My Animal Naming Genius

A couple posts ago, I described a situation about one of the cats we'd adopted disappearing. Thankfully, Balls has returned. But I mentioned in the post who I'd sometime describe how he got his name. And since Country got such a good laugh out of the name, I thought maybe you guys might enjoy the full story.

You see, when these four cats started roaming around, 2 pairs looked very similar. One pair was the same color of grey, very alike in build. The other pair also resembled each other in size and had the same type of coloring, the white and dark patches that you might see on a Holstein cow.

M had trouble telling them apart, and just took to calling them the "Grey cats" and the "Patch cats." The grey cats were both female (mother and daughter likely) and the patch cats were a male and female (brother and sister). You could tell the grey cats apart, even though they were alike in their build, one was significantly larger. So this helped me differentiate them. The patch cats it was more difficult, since they were so much alike. So I did what I thought would be perfectly normal, I just looked for the teabag.

For the life of her, M couldn't figure out how I was so unerringly able to identify which was the boy and which wasn't. Though there were other traits that allowed me to tell the difference depending on how they were standing, this was the sure-fire clincher.

One day, finally exasperated on how easily I was able to tell them apart, asks, "How in the hell are you doing that?! You always know which one is the boy cat!"

Since the cat was presently in my lap, I decided to demonstrate my amazing feat of acuity. Grabbing and lifting his tail with one hand, and pointing to his furry nether regions with the other I said, "Why honey, it's simple. Just look for the balls."

And thus, a cat's name is born. Even though he doesn't have em anymore.

Where I Pull A TK

Last night I'm sitting with M, trying to scarf down a quick dinner before I have to head out for class. You know how you kind of slide your feet to the side of you chair when you it back, pushing along the floor? Well, I slide my chair back as I go to get up from the table and the front legs left up a little bit. One of which proceeds to slam down, with me putting a good deal of my weight back into the chair seat, right dead center in the middle of my fucking big toe. It went something like this:

"Alright honey, I better get gAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!"

"Oh my god!", M says as I beginning frantically hopping around the dining room, on the verge of tears. "What happened?!?"

In between gasps of pain, I explain how I'd managed to put myself into this current state. In response, she starts laughing so hard that she starts crying. Such support I tell you, it's heart-warming.

"I can't...I mean...how could you manage to pull something like that off?! I can't believe what a klutz you are!"

So off to school I go. I can tell you, there's nothing quite like the feeling of biking along and feeling your sock soak up blood and being to bleed into your shoe.

It gets even better. After I got home, we had to clean up after the TerrorMutt tore into one of his beds. And three guesses as to who's g/f blasted his previously injured big toe with the vacuum cleaner?

On the plus side, it looks gruesome as hell under the there from all the blood and I'll probably lose the nail.

Annnnd...We're Back

So it's been just over three months since I said that I would be posting more, which of course...I haven't. And I really haven't been reading blogs either. It seems that with all the shit that I was doing up until mid July, I just ended up kind of letting it go. Well no more, I will make you all suffer again! With posts and comments on my regularly read blogs. Plus I realized that writing this was sort of fun when I was doing it regular like. I suppose I could have used the draft thingy, but that would have taken some forethought on my part. Anyway, I'm going to start throwing up posts again. You're all so lucky!

To start it off, let's visit me as I work the other day to A) get a dressing down in front of someone of authority and/or B) get a sexual harassment lawsuit initiated against me:

Scene: Accounting office. Clerical staff member, another co-worker and myself.

Co-Worker: Why do you sound so funny when you talk today?

Clerical staff member: I had to go to the dentist this morning. I'm still all numbed up and I have a hard time swallowing so it's like my mouth is always full of spit.

Me: That's noooot spit!

CSM: *gasp* Onthevirg!

And...scene. That's right, bringing the inappropriate to work since 2000!

I'll see you guys soon. I'll probably recounting some stories from the last couple of months for your consideration. Or not, since everyone probably thinks I'm dead and doesn't even bother to read this anymore. *shrug* Whatever.

I'm also throwing in some puppy cuteness combined w/ some of his shenanigans:

Where I Nab Some Pussy

As I may or may not have mentioned, we have several cats running around our place that we kind of adopted. They were feral when M started feeding them (she's such a bleeding heart about animals) but 2 of the four quickly became more docile, practically domesticated. One was still extremely wary and the fourth was still bat-shit insane.

We managed to capture the 3 that were getting used to being around humans and the lady who acted as our realtor picked them up and went and got them fixed. That left us with the completely feral kitty. I mean, this cat wouldn't get within 4 feet of us and would run away if you looked at it cross.

Sunday night M texted me while I was out grabbing dinner and said that she had the cat trapped in the shed and should she leave it in there. Well, duhhhhh, yes. We called the realtor and when she called back that night she told me to capture the cat and she would take it in on Monday morning. Since it was already 10:30 at night, I decided to get up early in the morning and capture the cat. No problem right? Here's where the tail (yes Verbal, that was intentional) gets funny.

I roll out of bed @ 5:30 and I start to gather the stuff I'm going to use. I had planned on putting on my leather work gloves and wrapping up my arms in towels so that when I managed to nab the cat I didn't get shredded. Well M immediately shit on my idea, saying it was stupid. Thanks babe! Her suggestion was that I put on my good winter coat to go after the cat. I said that was an even stupider idea than what I had. We commence argue, then yell, back and forth for the next 10 minutes before she finally agrees with me. Good way to start. *

I trudge out to the shed and lock myself in to go after the cat. My plan is to just snatch (*tee-hee*...snatch) her and stuff her in the cat carrier. Let the games begin! The cat is hiding behind our woodpile so I make my first grab at her. This cat, literally, climbs the fucking wall and shoots to the other side of the shed. This cat was faster than the fucking Flash. Nothing but a gray blur.

We go back and forth at this for a while before she ends up hiding underneath the treadmill we have stored out there. I try a couple times to grab her, without success, before I finally manage to get a hold of one of her legs and start to drag her out from under it. I couldn't get my other hand on her quick enough and she escaped. But not before giving me a solid bite on my index at the big knuckle. Through the leather gloves. It still smarts.

After that she ran behind the woodpile again. This is how I get bit the second time. On the opposite hand. Oh, I forgot to mention, M was no where near this little drama trying to help, except for the occasional time she would come peak in the window and offer this helpful advice as she hears me cussing and raging, "Don't get mad at the kitty and hurt her! It isn't her fault!" Super, thanks for the tip! Fuck me.

We go round and round about the wood pile and the treadmill a couple times more. Again I make a lunge for her while she's behind the woodpile. This time I end up taking a branch stub in the ribcage. It was a TK-like display of grace, agility and athleticism. And it hurt like a motherfucker. There's no bruise or anything but it hurts when I laugh, cough or sneeze. So it's uncomfortably similar to when I cracked my ribs. At this point, I'm out...I've been out there 45 minutes, close to be late to work and the score, for those keeping track is:
Cat: 2 Bites, still free.
Me: Potentially cracked ribs, no captured cat.

As I relate this story to various people during the day I'm greeted with laughs and ridicule, deservedly so. At this point I'm bound and determined to catch this little fucking hell spawn. I come up with the brilliant idea to make my own animal control lasso out of some PVC and rope. I call a buddy and con him into helping me at round two of V vs Stupid Cat.



Last night my buddy and I head into the den of the beast after I gear up (I'm wishing now I would have had him take a picture of the get up...just picture the Stay Puft guy made up of bath towels). Said beast is no where to be found. Our realtor had stopped by that morning to see if I had trapped the cat, so I thought maybe she had let it out. Turns out the gdamn cat is hiding up inside the guts of the treadmill. We have to upend it and partially disassemble the treadmill to get her out.

After she's out I manage to wrangle her in short order with the homemade lasso. I lift her out from behind the wood pile. Let's say at this point the cat is...a bit angry/spastic. It's spinning out at the end of the lasso in a what looks to be a nightmare fit of epilepsy. I hand the pole to my buddy B and go in to grab the cat. At which point she squirts out of the lasso and jumps onto a window ledge (nice work B, way to hold it tight!). I just say fuck it and make lunge for the cat and end up grabbing it around the body. It was every bit of what you would think handling a lunatic, feral cat would be like. But we managed to get the little bitch shoved into the cat carrier! "Mission Pussy Snatch" (see what I did there?) completed sir! We had some well earned booze after our foray. I mean, we showed that little terror right? I mean, it only took two grown men. After it had thoroughly abused me that morning.

Here's a picture of the little bastard.

Looks happy, doesn't she?

* - She told me later that she also started her period, so maybe that was the cause of some of the morning's fireworks.