Now It’s the Dog’s Turn to Look at My Butt, I Guess

So, even though the dog enjoys walking at the park, which is a much more challenging walk than our morning walks, she has started being a big baby about walking in the morning. She walks behind me like a recalcitrant schoolgirl, who’s not that anxious to get to class. But then, when we turn around, she still walks behind me like she regrets having to make the effort to get home. And then, when we get back to the yard, where she can run free, she still walks behind me like that’s just where she wants to be, creeping up on me.

And today, guess who hit her?

No. Not New Kitty. The orange cat. Who also waited yesterday for the Butcher to put down his glass of milk so that he could stick his whole face right in the cup.

No more Jason Statham movies for that cat. He just starts strutting around the house like he might fight any one of us at any minute.

Speaking of Jason Statham movies, we watched another movie where he kidnaps/rescues an Asian chick!

It’s gotten so noticeable now that the Butcher was all “He’s our generation’s Jessica Fletcher, isn’t he?”

And our friend, T. was all, “What do you mean?”

And the Butcher said, “Where you start to think maybe he just fakes solving the crime he’s busy committing.”

I’m just saying, if you’re an Asian woman and you find yourself in a Jason Statham movie, just go ahead and get in his car. You’re going to end up there anyway, so you might as well save yourself the effort of trying to escape your fate. Hell, maybe if you get in his car before the gun fight starts, he’ll have time to run you through the drive-through at McDonald’s before the bullets start flying.

In all seriousness, I would love to read someone’s commentary on this. It’s apparently a pretty appealing fantasy to Statham’s audience, seeing as it’s featured so often. But I’d like to read someone smart’s thoughts on why.

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Random Thoughts

1. The State Museum it is. I had a plan for the State Library, but I don’t for the State Museum.

2. I think Jimmy Page is coming to more and more resemble my grandma.

3. When I was coming in to work today, the light on the skyline was weird. Somehow a lot of buildings looked just like shadows and I could pick out Jubilee Hall, which I am dying to have an excuse to put in a story, because I find something about it delightfully creepy.

4. Faust was performed in Nashville in the 1890s on average every other year. I would love to know why. I mean, I guess maybe people just liked it.

5. Ignoring the fact that the asshole cats have torn my screens to shreds, how cute is this? (It does remind me that I need to ask Santa for a camera for Christmas. Mine died in the ceiling collapse.)

Everyone at My House is a Jerk

The Butcher–still making fun of me for Silver Bullet-ing my story.

The dog–woke me up at some ungodly hour so she could go stand under a bush in the front yard while I yelled at her to come back in the house. Now she’s back to sleep.

The new kitty–I was trying to count out 212 small afghan squares while this asshole laid right down in the middle of my pile and began to fling squares around until it exhausted her and she had to fall asleep, again, right in the middle of my squares, which I was trying to count. Jerk.

The orange cat–No new jerky behavior, but I swear, every time you’re petting him, and he’s totally into it, eventually he’s like “And now I’ll bite you.” What a fucker! You came up to me. You asked to be petted. And I get bit? I should bite him back.

Me–The Butcher announced that he’s going to the Titans game and I said “Oh, fun. You’ll be easy to see on TV, since you’ll be the only person in the stands.” and “Oh, maybe they’ll get you and [his friend] great seats and a bunch of puppets to sit with so that it’s not so terrible looking when they get accidental crowd shots.”

One Thing I Hate About Cats

Until something is really wrong, you just don’t know for sure if anything is wrong with them. The new kitty shit on the floor yesterday–but she’s been at war with the Butcher, so this is not new, BUT she shit on the floor in front of the fireplace, in front of everyone–and then later on in the evening, she threw up, but just her food, as cats are wont to do.

And then this morning, she was interested in breakfast but then didn’t really eat, which is unlike her. But then she was all “Oh, hell yes, I’ll go outside!”

So, I guess I’m keeping an eye on her.

Perversion in the Butcher’s Bed

People, I ask you, have you seen anything cuter all day? Sure, we might feel a little bad for the Butcher, who will have to come home and figure out what they did to his bed up there in the corner while getting it precisely comfortable.

But do you remember the years in which I would bemoan how much the dog wanted the cats to like her and how the cats would roll their eyes and go all mean-girl on her?

And here they are, the orange cat and Mrs. W. sleeping butt to butt.

It’s cute crap like this that makes me late for work in the mornings, I swear.

What is the New Kitty?

I wanted to take a picture of the new kitty’s face so that we could contemplate what kind of cat she might be. I am torn between her being a Maine Coon and a Chinese Lion. If she is either breed, she’s exceptionally small for her kind. She also refuses to cooperate for a picture this morning, unless, somehow, looking at her ankle tells you something about her breeding (Oh, my god, she’s a Victorian Hussy!)

Look at This Cat’s Butt

Look at how it drapes all over the couch. It’s hard to believe she’s just ten pounds. Ten pounds of fur.

But if cat butts don’t appeal to you, look at this old dog rolling her eyes.

The New Kitty Will Look into Your Soul and then Eat You

I was trying to get a picture of the new kitty draped across the back of the couch like some weird bear-skin rug, two legs on each side of the back of the couch, her tail stretched along the top. It’s so adorable that, if captured on camera, it would cause the viewer to literally die of cuteness. Which, um, I guess means I just admitted to trying to premeditatedly trying to kill my readers, which, in retrospect seems like a bad strategy for a blogger.

Shit, well, no wonder bloggers get no respect.

Anyway, I was attempting to take this adorable photo when the new kitty was all, “Oh, you should totally pet me.” And that was the end of that. I did manage to get this photo. Please note how her paws are in the “making biscuits” position. This is how you know she’s serious about wanting to eat whatever you are eating–she makes biscuits and stares into your soul, as if willing you to obey her every thought. Since I wasn’t eating anything, I can only assume this was an early salvo in her attempts to eat me.

I thought I was the only person in the house who noticed how unbelievably adorable the new kitty has been being lately. But then, yesterday, I got this text. (Please note, this text came from the other end of the couch upon which I was sitting.)

Also, warning: you will die.

Is It Too Late to Change the New Kitty’s Name?

She is COVERED in brambles. I think she likes it because the second you get them all out of her fur, she comes back in with literally one gagillion more. No, it’s true, I had to call mathematicians and everything to ask what came after nine-hundred and ninety-nine zazillion as I was counting. So, I’m thinking perhaps Pumpkin was wishful thinking. She’s never come in, not even once, with a pumpkin in her fur.

So, I’m thinking of changing her name to Bramble Ann, which would allow me, with slight modification, to make this her themesong:

My cousin A. was completely taken with the new kitty. “What is she? She’s some kind of wild cat, isn’t she? Look at how big her paws are!” But I remain convinced that she’s a Maine Coon who lacked something vital–like, say, food–at a moment in her life when she could have grown up to be a big cat and now she’s just her size.

But I tell you, this morning, even with Miss Brambly Pants all full of brambles like they’re decorations and her getting all bent out of shape as I tried to pull them out, when she put her forehead against mine, I felt like the world is full of sweet and mysterious things, some of which, even, I don’t miss out on.

Oh I Forgot this Cute Thing I Was Going to Show You

Why the Orange Cat Did Not Come to Breakfast

He was busy yelling at a black cat under my rose bush. I, myself, would not miss breakfast to yell at a neighbor, but I guess that is what separates those of us who got breakfast from those of us who did not.

The Butcher and the New Kitty

Mice, Unions, Cats

As I announced on Facebook, there is now proof of at least a third mouse in the house. After I posted that, I had this actual text exchange with my brother:

Bro: For rent or sale: cats that eat mice and poop outside

[there's a picture of a largish Siamese licking his crotch]

Me: Do they eat inside mice?

Bro: If the mice could even get near the inside, yes.

Do you want me to ask them?

All right, they talked with their union rep and he said, “That’s almost too damn easy, but they can bend rules for family.” Talk to your cats’ union rep. Probably some clause is why they won’t catch.

Me: Yeah, I think there’s a work stoppage due to the fact that I let the live bird [the orange cat] brought into the house go.

Bro: You’re definitely going to need new cats. He’s probably bringing mice in and letting them go for revenge. Maybe you can get [the new kitty] to cross the picket line. Just start talking about getting a rat terrier.

I laughed and laughed. Seriously, when we’re not busy being giant piles of ass, we are funny people.

It’s All Butts All the Time

That’s the thing they don’t tell you about pet ownership. You see the cute end only when it’s trying to lick you, bite you, or wake you up. If you’re lucky, you can spend some time looking at their backs. But mostly, it’s just you, staring at their butts. If pet adoption sites were honest, they’d include five photos of the butts of the pet up for adoption with every one photo of their face, just so that you can get an honest assessment of what you’re going to be dealing with.

So, my animals were behaving so cutely this morning on our walk that I wanted to take photos to share with you. I mean, here is everyone getting along. Mrs. W. and the orange cat were walking side-by-side after they chased each other through the AT&T yard, first Mrs. W. chasing the orange cat and then, much to Mrs. W.’s delight, the orange cat chasing her.

This is the picture I got. Dog butt and cat butt, side by side (please ignore Mrs. W.’s poor tale which is where the last vestiges of her terrible allergic reaction that caused her to scratch all the hair off her sides seems to be hanging out). Oh, no, no need to thank me. I’m sure you’re deeply moved by the emotional expressiveness and cuteness of their butts.

And then we get back to the house and the two cats meet up in the driveway. Two cats who have spent years passively hating each other and sometimes aggressively. And the orange cat went up to the new cat and sniffed her on the forehead in the cutest of manners and I whipped out my phone and I snapped this photo.

Because I knew you would appreciate the cuteness.

And, yes, in the time it took me to get the camera going, they’d turned their butts to me. Oh, well, I’m sure the sentiment still comes through.

Betsy Phillips–Pet Butt Photographer.

It’s like finding out you have the ability to spoil milk just by touching it.

Who wants this ability? Oh, yes, I can turn any photo of an animal into a photo of its butt just by holding up my camera.

Thank god I don’t have more photography skills or a better camera. I mean, at least this is as bad as it can possibly get. I hope.

It’s Cool to Nap at Work as Long as You Stay Semi-Upright, Right?

I am so tired. So very tired. I slept like crap because I didn’t want to turn the heat on because I’ve already had the air on. Once you break down and turn the air on, you should get to be done with the heat, right? But now I am so tired.

The Butcher is about to be up to something exciting I will tell you about when it’s over, but I am happy for him and a little jealous. It’s been so long since I’ve been able to do something like what he’s up to that I’m not even sure what the thing I’d want to do is. I’ve just kind of put that stuff out of my mind.

I’m glad he’s had a job for a long time, though, because when he was all “Do you want an iPad for your birthday?” I did not feel bad about telling him about the $80 thing I do want.

His cat has been sleeping with me, though, lately and, ugh, I swear. Are cats made of lead? Every time that cat would step on me in the middle of the night, I felt like a tiny train was trying to drive through my thigh. The new kitty came in from being outside all night looking like she’d been at a rock concert or something. She was so tired she took like three bites of food and then went to bed.

I’m like, “I know how you feel, cat. I know how you feel.”

I Present a Baby Kicking and Hitting a Cat

People, who the hell knows with cats? The cat in this video clearly dislikes being hit and kicked by the baby and yet, he seems to be making an effort to tolerate it.

I think it’s because cats have such low opinions of people already that a little one that can’t really control its extremities and barfs and poops on itself just seems like a tiny step down to a cat.

Cat’s all like “Eh, it’s really not that much worse than what the big ones do.”

Twain is a Close Second

But after studying this for a while, I’ve decided the best picture of a writer and his cat is William Carlos Williams, who somehow manages to look slightly confused and debonair with a crotch full of kittens.

I also feel like I may have had a brief affair with Philip K. Dick in a former life.

Back to the Living

I stink. I have eye gunk on top of eye gunk. But I slept through the night without having to get up and take more medicine and I woke myself up worried about all the crap I have to do at work, so I’m going to try to go in at least for part of the day.

I wish y’all could see the new kitty in her winter coat. She is literally twice her normal size. She’s sitting on top of the couch and she looks just as wide across as the dog, but when you go to pet her, your hand sinks in like four inches of fur. I hope she sheds all that outside in the spring.

Also, did I dream this. Did the Fake Governor take Governor Baby out four-wheeling? Was that actually a story while I was sick or did I just make it up?

I Need Heather Solos to do a “Remedial Home Ec”

It could be a short and sweet site that just said, “Yes, Betsy, everything I said at Home Ec 101 also applies to you.”

Back on the 29th, there was a post at Home Ec 101 that said, “It’s time to throw out the leftovers that didn’t make it into the freezer.”

Did I listen? No. Did I split the last of the Thanksgiving turkey with the dog and new kitty? Yes. Was the new kitty the only one not adversely affected? Yes. Am I switching her name to “Old Ironsides”? Or possibly “Old Iron(in)sides?” Of course.

In “Why I’m a Bad Dog Owner,” even though I spent much time last night having the same problem, I still laughed every time I let the dog out and she thought she was going to pee only to be betrayed by her butt, which she would then turn around and look at with the same incredulity she looks at it with when she lets a particularly stinky fart like “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Ha, Tiny Cat Pants. Come for the vodka-tampon debunking, stay for the updates on what a good pooper my dog is. Honestly. Lord. Good thing I have no sense of shame.

I Guess the New Kitty is in Charge Now

We went for our morning walk very slowly, though once we got over to Lloyd and had hard road beneath us, it felt good to walk and to get some things loosened up. The fog was creeping from the high field over the road into the low field. One thing that I really enjoy about living here is getting to observe morning fog. It’s pretty wild.

On our way home, the crows were squawking. I thought at us, but no, at the orange cat who was skulking around in a manner they didn’t appreciate.

And then, when we got back to the house, the new kitty hit everyone! As they were trying to get in the door, she stood at the top of the steps and bopped them on the head.

She didn’t even seem mad about it. Just “now’s the time when I smack you.” And now she’s sleeping above the orange cat on the couch.

I Have Made It to the Couch

So, sleeping for ten hours seems to have made a dent in the “feeling exhausted” symptom. And not standing up keeps me from being dizzy. I may have to experiment with whether lying down on the couch make me less nauseous, but “All Girls on the Couch” times are so rare that I hate to disrupt it.

Though even as I type this, Mrs. W. has gotten on the floor. The new kitty may be in for a bit of a surprise. The other day, as the new kitty was tromping through the house taking swings at everyone and then attempting to woo the Butcher with her cuteness, he asked me “Do you think the new kitty is Nermal?”

And I laughed and said, “Probably.” On the other hand, did I tell you about the time I caught her face-down in the enchiladas, like Garfield used to get in lasagna? So, hard saying. I’ll just say that, until this cat, I had no idea “Garfield” was so realistic.

In other news, I read this thing, thanks to a link Newscoma had up at Facebook. I am going to have nightmares about that Normal Rockwell picture now. But also, can I just say that, while I already got and was mortified that we’d done the equivalent of burning down someone’s church and trying to call the smoking remains a “sculpture” in their honor, I had no idea about the rude gesture part.

I laughed. I admit. God, what a bunch of assholes we are as a species.

I also finished The Last Werewolf which I really liked. I wouldn’t say that I loved it, exactly, because I’m tired of books that seem to be setting me up for a sequel instead of just being well-crafted self-contained units without divulging ahead of time that that’s what they’re doing AND yet feeling free to not wrap up story-lines so there’s some slight cliff-hangers. But I did like it as a meditation on what it means to live in a time when it feels like we have everything figured out and, in the figuring, have discovered that it means nothing.