I Dislike this Cat

So, it's been about six weeks since we got the frickin' cat. (No, autocorrect, I did not mean "friction." Stop trying to tell me what to type.) And I dislike it.

This probably isn't shocking to some people, but it's actually a little shocking to me. I love animals. I've had pets before and loved them like tiny, furry children. One cat had diabetes, and we gave him insulin shots twice a day for four years. I used to volunteer at the Humane Society. We catch and release spiders. I'm even a vegetarian (I know, I know. But I'm not a jerk about it.)

But this cat is an asshole.

1. He is obsessed with paper towels and toilet paper. Shreds an entire roll in one minute.

2. He awakes at 5 am. And he yowls and fiddles with noisy things, like mini blinds and Norah's toys. He even turned the Shopvac on at 5:30 am once.

3. He's incredibly needy. He has to be touching someone constantly. That person is always me.

4. He attacks for no reason.

5. He begs for people food.

6. He knocks shit over all the time. Anything that can fall to the floor, will eventually end up being on the floor.

7. He farts. And I swear I've heard him belch.

8. He has a death wish. He's jumped in the dryer, the microwave, and has tried to steal Ryan's Chipotle steak burrito.

9. He, like the honey badger, doesn't give a shit. You can squirt him with a water bottle, clap your hands, yell, shove him (Norah: "We don't push!"), pick him up and move him to the other side of the house. Honey badger don't care. He'll come back and keep doing the annoying/destructive thing you want him to stop doing.

10. You can't even walk a few steps without him trying to topple you. He'll bob and weave through your legs and step on your feet.

We took him to the vet, and asked about these two lumps under his skin. Ryan thought he was given two microchips. Nope. One's a BB. Most people would say, "Aw! Poor kitty!" I say, "Hmm. I can totally see shooting him."

This is coming from me, whom at one point relentlessly mocked my friend, Sara, for wanting to get rid of her two cats once her first child was born. "How could you think of such a thing?" I'd ask. Now her plan of overfeeding them in order to shorten their lifespan seems reasonable, if not genius.

So why is he still allowed here?

Stuck like glue

They're best friends.

How Cats and Toddlers are Alike

I help you, Mama.

They won't let me go to the bathroom alone.

They constantly need to be touching me or on top of me.

They are mesmerized by mini blinds and can't go 10 minutes without touching them.

They are destroyers of mini blinds.

They don't want the food I give them. Only treats.

They don't want the toys I buy them. Only stupid things, like crumpled pieces of paper and empty boxes.

They are loud when I'm on the phone.

They feel like they need to sleep in my bed every night when they have perfectly fine beds specifically designed for them.

They both love chicken nuggets and think I'm an asshole for not letting them share.

I have to take care of their poop.

They are scared of the vacuum.

They do not listen to me when I say "no" or "please come here."

They have both tried to eat crayons.

They both want to climb in the dryer.

They always have something to say.

They are amazingly good at finding spiders.

They're both dumbfounded by laser toys.

And they're lucky they're both cute. Or they'd both me in a cage.

An Open Letter to Space Aliens

Dear Space Aliens,

Asshole

I'd like to discuss your mascot. Your seven-foot tall mascot. The one that towers over children with its giant corpse head and spindly tentacle fingers. The one that silently and ominously glides from table to table. Yeah, that one.

Yes, this was totally worth ten dollars.

We went to a birthday party at Space Aliens, a seemingly happy place filled with pizza, unnaturally large baked potatoes, and pointless games that require annoying tokens and produce tickets which then yield landfill-occupying plastic crap masked as fabulous prizes.

The point of this place is to spend upwards of $50,000 in alien tokens in order for your child to win a prize that was made in some sweatshop in Thailand and was purchased in bulk from a franchise for about two cents per unit.

Anyway, as I was trying to force a child-sized cheeseburger down my daughter's throat, which was impossible due to the lure of skeeball and drop-a-token-on-Spongebob-and-win-some-stupidass-tickets game, we heard an announcement over the loud speaker. Someone was going to visit us. A visitor from Area 51.

I was initially a little excited. Norah loves mascot-type things. She loves the giant bat we see at our local baseball games. She loved the evil-looking easter bunny at the mall. She even loved-- and hugged-- the giant foam urine sample cup.

But when this dark figure entered the room, she clung to me and whimpered. She buried her head in my neck. It wordlessly lurked about, posing for pictures with the other children. Norah clutched my sweatshirt and trembled. It floated past our table. Quit lingering, motherfucker, I tried to message him telepathically. The children in our group weren't even all that interested in the creature, yet he remained. Little Ralphie just looked at it suspiciously. Baby Ella seemed mildly amused at first, and then drew her attention back to her mother. The other kids were busy with their grandparents.

After it finally left, she asked where it was. And kept asking. She needed to know it was far away. She saw it again from across the restaurant and was back on my lap. That night she would randomly ask me about it. Where was it? She seemed to know that it was a person dressed up, but nonetheless, it frightened her.

"It wasn't real, Mommy."

"What wasn't real, Baby?"

"The alien. It was pretend. It was Halloween."

"That's right, Baby. It was just a dude dressed up. Just like we dress up for Halloween. No need to be afraid!"

"I don't like that. I don't like aliens."

And she hasn't slept in her bed for three nights. Even with a nightlight. Even with me in there with her. Even if I put her in her bed while she's already asleep. She'll wake up and scream for me.

So, to the point, Space Aliens, you owe me three nights' sleep. This is what I'm dealing with here, so you know how serious I am.

Sleeping with Norah

1. We fall asleep on the couch in the dark.

2. Gently take her to her room and cover her up.

3. I hear screaming an hour later.

4. Try to soothe; singing, backrubs, etc.

5. Can't take the begging and crying anymore.

6. Bring to Ryan on the couch (he's a night owl.)

7. They fall asleep on the couch.

8. He puts her down to sleep, clumsily.

9. She wakes and screams for Mommy.

10. I bring her to my bed.

Someone kill me.

11. I spend 7-8 hours with my muscles tense, so as to not fall off the bed. I try to switch sleeping positions slightly so that I alternate limbs falling asleep and going numb, without lifting my head off my 1/8 of the pillow, because the second my head is up, Norah's head occupies that space. Then she mumbles, "Scooch over, Mama." Then Ryan starts to snore and Norah mumbles, "Mommy. Daddy snores." Then one tingling or numb hand reaches over to tap Ryan. Then the goddamn cat sees movement and begins to attack, thinking it's happy super fun play time. Then Norah starts giggling and saying, "I like my cat, Mongo." Then Mongo attacks Norah's feet because they're wiggling as she laughs. Then she starts to cry, "Mongo bites me." Then I sit up and throw the cat off the bed. Then Norah wails, "You pushed my cat." Then I lie and say, "No, Honey, Mommy hugs Mongo." Then Ryan murmurs, "What's going on?" Then I lie down, but Norah's head is where my head was. Then I shift down to the bottom quarter of the bed. Then Norah says, "I'm not tired. Let's go to the living room."

12. Ryan benevolently brings Norah to the living room, but leaves the door open, so I can plainly hear her crying about that sonofabitch alien and that she wants chocolate milk. I lie there and eventually fall back asleep.

13. Then I'm awoken by Norah placing rainbow-colored foam letters on my back. She's wearing a colorful t-shirt that does not have a hedgehog on it (Jessica, the t-shirt bestower, says it's an echidna.) Cute. But also multi-colored neon-striped leggings, and ruffly white socks. This is what happens when Mommy oversleeps and Daddy dresses the short one. I didn't even give a shit. Off you go.

14. And I go to work.

So, thank you, space Aliens. Because of your alien mascot, Ryan and I will probably get divorced or one of us will murder the other, due to lack of sleep and irritability. A broken home. Or I'll get fired for falling asleep at my desk and we'll end up in my mother-in-law's basement. More laws will certainly be broken after that. And Norah's budding social life will be quashed prematurely due to her goofy, mismatched outfits. She'll become a loner, start collecting small, dead animal carcasses, and eventually end up trying to sell her outsider art on the street corner for cheap liquor.

Thank you, Space Aliens, for ruining our entire fucking life.

Sincerely,

Heather

Toddlers and Cats

Well, we got a friggin' cat.

Norah has been saving her money in a bank for months. It's a bank that calculates the contents through some magical coin detector thingy. She had an idea that once it was filled, she would buy an orange cat.

We have a lot of loose change in our house. In drawers, on desks, in flower pots, in my bags. Everywhere. She hunted for every coin.

Then it filled up on Sunday.

Now, we're not "those" parents who fulfill every whim and wish of their child. We had actually planned on picking up a feline around Norah's birthday. We used to have a pretty kick-ass cat named Hobbes. We sort of missed having a furry companion anyway, and thought a pet for Norah would be a fabulous idea.

And there it was-- the bank was full. I had checked out the humane society's website and they had a ton of cats-- more than usual. Maybe it was the right time now.

So first we went to PetCo to get cat stuff-- litter box, brush, food, etc. When we arrived, we saw they were having an adoption event. There were four cages stacked two-on-top-of-two housing four cats. Norah was grinning ear to ear and poking her fingers through the bars. The cats were smashing their heads against the cage doors vying for some attention. And then Norah fell in love with Mongo.

Mongo, a grey and white little guy, is neutered, one and a half years old, and a very mellow, cuddly fellow. The other cats were also great, but the two kittens were too wild and bitey, and the bigger one didn't like being held. These traits are fine, of course, but not right for a "spirited" girl like Norah. He was the one.

As Ryan filled out 276,000 forms, Norah and I paraded Mongo around PetCo and she announced to every single patron that she "buyed" a cat. We met a couple people with dogs, to which Norah would say something like, "Meet Mongo! I buyed him," and then she'd grab some bone or ball from an end cap and hand it to the dog owners. "You need this?"

We got home, and I expected the cat to hide out under a bed for a week or so, but he made himself right at home, exploring every corner of the house and being very relaxed and accepting of the toddler following him around, shrieking with laughter and shouting out commands like "Sit here, Cat!", "Come here, Mongo!", and "Look at my Bear Bear!"

Norah showed the cat all of her favorite toys, like Bear Bear, Go Go, and the like. She threw tiny unsettlingly realistic toy mice for him, and he chased it and attacked to her delight. She even brushed his head, which resulted in a quiet purr. They played Doctor Noonie together and Mongo silently submitted to his physical, which included being measured with Ryan's tape measure and reflex checking with a toy hammer. He even licked her after she was done, which was sweet, but Norah was confused that his tongue was "ow-y." And after school on Monday, Ryan and Norah came home and for the first time, I didn't hear, "MAMA!" I heard "MONGO!" (Sniff.) But I'm glad they're good buddies already.

Mongo and Norah, spying on the neighbors

CAT PROS:
Gentle and sweet with Norah
Cuddly and playful
Gives Norah something to play with that might allow me to read my book for ten minutes

CAT CONS:
Litter box. I forgot how unpleasant that is.
Hair. Not much so far, but I know it's coming. Ugh.
Mini blinds. Just leave them alone, you little asshole!
Begging. I dislike the begging for people food. Annoying.
Claws. So far I'm the only casualty. He was cuddling my head a couple nights ago and kneaded my scalp. Ouch.
Meowing. Not so bad, but unfortunately he only seems to do it really loudly when I'm on a work call.
Escape. He wants outside badly, but won't wear a harness without flipping out. So he lingers by the door, plotting his escape. Worst-case scenario, he gets out, runs away or gets killed by a car, and Norah is scarred for life. Great.
Farting. Since when do cats fart? Seriously? The "reason for surrender" stated "too many animals." I think the real reason was "unnaturally smelly farting."

Hmm. Maybe we should have made this list before getting the cat...