No, Kitty, That’s My Popcorn.

Last night, when I came home from work, I put my bags down, including my closed and zippered shut lunchbag, and started putting things away and getting settled in. I brought my two bags of groceries into the kitchen to put them away, leaving the closed and zippered shut lunchbag on the coffee table. Inside of the closed and zippered shut lunchbag was:

1 half empty jar of almond butter

1 used knife that needed to be cleaned

1 small sealed plastic bag of popcorn

I assumed that these contents were all safe, being that they were inside of the closed and zippered shut lunchbag.

During my time away from the closed and zippered shut lunchbag, I also fed the #catsquad who were begging for dinner as usual.

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(disclaimer: this photo was actually taken the night before, but it could be any night as it’s always the exact same scene when dinner is about to be served)

After feeding them, I went upstairs to put the rest of my stuff away and to change. This took approximately 20 minutes. At this point, I came back down into the living room to claim the closed and zippered shut lunchbag and empty it of it’s three items and put them away, accordingly.

Someone had beat me to it.

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closed and zippered shut no more.

I assumed it was Berlioz, however if there had been any doubt, it was cast away when he retuned to the scene of the crime, and began eating the popcorn faster than I could clean it up.

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sinner.

In all of this, I haven’t been able to figure out how he gained entry into the closed and zippered shut lunchbag. The world may never know.

Food, Glorious Food.

I think it’s safe to say that most cats are really into food. They all act like they haven’t eaten in weeks when it’s getting close to meal time, like little furry drama queens.

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You only feed me twice every day. Oh the Horror!

Some cats are certainly more food-focused than others. Wednesday is pretty chill, compared to other cats I’ve known. She still begs for meals, but on a cat-starvation-drama scale of 1 to 10, she’s probably around a 4. But she is not afraid to let me know when it’s getting close to dinner time.

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I want my dinner. NOW.

She kinda scares me a little.

Berlioz on the other hand…his starvation-ometer clearly goes up to 11. The other night, he somehow managed to sneak by me while I was eating and snatch a french fry off of my plate. And then he growled and clawed me after I chased him around the house and tried to retrieve it, unsuccessfully.  If there is anything even remotely food-like brought out into the atmosphere, he’s right there, ready to chow down, with his hypothetical bib and fork.

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I smell food…
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FOOD!!!!

Anyway, I don’t think they will ever stop being hungry. I had my last cat Gandalf for 13 years, and he begged for every meal like it was going to be his last until it actually was.

Cats will be cats. And food will be food. And they will spend every waking moment (which is less than half of their lazy days) begging for it.

Happy Mew Year!

Wednesday and Berlioz just want to wish everyone a Happy “Mew” Year! They’re both super pumped for 2019, and all the treats, catnip, naps, fetching, and hissing it will bring.

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Wednesday says, “Happy Mew Year!”

 

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Berlioz says, “Happy Mew Year!”

Truthfully, they were just begging for their breakfast, as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks. :-/

 

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.

 

What comes up, must go down…again.

I debated on whether or not to share this story, because it’s kind of gross. But cats can be kind of gross at times. This was one of those times.

Berlioz is obsessed with food, as I may have mentioned once or twice. Wednesday, on the other hand, eats slow and enjoys every bite. Of course she begs for food, like every other cat, but once the food is placed in front of her, she takes her time, savoring the meal, and used to even walk away and come back. She can’t do that anymore, as Berlioz will make a bee-line to her dish the second the she steps away. He often tries to actually even eat her meal while she is still eating it, shoving his face in front of hers. We do our best to play “food police” and stand guard in between them during meal times, grabbing Berlioz mid-run and thwarting any attempt at food thievery.

So, one morning, as usual, the #mewcrew was begging for breakfast.

I fed them as usual, giving them each their equal share of wet food and dry food. And as usual, Berlioz finished first, and before I had a chance, sprinted to Wednesday’s dish, shoved her out of the way and started eating her breakfast. I ran over and pulled him away, and put him back in front of his own dish. I stood guard until Wednesday (unusually quickly) finished her meal, and then they both left the kitchen. I continued to get ready for work, packed up, and went upstairs to kiss my husband goodbye. I came back down, and heard that sound – the sound that every cat owner dreads – the sounds of a cat about to puke. The problem was there were no cats in sight. I put down my purse and keys and began frantically searching for the source, in a vain attempt to move the almost-puker to the kitchen where the results could be more easily cleaned up. Well I followed the sounds as best as I could, but it sounded like they were coming from the TV which was weird, because it was off. I walked over, and happened to peer behind it, and there she was, but it was too late – Wednesday had puked all over the back of the entertainment center.

There was no way I was going to be able to get back there and clean this all up AND still make it to work on time, so I ran back upstairs and yelled to my husband that Wednesday just barfed behind the TV and he would have to clean it up. He groggily said, “ok” and I went back downstairs to leave.

But it gets worse.

I picked  up my bags, and went to bid the cats farewell, when I found Berlioz in the very same spot behind the entertainment center where Wednesday just was, but the pile of puke had vanished. Yes, exactly what you think happened is what happened – he ate it.

But it gets worse.

He ran out the other side of the entertainment center, and I went over to say goodbye and there was puke ON HIS FACE, and it wasn’t his own puke. And he looked at me expecting me to pet him.

I left before I puked myself, and texted my husband from the car that there was nothing he would need to clean up, as Berlioz had it all under control.

Fortune(less) Cookie.

We often eat Chinese food, and whenever we do, they throw in like 6 fortune cookies. I love them, not only for the anticipation of discovering what lies written on the paper within, but for the tasty cookie itself. I often break them up and sprinkle them over ice cream. It’s delicious. We save all the fortunes in a large bowl, but somehow they often wind up outside of the bowl, in random locations.

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Found on the coffee table this morning.

Anyway, Wednesday has been exposed to our Chinese food meals for a couple of years now, and never has expressed any interest in any part of it. Berlioz, on the other hand, seems to think we have ordered it all for him. Last time we ordered some, he put his head in the bag, tried to eat a veggie out of my shrimp with cashew nuts, and kept jumping up on the table while we were eating. Finally, he stopped. We were happy that he had for some reason given up on trying to eat our food right out of our hands, so much so that it didn’t occur to us to wonder what he could be doing instead that would have captured his full attention while we ate in peace.

So, I was done my meal, I got up to bring my plate into the kitchen, turned the corner, and there he was, caught in the act:

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Caught in the act.

He had discovered the fortune cookies, pulled one down to the floor, ripped through the packaging, pulled the cookie out, and broke it into pieces. Upon further inspection, all of the cookie pieces remained intact and uneaten. However the fortune inside was nowhere to be found.

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Fortune thief.

Berlioz had eaten the fortune. He went through all that trouble to get through the plastic and the (delicious) cookie to get to a small piece of paper, not because he was anxious to see what the future might hold for him, but so he could eat it.

I don’t know what’s wrong with him sometimes.