Tag Archives: cats


*The following article is from a client and friend of mine (wtdaterry). Alice lets me beat her about the head and neck during boot camp. She is as funny as she is crazy for coming to see me everyday. You can check out her other work here. She’ll write your pants off, if you pay her!

Truthfully, this should be a quick post. The answer is simply that you can’t. Under normal circumstances anyway. I suppose if you had a bi-level house or apartment and was able to lock them in the basement, muzzle their meows, and superglue mittens to their paws, you might have a chance. Sadly, I don’t have mittens. So, for those of us who are stuck for all eternity with cats, here are at least some ways you can try to minimize the daily trauma to yourself. The cats won’t care either way.¬†

First, give yourself a quick pep talk before you go to bed, right after you’ve set the alarm. Say to yourself, “I will sleep until 8 a.m. with no interruptions. Tomorrow is my day!” Briefly consider purchasing an air horn and/or kitty drugs if your pep talk doesn’t work.¬†

At 10 p.m., as usual, the cats will begin the nightly ritual of wresting right outside your door, complete with body slams, hissing, and yowling when one is playing unfair. You have only barely started to fall asleep at this point. Keep your eyes closed but mumble to yourself, “Damn cats.” When the wrestling continues for a full 3-5 minutes, which it will, sit up in bed and yell, “Knock it off!” Cats will appear startled and gallop into the next room. If they do not relent, use excessive force (squirting with water gun which is kept on the bedside table at all times, and in severe cases, jump out of bed, chase them around the house, back them into a corner and squirt water directly into their faces. If this happens, you will feel feel guilt by the time you are back in bed. Sucker.)

Between 11 p.m. and 2 a.m., the cats will occasionally chase each other past your door but like most nights, one or both will end up curled at the foot of your bed. Ah. Rest.

At 4:30 a.m. you will have to get up to pee because you have a bladder like your grandmother. Good job. In doing so, you will displace and awaken the cats. Make a mental note to buy Depends at the grocery store next week. 

At 6 a.m. you will awaken with the sense that you are being watched. Roll over to see one of your cats staring at you. He’s probably been sitting there, plotting your death for the past hour or so. Roll back over and pretend to sleep. At 6:30 on the dot, your cat watcher will begin the normal “Feed me” meows. Every 5-10 seconds, just out of reach of your fist, foot, or pillow. You will ignore him, unsuccessfully until 7 a.m. You have to pee again anyway, might as well put some dry food down so the bastard will shut up.¬†

As you walk back to bed, your other cat follows and begins her morning routine of jumping on the bed, walking across your pillow, and standing on your chest. Most mornings she tries to touch your face with her paw. This morning, she has her butthole pointed in your direction. Thanks. Flip her off your chest, turn over, and cover your head with your blanket. Remember what it was like before you had cats. Sigh. As you sigh, you inhale a cat hair. Cough. Curse. Grip blanket tighter over your head. A piece of your hair is sticking out of the blanket. Your cat tries to eat it.

At 7:30 just give up. Just. Give. Up. Why did you ever think you’d get to sleep in? Idiot. The cats have won again and as you rise out of bed defeated, they prance away with their tails held high. They follow you into the kitchen to grab the can of food. Then they rush past you and beat you to their food bowls. You open the can, plop the food in, and they just stare at it.¬†

In your next life, consider purchasing a single goldfish.  

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What To Do About STRAY DOGS

One star drizzled night, while around the campfire with some of my friends, all of a sudden to our surprise we see a stray dog approach the fence. My first reaction, which I surppressed, was to throw a rock or something blunt at the dog but I didn’t because there were women present. Much to my dismay, this sentiment was not shared by the girls and one male friend that will remain nameless to protect his dating ability. They started calling this dog over and of course the dog finds a way into my yard. But it will not come close enough for a good belly scratch…GOOD!

Later, the next morning my son and his friends are playing outside when all of the sudden they come running in and my son was crying like crazy. I asked him what was wrong? He said that a black dog was biting him in the back while he tried to run away. This is when I thought of my wonderful friends that called the mutt over the night before.

No problem though, I will run it off. So I ran outside and chased it into the woods. The dog stayed away most of the day until later in the afternoon I saw it again and the boy started to run and scream as the dog got closer. This is when I decided to get serious about this I grabbed a hammer and went outside and threw it at the dog aiming for the ground so that I would catch the dog on the bounce not because I didn’t want to kill it, because I did, but because if I hit it right, it would run off and die and I would not have to carry it.

I missed. Now you can all relax, but the dog got the message and hasn’t been back since. My solution is to use your hammer, if you miss you will at least spook the dog, if you hit it you will have no more dog. Either way you win!

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I have always been around pets. For example, growing up, we had 30 something cats and maybe 8 different dogs from one time to another. I also spent some time on two different hog farms, stinky sticky and down right filthy hog farms at that.

So it was a natural thing to get a dog when my wife and I were married. We decided to get us a rotweiller. Awesome puppy, expensive, but awesome. Then it grew up and started running through my fences, destroying my lawn, ripping my dog ties and my fence right out. We quickly turned into non pet people.

That is until recently. I thought that it might be a good thing for my two young boys to have a couple of kittens… which they love. So I have two cats and two boys and they are both doing fine. My oldest has taken the responsibility pretty well. Well, as well as a four year old can, he does the cat litter and feeds them twice a day.

Things are fine. I have always tolerated cats and this is no different. They are lazy mostly and keep to themselves… if you keep them trained. Well, last week we heard a dog barking outside our house and proceeded to find out what was going on. There was a little dodson outside barking at my son, I told the dog to get out of here and it ran away… till the next day that is. When we got back from church there she was again, barking at us. So went over to her and gave her some water because it was hot and I am a nice guy.

So now we have 2 cats and a dog named biscuit, I like the dog but I will let if go if it wants to. We don’t let it in and it kind of guards the place. Non pet people now with 3 pets, wish me luck.

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What To Do About CATS

This article on cats was written by our good friend Schuylar Croom, frontman for North Carolina rock band He Is Legend. Schuylar has the ability to make any topic more interesting than it initially seems.

It is late enough for me to know that looking at the clock will only make things worse. There is always a point in the night where you realize that the time doesn’t matter. It’s nighttime…that is all. I live in a small duplex in what some would call a retirement community. How I lucked out with this low rent, cinder block box is beyond me, but I’m happy here. It’s always quiet and I am only a 2-minute walk from the lake and all of its wildlife. I believe that I am the only one awake in these some 50 houses and it might as well be all 50 states. It’s one million o’clock in the morning. As I light a cigarette the fake gas fireplace is whispering secrets to three adorable cats. Each of their heads turns slightly to lock eyes with me. How I made eye contact with the lot of them is still a mystery. But it is the closest I have ever felt to having a conversation with the devil.

I have never considered myself a cat person. It’s not that I hate them, although I am quick to spout that word off daily when their mischief catches me off guard, I have just always had a dog. A dog’s loyalty is like a book that you can almost recite by heart, where a cat is like watching a rerun of E! Entertainment news. But I digress; this is about my relationship with the cats.

The two cats that live with me are named Buckets and Steve. They are brother and sister and I have suspicions that they are victims of inbreeding. I cannot hold this against them although I do love to tease them about it. Buckets is very small with the brightest blue eyes. I often call her King Buckets the Princess. This is a name that she has grown attached to.  It also may have given her a complex. My only real problem with her is that she loves to knock things off of counters and tables. Cylindrical objects are her neapolitan ice cream. If you leave your chapstick on the table in the morning it will be under the couch. But mainly she just eats and sleeps. She’s a precious little princess and I guess I am glad that she keeps me company. Not to mention that she will let you draw on her with magic markers.

Some dark spirit on the other hand, no doubt, possesses Steve the Cat. His coat is the color of a storm cloud with just as much dread. His eyes the shade of Linda Blair’s in the Exorcist only slightly more sinister. The “meows” that wake me in the morning are more of a jungle roar. I do believe that Steve is as wild as any cat in Africa. He only happens to live in North Carolina and be a house cat. Besides the fact that he can’t really figure out how to cover his own droppings, (Buckets has to do it for him) he is okay to have around inside. We have developed a love/hate relationship. But I can tell he likes it. It’s the great outdoors where Steve causes most of his havoc.

Right down the street from my house is a large wooden bridge stretching over Greenfield Lake. I spend a lot of time there; it’s a great spot to reflect. Sometimes when friends are visiting we will go down to the bridge to fellowship, usually at one million o’clock, but who’s looking at the clock in the first place? One night Steve the Cat invited himself into the fold. He didn’t stray too far and would come when I made the “kiss-kiss-kiss” noise that usually only works for dogs. This was a major break-through in our relationship and he still follows close behind to this day. I imagine he thinks we walk to the Land Of The Gods, where no cat shall enter. I can see the heroic gaze in his eyes as he lies on the wooden bridge floor, staring up at the sky. I wonder if inside his tiny brain, as he looks up at the moon, he thinks about visiting it someday?

One day as six of my friends and I were sitting on the bridge in the cold night air; we lost ourselves in fellowship, which is pretty easy to do, when we realized that Steve the Cat was missing. We decided to go back home, hoping he would turn up along the way. The walk back seemed to take days. Everyone began yelling Steve’s name in the voices that they had dedicated to kittens of all kinds. Knowing that he could take care of himself I charged toward the door. I noticed the body of a large dead squirrel in just enough time to stop my Chuck from squeezing his last meal onto the porch. This was more traumatic than it should have been but when adding the body of a dead bird, it climaxed into a “what the eff” situation. We knew who the murderer was. His name is Steve the Cat and here he comes now, with yet another dead squirrel clutched in his jaws.

 After that night a rule had to be made. The cats now had a curfew. They are to be in shortly after sundown. This was working out fairly well until I agreed to cat-sit for a very close friend of mine. Normally I would have said “absolutely not” but it just so happens that this cat is a brother to Steve and Buckets. I really had no choice, Thumbs was on his way. Plus I must say that I was a little curious as to how the three would act once reunited. It wasn’t as climactic as I would have liked. Buckets did make some of the strangest noises I have heard come out of any animal. She reminded me of a tiny white wolf princess. And Battle cat Steve was actually pretty timid towards her.

Thumbs is pretty much a perfect mix between Steve and Buckets. He has her white coat and his demon eyes. His face is a little longer than the other two. I am almost 100% positive that he has Down Syndrome. A few nights ago I watched the bonding session between Steve and Thumbs. Steve let out a hiss that faded into a growl as Thumbs swatted the air in front of his face. Thumbs’ paw remained outstretched for a split second before he placed it on Steve’s shoulder. I could almost hear his deep cat voice say, “Come on mang, we bros.”

The next morning the splayed carcass of a beautiful baby duck lay frozen on the grass. Most of the poor duck had been devoured. Thumbs and Steve were running around frantically, zooming behind the bushes with a playful murderous rage set deep in their eyes. Buckets, God bless her soul, was just too dainty to even sniff the loose feathers. I hate touching dead animals. I would rather swerve around a family of deer than splatter possum entrails all over my cars undercarriage. So understand that I gagged a lot when I buried it.

So what to do about cats? I wish I knew. I can’t even decide if I like them or not. I guess this article is more of a question to cat lovers and not really informative in the least bit. For that I apologize. Sure I will keep feeding them and changing their litter. But when I go out to the porch with my coffee in the morning and almost step on the severed head of a mallard, it’s a little unnerving. I could probably get into some kind of trouble for having The Kitty Manson Family. Hopefully no one will find out. In the meantime, say a little prayer for the woodland creatures. There are evil cats everywhere.

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