So my cat has disappeared. We’ve not seen him for 9 days now. He’s an indoor/outdoor cat, but he always returned each night to sleep inside.
Every conversation I’ve had about the situation has had a similar thread. Not always so blunt, but the root of it has always been, “Well, it’s just a cat.”
People who say that suck.
I’m sorry if you’ve had bad experiences with cats. I’m sorry if you had one as a kid and it didn’t like you. I’m sorry that you’ve seen enough cartoons with mean cats that you’ve become convinced that they’re all evil. Even if they ARE all evil, I happen to like mine, and him not being around sucks. If you want to use this as evidence that I am evil by association, fine, but even the evil should be allowed to mourn. (Well, maybe not…evil people being really sad tends to end with world domination schemes.)
I’ve owned 4 cats in my life. All but 1 of them have been so awesome people couldn’t refrain from telling me that I have an awesome cat. Is that pure coincidence? Maybe it’s that you’re crappy cat experience has more to do with you than the cat. That sounds like a pretty cat thing to do. To be annoying to those that annoy you.
The one non-awesome cat was still a decent cat.
So, tirade aside, just nod your head politely when someone is lamenting about their lost animal that you have no affection for. They don’t need your input on pet quality.
Yep. He’s done birds, mice, and today, he’s stepped up his game. I opened the garage door, and instantly noticed the rabbit. Even before I recognized Toby next to him, I said “Toby!” in the same voice your mom used when she found you covering your face in marker.
It’s hard to express my feelings. Part of me is disgusted. There is a large, dead animal in my garage after all. Another part of me is flattered. He brought his kill home to me. The other part of me is IM-PRESSED. Those rabbits are fast. And that thing is nearly as big as he is. I mean, how did he kill it?
Best part is he just kinda sat there, looking around like, “What, this? Oh, yeah, I did that. No big deal. You know, whatever.” His panting gave him away though. He worked hard on that one.
Here’s hoping he doesn’t bring home the great dane from next door in the following weeks.
Note: The only people who will understand who this reminds them of are my close family, because I can’t link you to a nearly identical video of my nephew, because my sister is convinced that if you see that video, you will find her name and address and hunt down and steal her son.
For those of you who don’t get it, you should read this post. It’ll make sense pretty quick.
Today, my sister, Margaret Page
Bullard Burris (they’re so close, it’s so hard to remember!) is turning 29 years old.
I’m not sure if you’re aware, but 29 is only 12 short months away from 30, which, from what I understand, is pretty much death. Maybe not so much death, but certainly on the down hill portion of the ride. I write this not to be mean or foreboding, but rather to encourage Page to live this next year like no other. Hopefully once she stops hobbling around she can begin her 29th year here on earth with a bang. A metaphorical bang, not the sound of a toe sending a laundry basket flying across a laundry room. I hope she spends this next year enjoying the wonderful blessings she’s been given, cause she’ll probably be too old to remember anything next year. Then again, she’s already got like, 90 cats, so maybe she should cash out early and just become the crazy cat lady that kids dare each other to talk to. That could be fun if you approached it with the right attitude.
Well Page, you know all this mean sarcasm is my emotionally stunted way of saying I love you. I hope you enjoyed your 28th year, but I hope you enjoy your 29th even more. I hope I get the chance to spend some of it with you.
And I hope Chandler doesn’t cut your life short by sitting on your face while you’re asleep or something.
I can always tell when Teresa has family or friends in town. My phone sits silently in my pocket, not getting the regular 5 calls a day. When she does call, it’s always for a very specific question, with little to no small talk bookending it.
I don’t have anything to say, but I feel like writing. That doesn’t happen often, so this will probably just get posted,and then regretted and I’ll try and wipe it off the front page with multiple posts about babies and cats.
I started to write about Christmas and my frustrations with it, but I got bored with myself and deleted it. It annoys me that gift giving is more of a frustration than a joy. But that’s more my fault than anyone else’s. Or maybe it’s just cause the only free, indoor playground is in the mall, and this time of year, when it’s so cold, is the best time to use it, but it’s now inundated with Christmas shoppers. Or maybe it’s cause my mom will hate that horrid structure of that last sentence.
The cat (Tobias) narrowly escaped banishment from our house. Both Teresa and I realized we bit off more than we could chew. We weighed the ups and downs of pet ownership using memories of an 18 year old cat that we loved, minus health issues due to age. We forgot to weigh the fact that young cats are very similar to babies in many ways. Important ways like not getting sleep due to crying. But it wasn’t just that. It was also wondering if we were making Noah into a sociopath. he seems to enjoy beating Tobias with cat toys. You can’t blame Noah fully, since Tobias continues to play with the stick Noah is hitting him with. Having to keep the two of them from killing each other is a surprise we weren’t expecting.
But lucky for him, much like Noah, he saved himself by being cute. He’s grown on us.
So that’s our cat. And with that, I’ve worn out my desire to write. So there you go. Have a nice night.
We got a cat. He’s three months old. He’s playful, but very cuddly too.
We haven’t figured out a name yet. I like “Steve” but Teresa says that’s weird since she has an uncle named Steve. I suggested Leroy, and we both like it, but not sure about it. I kinda like using people names for pets, just cause.
His name is Tobias. Tobias Shu-Shu Bullard. Shu-shu was the name the Humane Society gave him, and Noah can say it, so there you go. I should mention, he’s super patient with Noah. Noah has managed to be pretty gentle for the most part, and even when he’s not Tobias still hangs around so Noah can pet him.
just to show that i’m not completely self absorbed, a post about my roommate, Juan:
I’ve been living with Juan for nearly 5 months now, after having met him at fullsail. when we first started our little adventure, he said to me, “i’ll like…pet your cats occasionally and stuff…but, like…i’m not gonna pay for cat food or anything.” what he was trying to say is that, just because the cats are in his apartment, he doesn’t want me to assume he has to do anything about them. this is all well and good, it’s not like i’d expect my roommate to pay me some sort of cat rent, like i’m some sort of cat pimp and they are my little petting prostitutes. but it’s funny to watch him now, lovin’ on my cats. he tends to feed them more than i do, because he gets up earlier than i do, and taylor is pretty much un- ignorable in the mornings.
but i must say that this humourous evolution came to it’s peak when juan and i were watching “the shield” (best show ever) and in the end (*spoiler alert*) the character “Dutch” strangles a cat (don’t ask why, you’d have to watch the show). The funny thing was, as the charcater approached the cat, juan made a little joke about snapping the cats neck…(once again, makes sense if you saw the show), but when the character picked up the cat and actually strangled it, juan paused and stated “that’s messed up.” it’s always fun to watch a tough guy get soft.