The next time you have to fight a cat………

Jun 6, 2012

If you haven’t beat the shit out of a cat before — which is good, I frown on that — I am sure you have at least wanted to choke the shit out of one. And while I would never condone starting a fight with a cat, sometimes the battle is brought to you.

How do you defend yourself? I mean, cats can be fucking vicious. Have you seen this video before?

That is not an animal that responds well to reason. That is an animal that responds to a blow dart.

The other day, the amazing woman who cuts my hair (hi Hannah!) and I were talking about evil cats. Just terrible, awful bitches who are smart and mean. She owns one. Hannah has friends…….people who love and care about her….who refuse to go over to her house and feed her cat when she is on vacation. They’re like, “I love you, Hannah, but your pet can go fuck itself.”

I encountered an evil cat many years ago when Mike and I spent the weekend at his boss’s vacation home. This cat was obviously mentally ill. We were warned to “watch out for it” when we arrived. Apparently, it would straight up attack you — from above or below, so you never knew where to look. The cat was staying downstairs, and I was TERRIFIED of it. People would be like, “Hey Meredith, could you run downstairs and grab — ” and I’d be like, “Nope.”

No shit, people.

So Hannah and I designed the ultimate cat fighting outfit. Here are the essential pieces.

1. Bee Keepers Helmet

From Beekeepingstarterkit.com. This one is called “The Excelsior.”

2. Hip Waders

Heads up — DO NOT let the cat get inside your waders. Or what was a source of comfort will quickly become a misery coffin.

3. Nike Pro Combat VIS Elbow Sleeve

I am not even fucking around, cats.

4. Street Guard Gloves with Kevlar, available from Cops Plus.

Also excellent murdering gloves, should things take a turn for the worse.

5. Broom

This is key, people. Brooms have been the weapon of choice against cats for ages.

That’s it, folks. And you aren’t going to find this information anywhere else. I tried searching for “protection from cats” and all I got was links to protection FOR cats. Thanks, Google. Way to take sides.

And if you search for “cat fight gear” you get something completely different. And let me tell you this — unless you’re in the minor leagues fighting a toothless, declawed cat with a good disposition, those tank tops and short shorts aren’t going to do shit.

The internet doesn’t want you to win your cat fight. But I have looked in the furry face of evil. It’s real, and it’s bitey.

What lies beneath.

Mar 2, 2012

My husband is a handy man. Not professionally, and not licensed, but he knows how to do EVERYTHING. Given his varied expertise, we have only had to hire people to do work on our house here and there over the years. But usually only after I talk him out of it. My husband has been known to walk into a room a) filthy, b) soaking wet, c) bleeding, or d) all of the above, and announce that his latest project has turned out to be slightly more complicated than it originally seemed. The man is brilliant, he just needs boundaries.

Because of his brilliance, I have been able to lay back and bask in my ignorance. I have been known to ask my husband to change a lightbulb for me because I “couldn’t figure out how to get the ‘thing’ off.” It’s not that I am incapable of household repairs, but I figure that it is his thing and really, it would be insensitive of me to intrude. Just like Project Runway is my thing, so I don’t ask my husband to debate with me about who made the best ballgown out of tree bark. It’s called EQUALITY, people.

This preference to lie in repose has served me well. Let me tell you a little story to demonstrate this. We had a claustrophobia-inducing crawl space underneath our old house that my husband tried to convince me to visit once or twice. I politely said, “Fuck off.”

See, honey? PLENTY of room! (Note: not our crawlspace. Not my husband. Different idiot.)

My reluctance to explore the crawl space was justified after an episode in the spring of 2008. We had just had the twins, and one night when the babies were about 3 weeks old, we awoke to a strange sound coming over the baby monitor. It sounded like a large cat hissing. We leapt out of bed. My husband grabbed his go-to method of household security, the Maglite, and we ran to the babies’ room. We saw nothing. Then the hissing sound came again, and we realized it was coming from under our feet. I immediately started hopping around, terrified that something was going to get a claw between the floorboards and grab a toe. My brave, brave husband took his Maglite and went into the crawlspace, where he shone his light around, found something staring back at him, and not-so-bravely retreated.

The next morning we called a wildlife and critter removal service to go down there and show no mercy. When he came back up, he had some interesting discoveries to share. First, he concluded that the hissing sound had come from a possum. And the reason that the possum was hissing so loudly was because it was involved in some kind of horrible murderous rampage involving a nest of baby rats and their mother.

“So there was a possum trying to murder a pile of baby rats in front of their mother not one foot below where my children sleep?” I believe I started hopping again.

“But that’s not all!” he said.

“Jesus! What else was down there?!” I said.

“It seems that the raccoons in the neighborhood have been using your crawl space as a latrine.”

“………..A what now?”

It would appear, from the enormous stash of raccoon droppings we had unknowingly been hoarding, that we were part of the local raccoons’ floor plan. “Just a quiet night for Martha and I tonight! Over to the Nelson’s for a bite to eat, maybe watch some TV through the basement window of the Whitacker’s, oh, and then over to the Bland’s to take a poop.”

Needless to say, we got the crawl space cleaned out in a hurry. And yes, we DID hire people to do that for us. My husbands’ close encounter that night in the crawl space had left him a little shaken. “Did you hear me scream?” “No, did you?” “What? No. Shut up.” And I remain assured of my rightness in not getting involved in most parts of household maintenance. Because you never know where you are going to find a possum murdering a baby rat in a raccoon’s toilet. I think that’s the moral of the story here, don’t you?

Gloria!! How are ya?! Just stopped by to drop the kids off at the pool, huh? HA! Aw come on Gloria, I'm joking with ya! Speaking of kids, I'd better get down there. I believe there are some baby rats that need a hug. IN MY MOUTH! Aw, Gloria!! Where's your sense of humor?!

My cat is an asshole.

Feb 11, 2012

I have two cats. Two fat, old, yet surprisingly healthy cats. And I love them. I loved them more before I had kids, but I do still love them. One is sweet and stupid. The other is grumpy and stupid. And the grumpy/stupid one has been a total asshole lately.

Why, kitty? Why? Can’t you give me a couple of inches to the right?

Or how about this asshole move?

I swear to god, cat.  I SWEAR TO GOD. Mike has been offering to take a shovel to you for years. I’d go ahead and settle the fuck down.

And then there is this, which I find just bitchy………..

6:35pm: I clean the litter box.

6:36pm:

No. You know what? Fuck YOU cat. “Hey, nice job you did there cleaning up the shitter! Now if you don’t mind, I am going to go ahead and immediately drop a big ol’ deuce. I’ve been holding it for hours waiting for this very moment.”

You’re lucky you are so deliciously fluffy, little cat. You wouldn’t last one second out on your own. I’ve seen you run away from things before, and “running away” means jogging just out of arm’s reach and then sitting down to take some deep breaths and check your heart rate monitor. You’d get swooped up by a hawk (a strong and deeply motivated hawk) in no time flat. And you know what, dummy? You wouldn’t even have the sense to be scared. You’d be carried away thinking, “Hey you guys………I think I’m flying………”

So stay fluffy, cat. Stay fluffy.