On the Nose.

So I was getting ready for work the other day, and as I washing my face, Berlioz jumped up on the sink, and tried to attack the water coming out of the faucet. He is obsessed with water, which is a little strange. We sometimes catch him pawing at the water in his water dish, and splashing it out onto himself and the floor, for no reason.

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The wonder of water.

Anyway, as I was washing my face, I leaned forward and my hair came cascading down (I have pretty long hair) right into Berlioz. He assumed this was meant to be played with, so he began attacking my hair. I found this charming at first, until all of a sudden, he swiped at my face, and his claws hit me, right on the – you guessed it – nose.

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Now I’ll never be a teen model.

Of course, he acted like he did nothing wrong, and I’m sure if given the chance, would do it all again.

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Sorry about your nose, mama (is not what he is thinking).

Hey, Jealousy.

Wednesday does not like to be picked up nearly as much as Berlioz, so when she decides she actually wants to be held, we drop everything and scoop her up immediately, making it a big celebration, worthy of the princess she is.

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All hail Princess Wednesday, ruler of the sofa.

Berlioz always wants attention no matter what, so it’s not such a big deal when we pick him up. But trust me, he gets plenty of affection, probably more than his share – he makes darn sure of that.

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You cannot make this bed until you pet me again.

Anyway, one day last week, Wednesday wanted to be held, so I jumped at the opportunity and picked her up. She was relaxed and purring, and we were having a nice quiet moment of quality time, when out of nowhere, Berlioz jumps up in a fit of jealousy, claws out in full force, and scratches me, down both sides of my stomach. I screamed, Wednesday freaked out and jumped away, and Berlioz stood there, staring, knowing full well what he had done. I was also bleeding, fyi.

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Scarred, physically and mentally.

It was a traumatic experience for all of us, except Berlioz of course, who’s jealous plan was ultimately victorious, in his eyes.

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Excellent….

Halloween Cats.

I’ve been dying for Halloween to arrive, so I could put the cats in their respective Halloween costumes (Wednesday – unicorn, Berlioz – bat). I’ve had the costumes planned out for months, and I knew this was going to be the best thing ever and they were going to love it, right?

RIGHT??

Because what cat doesn’t love getting shoved into a costume while it’s owners huddle around it, giggling and snapping photos?

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my pretty unicorn

 

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my adorable bat

They look thrilled and not at all like we snuck up on them while they were sleeping and forced the costumes on while they remained in a half-daze. Once they caught on, their reactions varied. Berlioz thought it was no big deal, and laid back down to go to sleep like nothing happened.

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this ain’t so bad.

Wednesday, on the other hand….

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i will destroy you for this.

At the end of the day, I got my cats into the costumes and got a couple of photos to preserve the memories, which was really all I ever wanted.

I’m pretty sure they’ve already forgotten about the entire thing.

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forgiven and forgotten.

Or….maybe not….

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plotting revenge.

I’m Only Sleeping.

Today I was off, and I was thinking about my day and what I was going to do. I had a list of things to get done (I actually did most of them!), and I was working my way through the list, when I sat down on the couch for a few minutes. Berlioz jumped up behind me and promptly went to sleep.

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He looks so well behaved when he’s sleeping.

I paused for a few extra minutes to sit with him, but then I had to get up and do other things, like run 8 miles. When I returned from running, I walked into the bedroom, and stumbled upon this:

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Sleeping ball of fur.

I showered and changed in preparation for my next errand, and walked downstairs, only to be greeted by this strangely familiar sight:

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wait…again??

I realized that I’m doing it totally wrong. These guys have the life right here. They’ve got it all figured out. Or so I thought.

I went back upstairs to put away some laundry, and Wednesday was still laying there in the same spot, doing the same thing (that would be sleeping). This time, Berlioz followed me up. He jumped on the bed, and for a split second, I thought he was going to lay down next to her and go to sleep for the third time, but alas, it went a little more like this:

I guess all that sleeping has its benefits – one can unleash those bad-ass wrestling moves at any time and without warning. 13+ hours of sleeping a day sure hones those cat-like reflexes.

The Breakfast Song.

I don’t know about you, but I often catch myself singing to my cats. It’s usually real songs that I change the words to the cats’ names or whatever activity they’re currently engaging in. Most of these songs I would never repeat outside of closed doors, as they are really really really dumb and make no sense.

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Because I’m still in love with mew
I want to see you meow again
Because I’m still in love with mew
On this kitty moon.

Besides my feline-filled tribute to Neil Young, there is one song that I find myself singing to the #catsquad every morning at breakfast time while I feed them.

Sung to the tune of Frère Jacques:

Who wants breakfast, who wants breakfast
Kitties do, kitties do
Everyone wants breakfast, everyone wants breakfast
Mew mew mew, mew mew mew….

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It’s true though – everyone does want breakfast. And now this song will also be stuck in your head for the rest of the day, just like it is in mine. You’re welcome.

 

Things That Go Bump in the Night.

Yesterday morning, I woke around 5:30 as usual to get ready for work. It’s still dark at that time, so I have to turn on the lights in each room as I go through them. Once I’m finished getting ready, I shut off the lights upstairs, and head downstairs into the darkness to feed the #mewcrew. And yesterday was no exception.

I reached the kitchen, hit the switch, and everything appeared normal. I made coffee, then fed them their breakfast, as they begged as if they hadn’t eaten in two weeks. Berlioz finished first as he always does, so I stood guard by Wednesday’s dish, so she could finish eating in peace, like I always do. Once we finished this song and dance, I packed my lunch, and headed upstairs to say goodbye to my husband. I came back down, put on my jacket, and stopped in the sunroom to read my quote of the day, which I read every morning from “365 Days of Wonder.”

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My favorite quote from the book.

I walked unassumingly into the dark sunroom, and turned the light on, so I could get my daily dose of motivation, but as I turned around to grab the book, I saw it. The utter destruction and devastation that was previously hidden by the early morning darkness.

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What he did in the shadows.

Berlioz (I’m sure it was him and not Wednesday) had knocked over my big, beautiful plant in the night. There was dirt, leaves and death everywhere. Plus a tennis ball, which I really still can’t figure out what, if any part it played in this whole debacle. I stood there, staring at it, while the tears began streaming down my face (I’ve been extra emotional these days). I did my best to scoop the dirt back into the pot, but part of the plant was broken off, and dirt was embedded into the carpet and I had to get to work at some point. So I went back upstairs (this sounds familiar) and woke up my husband like before, and told him (well, more like sobbed at him while trying to form words) what had happened, and that I tried cleaning it, but couldn’t finish because I had to leave. He groggily said he’d clean up the rest, and I exited the room went back downstairs and grabbed my bag. But before I left, I put the broken plant piece into an empty pot that I had been on a search to find a new plant  for (plants, like books always find their way to me at the exact right time), so I guess that was something, and it seems to be doing pretty well so far.

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Silver lining?

But you know what he worst part of the whole thing was? Not the dirt, or the destruction or the death; the absolute lack of shame that Berlioz exhibited through this entire ordeal.

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It wasn’t me, mama.

Why’d he have to be so cute?

Cats in Odd Places.

Sometimes, I find the cats in the most bizarre spots. I don’t know why suddenly they decide to go into this spot which they’ve never been in before, but I guess something about it is suddenly appealing. For example:

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Cat in a nightstand.

Why on earth Wednesday decided the nightstand was suddenly exactly where she needed to sit is one of life’s unsolved mysteries.

Here’s another:

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Cat in a drawer.

I guess I can see the appeal of sitting on a pile of soft clothes in a drawer. But there are plenty of other soft surfaces for her to sit on.

Here’s another odd one:

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Cat hiding (sort of).

It’s  not so much that he’s in a odd spot, it’s that he seems to think he’s hiding there.

This was a first:

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Cat in the tub.

Cat life can be so  hard, but it’s nothing a bath can’t fix.

But just when you think you’re safe:

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Cat behind the curtain.

Surprise! There’s Berlioz, totally creepin’.

And sometimes, they even fall asleep there:

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Cat on a bookshelf.

That can’t be comfortable. But cats will be cats. And they always keep you on your toes. And sometimes they even bite those toes. But we love them anyway.

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We didn’t do it. Whatever it was.