loved him more than any of these things (can you say dysfunctional relationship?) and forbore from murdering him.
But lately, I feel his intelligence may have morphed into insanity. He is as mercurial as any paranoid schizo, purring and loveable one moment and brutally vicious the next. Here's the thing: When I'm getting ready for work in the morning, he wants to be petted and tries to drink from the sink when I'm doing my makeup, but when I'm actually getting dressed--specifically when I'm putting on my pants, he goes from sweet to psycho like a lightswitch. His pupils dilate, his ears draw back, and an unsettling moan erupts from his throat. Then, suddenly, he lurches forward and sinks his teeth into my leg, wrapping his front legs around me in a death grip. It's not playtime. No, it's a methodical and clear attack. And it's completely unprovoked.
Of course, I've considered that he's trying to prevent me from leaving, and he knows that slacks are a symbol of mommy going to work. But what's with the extreme violence? Is he criminally insane? Does he really believe that hurting me will make me stay? If he were a human, I'd be so outta here. But he's just a cat.
Right?
Anyway, I'm going out of town for a few days this week, and I need someone to come and feed Zooey. Any takers?
My cat is an evil mastermind. Yes. He was a Valentine's day gift about two years ago, and was chosen for his mixture of beauty and boisterousness. Rational persons know this to be a dangerous combination of traits in humans. Perhaps the same consideration should be extended to the selection of pets.
Zooey proved to be entertaining, cute, and affectionate, but also surprisingly intelligent. He quickly learned to open cabinet doors as a small kitten, and then progressed to opening the fridge when mom was at work, selecting his desired object and leaving the rest of the food to spoil. Finally, he mastered doorknobs, ensuring a lack of privacy for me and a lack of security for all the things I loved: a red feathered bra I'd brought back from Florence (he'd find it no matter how deeply I'd buried it in the drawer), a pair of gold sequined kitten heels that apparently screamed "chew toy," and of course, absolutely anything made of glass from picture frames and lowballs to a ceramic incense burner my sister had given me. However, I loved him more than any of these things (can you say dysfunctional relationship?) and forbore from murdering him.
But lately, I feel his intelligence may have morphed into insanity. He is as mercurial as any paranoid schizo, purring and loveable one moment and brutally vicious the next. Here's the thing: When I'm getting ready for work in the morning, he wants to be petted and tries to drink from the sink when I'm doing my makeup, but when I'm actually getting dressed--specifically when I'm putting on my pants, he goes from sweet to psycho like a lightswitch. His pupils dilate, his ears draw back, and an unsettling moan erupts from his throat. Then, suddenly, he lurches forward and sinks his teeth into my leg, wrapping his front legs around me in a death grip. It's not playtime. No, it's a methodical and clear attack. And it's completely unprovoked.
Of course, I've considered that he's trying to prevent me from leaving, and he knows that slacks are a symbol of mommy going to work. But what's with the extreme violence? Is he criminally insane? Does he really believe that hurting me will make me stay? If he were a human, I'd be so outta here. But he's just a cat.
Right?
Anyway, I'm going out of town for a few days this week, and I need someone to come and feed Zooey. Any takers?
i'd watch Zooey but i'm busy this week.