Today, as I washed my hands in the margarita scented foamy hand soap, and followed that up with some nice vanilla hand cream, I knew I was doomed. As soon as that vanilla creaminess hit my hands, I thought, “Shit! I should’ve checked the laundry room first!” You see, in our house, the laundry room is where the litter box and the puppy pad is. Lola, our Maltese, does not use the bathroom outside. She is too small and too white for that. She goes on a puppy pad near the litter box, and she usually misses the pad when she poops. That, of course, was the case today. As soon as I washed my hands, I had to clean up shit. So, in my head, as I was cleaning up dog shit, scooping the litter box, and then rewashing my hands, I started to come up with this list of universal truths for pet owners.
You don’t really want to know what that wet spot is.
The cat will always make it to the carpet before vomiting.
The dog will help you clean up the cat vomit.
If you have just washed your hands and put on the good, nice-smelling hand cream, you will need to clean up some sort of animal excrement from the floor within two minutes.
Always use a paper towel when picking up that unknown brown chunk from the floor. Don’t lose a game of mud or shit with yourself.
There’s really no need to buy new dog toys. Just move the couch. Your dog will think it’s Christmas.
If your dog is barking as though the SWAT team is in your yard another dog is probably walking down the street. Or a leaf blew by. Or there is a bird sitting on the bush. Or it’s the evil mail carrier.
Use earplugs if you ever want to take a nap. See above.
Just have someone else express those anal glands.
Ditto for trimming black toenails.
And cat bathing.
You could make your millions by inventing cat-ass flavored dog food, and the cat really wishes you would.
What am I missing, pet owners? What always happens in your house? Leave me a comment so we can build this list.
Andre here. I need your help in making my New Year’s Resolution a reality. As you know from reading the pet resolutions, I would like to see Sophie’s demise in 2015. I have never liked the dog because in addition to having the intelligence of snail dung, she is loud, smelly, and stupid.
By loud, I mean she interrupts naps with her incessant barking at absolutely nothing. I think the poor dear hallucinates. We have a church and a graveyard behind our home, and sometimes humans walk, either alone or with other stupid dogs, through the graveyard. I find this rather morbid, but whatever. As long as they don’t bring the canines in my home I have no quarrels with them.
Sophie, the creature’s given name is smelly because she eats her own excrement. Mother is even annoyed by it. What kind of cretin does this? Mother supplies us with two meals and two snacks daily. How much more does she need? It gives her horrible breath and she refuses to lick the mouthwash bottle like I do.
She also eats other non-food items, like the baseboards, chair legs, and cat toys. I’m not a toy playing kind of cat, but my sister Boo is, which is helpful
I have enlisted my sister’s help with the demise of this dog. Boo loves a good catnip mouse. She truly is a stoner, as you humans say. So, I have her toss cat pot mice downstairs for big and stupid. The big, ignorant dog falls right into my trap. She EATS them. Does the creature have no sense? The first time she ate an entire mouse, which had enough pot in it to last Boo for at least 6 months, I thought she would perish. I watched. I hoped. I followed her around with a gleam in my eye to witness her suffering.
And sadly, nothing happened. Sophie galloped around the living room like a horse with a lobotomy, and tossed the mouse around. She tried to engage Lola, small and yippy, in this asinine game. Lola declined, as for a dog she is not that stupid. She IS rather yippy, but I will put up with that as she is the only one who has seniority over me in this home.
Thus far, the horse dog has survived. But don’t you fret, dear reader; I will keep trying to end this creature. You have my word as a feline and a gentleman.
Note from Picabo (Boo Boo): My name is not Boo; It’s Picabo. And, I use mice medicinally. I’m not a stoner. That is so insulting. Also, Let’s get this straight right now; I did not throw the mouse down to Sophie to kill her. I was merely taking a break from my catnip and I wanted her to hold it for me for a while. I am not homicidal like my brother, though I would not miss the huge creature if she left us.
Note from Sophie: Hey you guys, Mean Kitty wrote this but I can’t quite read all of it because he uses fancy words. He likes to pretend he is from that other place with the kings and queens and the guys who wear food cans as clothes and ride horses. Can you tell me what he said in the comment section?
It’s Sophie. Mama is kind of sick and taking a nap, so I was able to grab the light square and tell you guys what’s been going on. I haven’t been allowed to write in a super long time. So, there’s kind of a lot to say. Plus, my sisters and brother want to tell you what their New Year’s resolutions are. Resolutions are like promises you make to yourself in January, and then you just totally break all your promises in like February or something. Anyway, before I do any of that I gotta tell you why I only have one furry brother now instead of two.
This is not easy to say, but Morris crossed the rainbow bridge a few days before eat a bunch of turkey and pie day. He seemed normal except for he was making some noises like he had a bad tummy ache. I was kind of keeping my eye on him, and I helped Mama find him in the laundry room when she was trying to figure out where the noises were coming from. Mama took him to the doctor, and he kept Morris in the hospital for two days. The doctor did like all kinds of pokey and camera tests on Morris and then figured out he had cancer EVERYWHERE. He even had cancer in his heart and it was prolly what was making him make that noise and be kind of lazy and stuff. So, Mama and Daddy decided to help Morris cross the rainbow bridge so he wouldn’t have that ouchy heart and tummy anymore. The doctor gave Morris a shot and he was gone. I miss my nice kitty brother but I’m glad he’s not hurting anymore.
So, that’s why only my two sisters and my one brother, Mean Kitty Andre, are going to write their resolutions. Morris’ resolution is prolly just to sleep on a cloud and eat lots of food. That’s what mine would be if I lived over the rainbow bridge.
But I’m still here in my house, so here are my resolutions.
I will be calmer to the kitties. They don’t like to play with me.
I won’t sniff Boo Boo’s butt because she runs away when I do that.
As you know, I am a trained agent who was assigned to protect this family. Currently, I do not have adequate backup. The fluffy cat, Andre, is a fierce fighter, but he is just out for himself. Unfortunately, it is necessary that I use big and stupid, I mean Sophie, as my second in command. So, my only resolution is that I will train Sophie to be proper backup so I can secure this home.
Sophie here, again. Wow. I think Andre was talking about me, except I’m not stupid. I am big and I am a dog, though. Anyway, those are our resolutions. So, what are yours? Leave us a comment and tell us what promises you made to yourself for the New Year, and if you are keeping them.
Sure – I live in a large house with my parents, the boy, and my canine and feline brother and sisters, but sometimes, I just want to move into my own place. I have found several small dwellings in my house. They seem to be delivered in a loud brown truck that pulls up on the car area outside. Even if I don’t see it the dog sisters alert me with their bark alarms. So, I jump and run to the small window near the door. A man with a brown suit carries a cat home or two to the door, and it sits outside the little window until Mother or Father or the Boy bring it in. You would think the big stupid dog would retrieve it, but she just stares at the truck and barks. This is quite useless. If I had big jaws like that, I would carry the homes in myself.
Once a human carries the cathouse in, Mother opens it with a small sword of sorts. It pops in and out like claws. She then takes out a bunch of useless and stinky things, and leaves the home on the floor for me. I enter it immediately to claim it for myself. Usually, when I leave to use the facilities, or grab a bite to eat, one of my siblings tries to steal it.
Sometimes, I find Morris, the fat, orange useless male, or Boo Boo, my sister who poops on the floor in my home. I let them know in no uncertain terms that it is MY HOUSE. By let them know, I mean I kick their asses. I’m not afraid to let them know who is boss. I’m the alpha here. Even big and stupid knows it.
I wish I could say that my cathouses last forever, but they don’t. Mysteriously, something always happens to them. Sometimes, I find them flattened, and other times they just disappear entirely. I used to suspect that some sort of sorcery or weather issue was to blame for this. Then, I caught Mother cutting up my house with her claw sword. So, when I do have a house of my own, I enjoy it and have everyone take pictures of me in it. I want to share a few with you here.
Sophie here. I’ve been embarrassed to talk about this, but since Mean Kitty already told you about the time I almost died, I figured I should probably tell you my side. As usual, Mean Kitty makes it sound like I’m just super stupid and decided to eat a poisonous tree. Um, no. That’s not how it happened.
Well, if you’ve read some of my other blogs, you know I like to chew stuff because it makes my teeth happy. Plus, it’s just something to do, you know? I’m home all day with boring Mama, cats, and an older dog that looks like a puppy (this still confuses me). Anyway, mama never plays with me because she is always staring at her light square, and kitties don’t really like to play. They just sleep, eat, and make motor or snake noises. They are super weird. Lola, my little dog older sister, plays with me, but she gets tired because she is like 70 in people time. So, a lot of times, I just sit and chew on something. I really like to chew on wood. I’ve chewed on a lot of wooden things in the house. Mama even got me a toy that was made of some kind of fake wood that I was allowed to chew on. I guess she didn’t like it when I left teeth marks on the dining room chairs.
I don’t just chew inside wood. Sometimes, I chew outside stuff, too. I have eaten some of the plants in my back yard. It’s OK though because Daddy made sure that he didn’t plant anything poisonous because he is a dog-loving kind of guy, and he knew I would probably chew on stuff. He forgot to check all of the trees though.
So, one day, like last fall, I was outside and I noticed this one tree that was different from the other trees in my yard. Most of the trees in my yard look like Christmas tress, but without the tasty ornaments and little blanket thing. This tree was really different, and it had pretty red berries on it. Red is usually a yummy color. Apples are red and I like them. So, I started nibbling at the tree a bit. Then, I went inside and had a cookie.
A little bit after that, Mama was sitting on the couch listening to people talk on the light square, and I was on the floor snoozing. My stomach started biting me and it woke me up. I went to the back door because I figured I had to poop, but Mama was just staring at the light square and didn’t see me. So, I just pooped all over the floor. Then, I walked a little bit and pooped again. I started to throw up, too. That’s when Mama noticed me. I had foamy stuff coming out of my mouth. She told me to go outside, and she called Daddy. Daddy came out to the back yard and put shorts on me because my butt was leaking. He put me in the car and took me to the doctor. I felt so sick at this point that someone had to carry me in to the doctor’s office.
I stayed in the hospital for like a really long time. I had all of these needles in me and bags of water stuff around me. I couldn’t eat food for days. I heard the doctor tell Mama and Daddy that she thought I was gonna cross the rainbow bridge because my tail wasn’t wagging like it usually does. But, the medicine worked and I’m still here.
While I was at the hospital, Mama was trying to figure out why I got so sick. First, she thought someone poisoned me. Then, she thought maybe I ate something outside. Daddy and the doctor told Mama that I just got into something and not to worry about it. Mama always worries though because she is a mama. One day, while she was looking around the back yard, she spotted that tree with the red berries and she just knew. See! She really is a witch.
Daddy took a piece of the tree to the plant store and they told him it was a Hawthorn tree. Hey, people and other dogs reading this, pay attention. Hawthorn trees are really bad for dogs. They are poisonous. Do not eat them, even if wood makes your teeth happy. Your tummy will be SO NOT happy. Plus, you could die. If my little older sister Lola had eaten some of that tree, she would have died because she is smaller than me.
So, I didn’t try to kill myself like Mean Kitty was saying. I just thought it was a good, normal tree and I wanted something to chew on. That tree isn’t in my yard anymore. Mama and Daddy had some guys take it out. You should make sure you don’t have one in your yard.
Thanks for reading this. If you like my blogs, leave me a comment. I will answer you.
I asked Trample (Sophie) to carry the light square up to my undisclosed location in the house so I could alert you to my scary situation. She is both the largest and stupidest pet, so she is the only one who could venture down to the common area to do this errand for me. You see, we have been invaded, and I fear for my life. I may even starve to death, as I have not eaten in 72 minutes.
I won’t be able to eat third lunch or first dinner because the food bowl is down the stairs in the small room where the litter boxes and the loud fur washing machines are. I don’t dare leave my hiding place as I suspect I would be killed. There are strangers in my house, and they smell and sound like monsters.
It all started shortly after my third afternoon nap, right after second lunch. The bell noise rang and my canine sisters sounded the bark alarm. I immediately ran upstairs to Mother’s book room, where my favorite daytime couch is. From there, I could look out the window and what I saw horrified me. There were at least four of those wheeled things that humans use to take poor, unsuspecting creatures to the vet. So, my first thought was that we were all going to the doctor. I hid behind the couch as any sane individual would. Little did I know it was worse than I imagined.
Several strange humans entered my home. I heard noise, a lot of noise, and strange smells. None of the smells were tuna fish or decent cat food. There were stinky drinks and bad human food smells, oh and feet. The humans removed their paw protectors and left their scent everywhere. This is when I made a run for the closet, or as I like to call it the panic room.
I have been here ever since. As I have mentioned, my access to nourishment has been blocked. You know a manly cat of my frame needs a constant intake of calories. I may starve, or at least drop a few ounces. Please send help when you read this. The vet may be able to revive me with proper nourishment and fluids. Until then, I will stay here amongst Mother’s shoes.
Hi, light square people. I just figured something out about Mama and it made me super sick to my stomach. Like, I almost didn’t eat dinner, but then I did because dinner is tasty. So, you guys, I just found out that my mama is a witch.
Now, some of you out there who know my mama, and maybe went to school with her, or live near us, are bobbing your heads up and down and saying, “yes, Sophie. She is a bitch.” But I said WITCH. I’m not talking about mean and grouchy, or female dog. I’m talking about magic. My mama has special powers, and she just acts like a witch. Here’s my proof.
The most magical thing Mama did was train Morris how to beg. Everyone knows that you can’t train a CAT!
See, my mama IS a witch. This kind of scares me because witches love cats and can even become cats. You never see a witch with a dog, even a pretty black dog like me. So, I hope Mama doesn’t try to turn me into a cat. Then, I would eat really slow and make snake noises. Humans, please leave a comment for Mama and tell her not to be a cat witch. Thank you. Sophie
I was not scheduled to write until next week, but this is an emergency. I need your help right this minute. If you have read my work before, you know that I am a secret agent or Designed Operational Guard. My work here in this house is very important. I am not a mere yippie white dog, as Andre would have you believe. I am a high-ranking member of the espionage community. Just like James Bond and Inspector Gadget, I have my tools of the trade. One of those tools was stolen from me.
You have all probably noticed my beautiful necklace in my photos. While I am very much into fashion, this necklace is not just your average bling. It contains my secret agent identification and credentials. Take a good look at this picture, and make sure you have not seen this essential apparatus in any of your local pawnshops or pet stores.
As you can plainly see, it has my name on it. What you cannot see is the microchip inside of the charm. It contains data that would be useful to the enemy agents: Communist Asshole Torturers, or C.A.Ts. I have three of them in my home. While it is possible one of them took it, I think the swiping more likely occurred at the beauty shop.
I had to go tend to my grooming last week. A shampoo, cut, and style were very much needed. When you work as hard as I do to protect your humans, it is easy to forget to keep up your own appearance. As per protocol, my necklace was removed before my bath. That was the last time I saw it. This means one of two things happened:
A C.A.T at the beauty shop stole my necklace and has already scanned it, shared the data, and is planning world domination RIGHT NOW.
Father neglected to take it from the top of my carrier and put it back around my neck after he picked me up from the spa.
Until my identification is found, you should all consider yourselves to be at risk for a C.A.T invasion. Please keep a squirt bottle and a large dog near you at all times. Do not open a can of tuna or purchase any catnip until I tell you it is safe to do so. As a precaution, I have already begun interrogating the cats in my home. Please watch this short video to observe my top secret technique.
Update: Mother found my necklace clipped to the handle of my carrier in the garage. My apologies to Andre. Please carry on, now.
The other evening after I had settled into my nighttime spot on the soft red couch blanket, mother came out of her chambers dressed in the clothes she wears to leave the house. This was weird because she had already gone to bed for the night. I know this because she let that big, black stupid thing go outside to do its personal business. I don’t know why the creature cannot use the littler box as nature intended.
Mother left the house even though the sun had gone to bed hours ago. She was gone for quite a while, and I started to be concerned. Not only was she gone, but Father had left earlier that day carrying one of those things the humans take with them when they abandon us for a while.
My first thought was, “how I am I going to open my food with no thumbs?” Then, I wondered how soiled my litter would become without mother and her scoop. Finally, I began to plan how I would kill the big dog for food when my feline siblings and I could not get the door to the food room open.
Right as I was about to jump on the counter to try to get a knife from the block, Mother came in with the Boy. This was strange because the Boy had left with the Girl earlier in the evening. Normally, when they go out together they also come back together.
The Boy did not seem like himself. He sat on the couch with Mother. Normally, he likes to be in a different room from Mother, either the one with his bed or the one with the big TV. I jumped up on the Boy’s lap because he is my brother and I was worried about him.
There were some strange smells on him. His sweater smelled like that sweet fizzy drink he likes, the brown one. I also noticed that he smelled like the inside of a car. I hate that smell because it normally means I’m going to the doctor. I hate the doctor because he blows air at me that makes me go to sleep so I can’t kill him.
I noticed that the Boy had more water in his eyes than usual. It was fresh eye water, and some was dried on his cheeks. Normally, I would help by cleaning his face, but he pushed me off of his lap. So, like a gentleman, I stayed near him and allowed the white yippie dog to do her inspection.
Big, black, and stupid kept pawing at the Boy and trying to get him to play with her nasty, spit-filled toys. Of course, the Boy had no interest. Could the stupid creature not see that he was ill or sad or something. Could she not smell the scents on him and see the eye water?
I got angry because I knew that someone had hurt my brother. I don’t know what Mother was saying to him, but she was using her love voice, the one she uses if she has to give me medicine. I hate medicine. So, I knew something was wrong. I don’t have my paw swords anymore or I would have caused damage to the person who hurt the Boy. Instead, I jumped up on the back of the couch and kept watch over him.
I’m still not sure what happened to him, but Mother has been typing feverishly on her light square. So, I am certain you will hear the whole story on Thursday. She is a fierce mama cat. I’m surprised she didn’t bring home the carcass of the culprit.
I just read that libelous blog written by my tiger brother, Morris. While I would rather you not waste your time on such trash, you simply must read this garbage in order to understand my embarrassment and my anger. Here it is. Give it a quick skim; it’s not worth a full read.
Are you back? OK. As you can clearly see that orange moron accuses me of drug use and, um, having accidents. The embarrassing truth is that I have been having accidents. It’s unfortunate, but true. I refuse to lie about it. However, I do not use drugs. Yes, I do have a little catnip from time to time, but it is a harmless herb, not a drug. It’s not like I’m drinking the little stinky drinks like Mother does.
The reason I’m having accidents is because I am getting old. I’ve been trying to ignore the truth and keep up the façade of youth. That is why I sometimes just tear off running through the house like my tail is on fire, or try to wrestle my brother Andre even though he is larger and homicidal. I have been trying to maintain some semblance of kittenhood. Sadly, it is not to be. I am an old lady cat.
Like a lot of human women, my first clue was the devilish temperature increases known as hot flashes. They are miserable, aren’t they ladies? I try to find relief by lying on the cold tile, or staying near the air vent. I also drink a lot of water when it doesn’t stink of the large dog’s mouth. She is vile.
My next clue was my mood changes. I’ve become more secretive, and clingy. I hide in mother’s office and refuse to leave. I dive behind the couch or under the bed when I sense she is trying to shoo me out. I simply won’t stand for it. I need to be away from the dogs and this is the only way to do it.
Of course, my final sign was my, um accidents. I can’t seem to hold my bowels like I used to. When I have to go, it’s a sudden urge, like I have to release a beast from my behind or something. I just can’t wait until I get to the litter. I must squat wherever I am and push the feces from my body. Plus, I have arthritis in my toes. Have you ever walked on rocks? How about with arthritis?
Humans, thank you for bearing with me while I discuss such private things. I appreciate your kindness. While I will try my best to remain close to a litter box at all times, I can’t promise there will be no more accidents. It’s a part of aging. If only there were Depend undergarments in my size.