Tag Archives: cats

Round Two

Have you ever posted on a forum that appears to be buzzing with back and forth conversation, only for that forum to die suddenly and become paranoid that it was because of you?


Is it just me? Am I that self centered?

It’s even more heartbreaking when the forum you were posting to was ‘one sentence synopsis of your novel’ for NaNoWriMo. Everyone was blasting all over the place with their snappy one sentences, receiving positive feedback. And then I posted. And then the crickets began to chirp.

Okay. It’s probably not me. The thread was long dead by the time I got there.

I’m just antsy that I’m going to be spending a whole month writing something that’s complete and utter crap, and not realising it until I’m half way through and thinking ‘wow, this is complete and utter crap’.

But, I can’t begin the process this way. I’ve chosen a storyline, fleshed out the characters and built the world probably as well as Athens prepared for the olympics. I’m sticking to it goddamn it. It’s going to be the best novel I’ve ever written.

Actually it’s going to be the first novel I’ve ever written. To a stage of completion that can warrant it being called a novel.

I can’t believe November has come around again so quickly.

I’m having flashbacks to last year’s NaNo and the novel writing pain. My brain hurts already. I can feel Miss Crankypants coming on. Yet, still, I’m pretty damn excited.

Maybe I’m a masochist.

All I know is that this year is going to be better somehow. I think it’s because I now have a cat. You’re not a legitimate writer until you have a cat.

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I Am Number 6

I’d like to think my cat ruining my driver’s license renewal papers is his way of saying ‘I love you, don’t ever leave me’. But I think I’m reaching a bit. The lines on his face, however, do make him look like he’s in a constant state of worry. But he doesn’t really give a fuck, as he licks his balls in the middle of the dining room table. He doesn’t kiss his mother with that mouth… That’s why we settle for eskimo kisses.

I read my numerology the other day. Apparently my personality is one that relates better to pets than humans. Well, I did have a mind slip the other day that would support this theory. Running through my list of errands I thought ‘and I’ll take the kids for a walk down the back paddock … oh wait, kids, I meant dogs…’

Wow. I know my biological clock has been ticking loudly at me lately, with strange compulsions to abscond with the cute four years old at my karate dojo, but hmm…

As my kitten rests his warm little chin against the crook of my arm as I write this, unfortunately he’s the closest thing I’ve got to children.

And I ask, where else am I supposed to put my overflowing reserves of love? Into some unhealthy obsession with someone I barely know? Sure, why not. I’m sure they would highly appreciate being the object of my undivided attention. Until I leave a bunny rabbit in their kitchen boiler.

Kidding. I’d never do that to a bunny. I’m an animal person, remember.

My mother told me that one day some guy will come along and make me his princess.

I said, ‘no, not princess. Warrior princess?’

Because for some reason I have this vision of myself being a badass black belt within the next five years.

Yet, at the rate I’m going it’ll probably be more like ten years.

Teenage girls, at the moment, have more strength and flexibility than I do. Am I intimidated by these confident, pubescent little fuckers? Hell yes. They bloody well knocked over that standing punching bag thingo with their flying side kicks, whilst I think I pulled a muscle.

Like I already don’t feel like an old lady, you know with my clock ticking and all.

Woman, you’re freaking 22 years old.

But if I’m going to create my own personal army of black belts, I’m going to have to start early.

Maybe I’ll just settle for my own personal army of cats.


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Cats Make Wonderful Companions

Last time I was left home alone I went cuckoo for coco puffs. I remember it so well and surely thought I would lose my mind once again this time around, with my mother off galavanting on a cruise ship somewhere in the South Pacific. It’s safe to say I haven’t been caught out talking rampantly to myself so much this time, which is an improvement I suppose. I’m not sure. It depends if talking to your cat is a step above talking to yourself on the crazy scale or below. I’d put my money on below, because at least a cat has a different personality and is outside of your own head.

Yet again, every time I find myself enjoying the company of my kitten I can only think of this…

"Cats Make Wonderful Companions."

“Cats make wonderful companions.”

At least I only have one.

But, believe me, if I had the money, I’d probably want to bring home the whole goddamn pet shelter. Before I got little Smudge, my white and grey tabby, I’d just stand in front of the cages, cooing, at all of them. ‘Oh, you’re a sweetheart. Aren’t you a sweetheart? Aww, you too, and you and you and you…but not you…nah I’m kidding. How could I not love ALL OF YOU! I’ll save you all, and we’ll all frolic around the farm and meadows together!’

Then the shop owner would be all like ‘you’re still here?’

…Holy crap, do I ever need a boyfriend.

And yet my efforts are bordering on non-existant.

It doesn’t help that Smudge gives the best cuddles ever! And I can survive for awhile off just one whiff of the blue-eyed silver fox who came to fix the coffee grinder today. Reow.

Just subtly drink in the manliness. Ah, yep, that’ll last me.

Is that weird?

When I was eighteen these rather unsightly, middle aged removalists came to our house, and I mean they were not pretty, not one little bit, but my god did they ever smell amazing. It was like pheromones gone wild. ‘What is this scent? I don’t understand! You’re so unattractive, yet I want to be near you…’

Okay, I’m starting to hear myself now, and perhaps this whole being alone thing is affecting me more than I thought.

Woman, put on some perfume, and get out of the goddamn house.

(And I promise, this will be the last post about my cat… but I dunno, there could be more in there. I can never be certain. Okay, probably more like my 3rd last…)

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No Good TV Makes Blogmonster … Something Something.

Sometimes there’s just nothing on TV. Then what do you do? Rule a galactic empire? Let’s just wait a minute. Take one step back. And perhaps one to the side. Then spin around in little circles. Don’t you feel better? Or maybe just a little bit stupid. Don’t worry, I won’t judge you. Sometimes I spin in circles just for the heck of it. If you stop really quickly you get a giddy feeling in your stomach like … like … you’ve just spun around really fast and then stopped abruptly. Gosh darn it. I tried for a clever simile to help you understand, but you’re just going to have to try it for yourself. The experience is also elevated if you look up at the ceiling whilst spinning. Don’t blame me if you stub your toe on a wall or bang your knee into a coffee table. What were you thinking spinning around in such a small space anyways? You’ve got to spread out. Didn’t that Wii board you hardly play with anymore teach you anything? Create a space so you don’t collide with objects whilst exercising…

I like to let my mind roam wild and free. Sometimes it’s stupid, sometimes insightful, sometimes depressing, sometimes a little risqué and even sometimes purple monkey dishwasher. Mostly it’s full of frolicking kittens and cat noises.

I bought a lot of cat food the other day. Like ten little individual packets, all of which I had to scan at the self service checkout one by one. It was all I bought. I watched a movie last night called Trailer Park Boys. It had a man named Bubbles, with ridiculous coke bottle glasses, perhaps a bit of a mental impediment and many, many cats. He spent all his money on cat food. I wonder if I too will become like Bubbles.

Today, during work, I thought about my kitten. You see, I just got a new kitten. I called her Chi Chi. I told her that if she ever left me I would cry.

I feel a little uncomfortable when my mother calls me Mum – as in mother to my kitten. I mean, she didn’t come out of my uterus. Plus it’s confusing. There’s only one mum in this household and that’s my mum.

When she talks to the kitten she calls herself Grandma. That’s a little unsettling. She jokes that it will be the only time she’ll get to be a grandma.

I repeat, I did not give birth to a kitten.

I suppose people still call an adoptive parent Mum. But there are just some things I cannot provide my kitten. Perhaps that’s why she tries to suckle my stuffed animal Monkey in the most suspicious ways. Yeah it’s kinda cute, yet also kinda perverted.

And what does she mean by ‘her only chance to be a Grandma’? Am I that far gone? Yes, I eventually want to raise a cat army and take over … perhaps not the entire world, maybe just Canada … but does that mean I will never meet someone and start a family of my own?


You guys suck.

Please still be my friends.

If you ever leave me I will cry.

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