The Island of Misfit Cats

A while back, I was musing the oxymoronic prospect of an insomniac cat. Really ... how funny would that be? I've never known a cat that couldn't slip into split-second slumber. You're never going to find a cat with bloodshot eyes, staring at infomercials at 3am. You won't likely see cats raiding the refrigerator in a sleepwalking stupor after taking their nightly dose of Ambien.

"Damn insomnia."

What if there were an Island of Misfit Cats? Here, all the freaks of the feline kingdom could gather and live in peace, avoiding the mocking meows of their "normal" brethren. What other kinds of kitties would accompany Insomniac Cat? Hmm ....

How about Filth Cat? He'd hate cleaning himself and walk around a la Pigpen, with a little dusty cloud surrounding him.

Certainly Box-Phobia Cat would fit right in. She would immediately break out into a full-blown panic attack at the sight of a box. Poor Box-Phobia cat....

"Starting to feel a little clawstophobic."

Bird-Lover Cat might enjoy the island. This cat prefers the non-traditional romantic relationship with the feathered set. His preference has always been judged and disallowed in many feline circles. Here on the island, he is comfortable to openly love that yellow finch who's captured his lonely heart. Isn't that the tweetest thing you've ever heard?

Other inhabitants of the island might include Pill-Popper Cat (loves to swallow pills), Clawstrophobic Cat (hates small spaces), and Ground Cat (afraid of heights).

Yes, on the Island of Misfit Cats, these once-ridiculed kit-kats can stand whisker-to-whisker, embrace their unique behaviors, and coexist among others who accept their unconventional lifestyles! Don't delay -- reserve your spot today!

What other misfit cats might inhabit the island?

Would You Read This Blog?

I love imagining my cats doing silly human things and thinking outrageous human thoughts, but what if it were the other way around?  What if my cats wrote a blog that featured me thinking cat thoughts?  What would that look like?  Would you read this blog? Hmmmm...

That's all I have time for right now; I need to hit the litter box.

Coupon Clipping -- Cirque du Silly Style

I enjoy a good grocery coupon. Lately, perhaps because of the economy, I've noticed coupons seem more valuable, dare I say...exciting? The "buy one get one free" variety are my favorites; my breathing almost changes when I see those in the Sunday paper. Also of note are the "buy one, get another for a penny." Isn't it odd, though, that the store/manufacturer just wouldn't give the second one away for free? Do those pennies really add up? Maybe they do. If a million people each used that coupon, those pennies would add up to.... *attempting math in head, attempting math in head -- really, Angie???* My fine friend, the calculator, tells me that the answer is $10,000, which is significant. Alas, I digress...

Mother's Day is known as a holiday where a mama might receive a coupon book from her children. On the stapled, safety scissor-cut coupon squares, she might find amazing deals for "one hug," or "one chore of your choice," or "breakfast in bed." I was recently thinking about the kind of coupon book I'd like to receive -- not from my kids, but from the Universal powers that be (insert you name of choice here). Don't laugh, these are magical coupons! You should know by now that half of what I write is manufactured in the Cirque du Silly that is my brain.

#1 One day of supernatural sewing powers (on this day I'll just "know" how to sew anything and will work at superhuman speeds).

#2 One day of miraculous math ability (on this day, I'd do a crazy-cool job balancing the checkbook, creating a bull's eye budget, and finally help my 6th grader with his math homework).

#3 One free Samantha Stevens-style nose twitch (with this witchy twitch, I will create the cleanest house on the block...and threaten my children into making it last for more than five minutes).

#4 One Official Scrabble Player's Dictionary implanted into my brain (with my new-found word knowledge, I will amaze my friends and perhaps even take Nationals...)

#5 One day of tuning in telepathically with my cats (on this day, I will find out what Phoebe is saying with her incessant mewing and thieving, counsel Saffy on her poor self-esteem, and explore Cosmo's mother issues)

There! I could seriously fill my freezer with these deals!

Forget Chuck Norris -- Cosmo is the Spitting Image of Danger!

By now, most people have heard at least one...or two hundred and one Chuck Norris jokes. Who dares to deny his legendary, tough-as-nails moxie? If I tried, he would roundhouse kick me, thereby tearing a hole in the fabric of space and time, which would suck me into a parallel universe filled with Chuck Norrises, all waiting to roundhouse kick me. Who would want that? Not me. But wait...you're not out of the woods yet. In still another parallel universe lies a cranky, whiskered, tuxedo lad named Cosmo, who possesses a lesser known, yet equally venomous super-skill... danger-drool. Yes, you just read that. And before you set about scoffing at what seems to be nothing more than happy cat slobber, you best read on....

* In 2004, Cosmo gave the Indonesians a Tsunami for Christmas.

* The local fire department fitted Cosmo's mouth with an attachment for their hoses.

* The low lake and river levels have nothing to do with the weather... Cosmo giveth and Cosmo taketh away.

* During the California wildfires, the officials hung Cosmo from a helicopter. The flames completely extinguished in less than 20 minutes.

* The eye of any given hurricane begins in Cosmo's mouth.

* Cosmo was never mentioned or filmed as he hung, open-mouthed, over Jennifer Beals in her famous Flashdance dance sequence.

A roundhouse kick suddenly sounds like mere child's play now, huh?

Cookie-Eating Skillz for Hire

My husband is currently in a job-hunt situation so I've been recently reflecting on resumes. If you know much about me, you know that once my imagination takes off, there's no predicting on what sort of cracked runway it will land. Such is the case with my current mind-doodles regarding resumes. I began visualizing what my sampling of skill set would look like on paper... if I were really honest about them all. Should I select to share the true talents in which I excel, here's how they might appear on a resume:

Many years' experience co-sleeping with multiple cats (This tells them about my fantastic flexibility.)

Ability to easily devour an entire sleeve of frozen Thin Mints in one sitting (This represents substantial stamina and minty breath.)

Extraordinary consistency in leaving Target with more in the shopping bag than was originally on my list (Big thinker? I believe so.)

Talent for tuning out squabbling siblings in the back seat of my vehicle (My focus is unparalleled!)

Can (and does) sing the theme songs to a variety of old TV shows (e.g., The Jeffersons, The Facts of Life, and The Love Boat) (This demonstrates my excellent memory and ability communicate with others in unusual ways.)

Unique capability to allow pesky weeds to remain unpulled and grow happily among the flowers in the garden (Wow - I remain unruffled and relaxed even when I'm "in the weeds!")

Honors/Awards include: Pro status on Wii bowling, Queen of the Carpool, and Her Highness of the Hairball Hygiene

****

Please let me know if you'd like to schedule an interview; but wait until after 2pm -- I'm about to eat some Thin Mints and nap with the cats.

It Takes a Village to Teach Me how to Make a Child's Poncho

I recently discovered Expert Village, a wonderous widget of websitery that houses videos from almost 3,000 experts on how to do most anything. Seriously... one can learn how to tighten bicycle brakes, make a child's poncho, or even how to correctly breathe when playing the didgeridoo. Heck, there may even be a video on how to do all three at the same time. I first discovered this storehouse of instructional enlightenment when I had questions about the construction of a table runner I was sewing as a Christmas gift. I am a visual learner and respond more quickly to being shown how to do something versus simply reading the words. And if you'd like anything assembled and only have instructions that involve pictures of screws and vague-looking oblong structures labeled A-ZZ, you'd be better off paying the small fee offered by IKEA to have your Bjursta sideboard arrive pre-assembled. Digression-Express to Älmhult aside, I must confess that the table-runner instructional video assisted me in creating a fantastic piece of festive finery somewhat suitable to perhaps even adorn the Martha Stewart Living endcap at K Mart. As I further perused the horn-of-"how-to"-plenty, I began to think about other types of instructional videos that may help me with my day-to-day dilemmas. Here are some suggestions I'd like to submit to Expert Village:

* How to stop Cosmo the cat from drooling all over me when I am sleeping
* How to predict if this is one of the days my son will like peanut butter
* How to stop my kids from growing so I don't have to buy new pants every 3.5 days
* How to teach clothes to fold themselves and dutifully drift to the designated dresser drawers
* How to burn 500 calories by playing Scrabble
* How to teach my cats to maintain their own litter boxes
* How to transfer the nutritional value of broccoli to brownies
* How to harness the energy of bickering children and use it to power my vacuum cleaner

Now where did I put my didgeridoo?

The Thrill of Scrabble and the Agony of De-fuzzy-feet

I love Scrabble. I adore the sound of the tiny tiles tinkling together in the bag and the smell of the unfinished wooden letter racks. I revel in near-OCD delight as I carefully line up my letters on the rack, painstakingly separating the vowels from the consonants and alphabetizing my tidy little army of letter soldiers, who are standing at attention, ready to march into battle. At any point in the day, I would toss aside the task at hand and throw down a mean round of Scrabble. Unfortunately, my family doesn't share my overzealous enthusiasm for the business of bingos and the glory of triple word scores. If only I could somehow convince my three cats to join me in a casual game of Scrabble. I can only imagine...

I suppose Cosmo might be an annoying partner, what with the incessant slobbering. If he were winning, he may become really excited and then his slippery, spit-soaked letters would slide off the rack, exposing them to Phoebe, who is a well-known cheater-pants.

Phoebe is notorious for her general sneakiness. As a kitten, she learned how to count cards from the goats in the barn where she was born. She probably has some sort of underhanded method for surefire wins at Scrabble as well. My guess is that she may use her claw to scratch a change in the letter M tile from a 3 to an 8 point value. I also wouldn't be surprised if she faked a hairball and then peeked at my letters while I was getting her a bowl of water.

Saffy's catnip addiction would make her a challenging partner. She'd either be zoned out and not paying attention or scattering cat treat crumbs all over the board from her messy munchie mania.

On second thought, I think I'll just play online. At least if my virtual partner is drooling, I will be none the wiser.

State of the Litterbox

Whatever your political affiliation, please indulge me as my overzealous imagination once again skids off the main highway and takes the uneven, gravel back roads to Crazy Town (of which I am the self-proclaimed mayor). Speaking of public offices held by unlikely, yet exceptionally well qualified parties, I was recently pondering the prospect of a president with a purr-box. What would happen if an American Bobtail occupied the Oval Office? What if a Sphynx signed and vetoed bills? Could a Siamese's sassy mouth win a debate? Here are my thoughts on some possible implications if a cat were elected president.


* A law would immediately be passed to mandate daily naps.

* There would be a strict requirement for playtime.

* There would be no need for a White House chef; a human with mad can opening skills would do the trick.

* Cat army = money saved on night vision goggles

* Government subsidies would be provided for eco-friendly cat litter.

* There would be a tax credit on each kitten that is spayed or neutered.

* Animal Planet reporters would have a front row spot at all press conferences

* Goodbye Rose Garden, hello Catnip Garden

* A position on the cabinet would be created for a rep from the Cat Fanciers' Association.

* The cat's uncanny ability to ignore people would help him maintain composure during debates and during appearances on Larry King.

* The new president's motto? "A mouse in every pot and a double-decker cat stroller in every garage."

Cat Drool Problem Solved - Lickity Spit!

Cosmo is a cat that drools when he is happy; as soon as the purr engine begins revving, the drool switch is flipped. I recently read an online article which explained that when cats are happy, their jaws relax and then the slobber drizzles over their little kitty lips. Most times I don't mind, but sometimes the spittle shower can be downright annoying. I often grab a tissue or paper towel when I hold him - a burp rag of sorts. That way, when the waterfall of warm liquid begins dribbling, I can sop his fuzzy mouth. The biggest bother is when he snuggles under our covers for the night and begins to salivate, creating a drool lagoon on the sheets. This is a sloppy surprise for anyone rolling over or changing positions (which happens frequently). As much as I adore Cosmo, it's impossible to drift back into peaceful slumber with cat-spit-soaked jammies. I decided there must be a way to harvest the spittle and use it for good. There must be a way to collect it in a bucket and then recycle it for something useful. After all, aren't we all supposed to be green these days? Why should perfectly good cat spit go to waste? Here are some of the ways I think I could make good use of Cosmo's mouth droplets.

• Cats are spotless animals and clean themselves several times a day. There must be some sort of magical cleaning quality to their spit. What if I funneled some of it into a spray bottle and used it to clean countertops?
  
• Kitties maintain gorgeous coats with nothing more than a good old-fashioned tongue bath. I can only imagine the luxurious locks that await me after I shampoo with Salon Selectives - Spittle Formula.
• This liquid also seems to have a lubricating quality. Certainly it could be sprayed into squeaky hinges.
  
• Speaking of its slick characteristics, cat spit would make a fine cooking spray. Watch your muffins pop right out of the pan!
• Eye make up remover? It's all natural!
• Toss those tubes of antibiotic ointment. If cat saliva can clean a newborn kitten, it can undoubtedly disinfect your child's skinned knee.

With an all purpose product like this, I have nothing but great expectorations.

References Not Available Upon Request

Here she goes again.... another post about cats acting like humans... Well, simmer down - it's my blog and if these preposterous posts accomplish nothing more than to feed my folly (for hours on end), so be it.

Phoebe is our youngest cat and - by far- demonstrates the greatest amount of quirky behavior. Topping the list is the uncontrollable belly laughter she zealously spews at the most inappropriate moments. After a series of calamitous events, last of which being her torrent of unruly guffawing while Cosmo was waiting his turn at the National Spelling Bee. He was so shaken by the time he reached the microphone, that he had to be led off the stage with a catnip mouse. After that final shenanigan, she packed her bags and lefthome for a stretch of time to "find herself." During that period, she tried her paw at a variety of vocations, hoping to find a place where her peculiar behavior might serve a purpose.

Since she was an avid reader, she thought the job of a librarian would be a perfect fit. Her stint lasted two hours because she couldn't say the term Dewey Decimal without doubling over.












Next, she decided the position of flight attendant would be an exciting endeavor. After all, weren't people happy when they were on vacation? Unfortunately, most passengers don't enjoy safety instructions being giggled in between lecturing tones from the captain's cockpit. She was immediately escorted off the plane.









Her drive not yet deflated, she insisted she needed a really serious job in order to kick her howling habit. She interviewed for weeks and finally landed an outstanding opportunity as a surgical nurse. She never made it past passing the scalpel.













In a final effort to hook her niche, she took a job as a judge in a county courthouse. She soon learned that successful judges do not tehee at the word, "pro bono."







After exhausting all the possibilities of what she thought would be her ultimate occupation, she returned home, slipped on her Snuggie and decided her uncontrollable laughter would be best spent on old episodes of Gilligan's Island.

Bailey Cats - Busted!

I have long suspected that my three cats have led secret lives apart from the banal business of Bailey housecatdom. I now have the proof:

Scenario: I found my old sports bra and a drool-soaked make-up sponge hidden behind the litter box. All three cats are called forward for questioning.

Suspect: Cosmo. I know this because he is a terrible liar and cannot look at me when I blatantly ask about his participation in such shenanigans. Notice Phoebe and Saffy's unwavering gaze as they witness their brother crumble under the stress of it all.

Despite his continued insistence of innocence, my suspicions were cemented when I happened upon a frightening vision a few nights ago. I'd arose at midnight for a glass of water and caught Cosmo primping for karaoke night at the local underground club, "Catnip Crossing." Busted!



I began to worry when Saffy didn't show up for dinner a few nights ago. I scoured the house, thinking that perhaps someone had inadvertantly trapped her in a closet. Upon entering the basement, my attention focused on frantic scratching that seemed to be coming from the corner. I followed the sound to a cardboard box in a dank, dark corner, flat against the water heater. Hesitantly, I peered inside and my worst fears were realized. Saffy stared up at me, whiskers weighed down with the stuff, her eyes finished in a fine euphoric glaze. She'd been a slave to the catnip cave all day and didn't appear to be seeking rehab anytime soon. Where did she get the money to pay for all of this nip? We certainly didn't have that kind of cash just laying around the house....

Who knew the Boggle gambling ring could be such a lucrative racket? This secret society of feline word-wagers goes as far back as ancient Egypt, where these cunning kitties tossed 4-sided chunks of heiroglyphic-scratched mudbrick, in hopes of winning a jug of catnip-infused fig wine. Nowdays, cats won't play for anything less than the straight-up pure stuff.

Q: How much catnip can be won from a single game of back-alley Boggle?

A: How many words can you find in 3 minutes?

Busted!

Phoebe's behavior suddenly seemed strikingly standoffish. When I tried to cuddle and kiss her, she had that faraway look in her eyes, almost like she no longer enjoyed the cozy closeness to which she once clung.









She then developed a habit of hiding in closets and wouldn't come down for hours. When she did finally emerge, she barely spoke a word and shunned the other cats. She requested a separate litterbox in the garage and a private phone line. Our befuddlement broadened with each passing day.





One cold, fateful morning, all of our questions were answered. It turns out that Phoebe was having a long distance affair with a young tomcat in the feline professional monster truck circuit. His name was Scully, aka The Scottish Fold of Fury, and she'd been writing to him for months. She saw his picture on the back of a can of Fancy Feast and couldn't get him out of her head. She hacked into my internet account and located his fan page... the rest is history. She saw the monster truck in the box that Ben was about to wrap as a birthday gift for a friend. Naive in the ways of love and the US Postal Service, she thought if she removed the truck and inserted herself, she'd be sent directly to Scully. Busted!

I think I need to call Dr. Phil.

Listen Up!

Sometimes it seems to me that the art of good listening is lying limp and lifeless, gasping for air. Are people's brains so disengaged these days that they can't really focus their full attention on what others are saying? For example, more times than not, when I go to a coffee shop and ask for a plain black coffee - no cream, the barista asks, "Do you want room for cream?" Is she bewildered by my shockingly simple order or is she mentally Twittering instead of tuning in? This annoying scenario has driven me to the point of curtly countering with, "No - I said black." *insert laser death gaze here* I'm now one step closer to "crotchety old woman" status - thanks, Starbucks.

You know who's a good listener? A cat. The TV can be blaring, people engaged in lively conversation, neighbors shooting off fireworks, and my cats can hear the sound of a can opener piercing aluminum. These felines could be passed out, comatose under multiple layers of blankets and their eyes snap open when they hear the word "treat" merely muttered in general conversation. I think this keen auditory ability makes a cat the ideal candidate for barista. Why not? Unlimited access to caffeine makes it the perfect job for a creature who is constantly tired and who would look cuter in that little green apron? These super-hearing, caffeine-infused, cuddly critters would be the model of customer service. She'd hear your coffee order as you discussed it with your friend on the walk from the car to the coffee shop. The purring paws of lightening would quickly prepare the beverage and then slide it to you, old west bartender-style as you approached the counter. You'd look up to thank her and she's simply nod and wink, moving on to the next satisfied customer.

Beware humans - as your listening skills weaken and good customer service nears extinction, there's an army of Calico, Tabby and Siamese waiting in the wings, ready to swoop in and whip up a mad Venti Latte.