we are dis many

Kitties are five years old today.

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Meow meow boys — happy birthday to the craziest and fluffiest boys ever. You are orangey, stripey and most lovable. You used to be a little more fond of each other, but now seem to spend a lot of time pouncing and wrestling, like two teen-aged boys. I like you best when you cuddle, but love you no matter what. Cream cheese awaits you tonight.

marriage equality

Fred and George just wanted to say:

mcats

As a country, we’ve corrected a mistake we shouldn’t have made in the first place, and that part of it still makes me a little frustrated. But it was a good day, a great day, and there will be many more to come, I’m sure of it, as so many Americans are finally able to exercise the rights they have been unjustly denied. It’s about time.

 

Will there be cows?

I hate moving. I hate going through the accumulated detritus of the years, I hate worrying about having enough boxes, I hate packing the boxes, I hate stacking the boxes and living with boxes, I hate needing things that are already in the boxes. All of it. I’ve moved more times than I wanted to, and I swore I would die in this house, but then some guy came along and got me feeling all mushy and now I’m moving again. Or rather, we’re moving. There are, as a matter of fact, two charming creatures that are less happy about moving than I am.

WHAT DIS MOO-VING? WILL THERE BE COWS? MOO MOO COWS!!! COWS WHY U NO TALK TO MEE?! MOM I THINK WE STAY RIGHT HERE OK?

WHAT DIS MOO-VING? WILL THERE BE COWS? MOO MOO COWS!!! COWS WHY U NO TALK TO MEE?! MOM I THINK WE STAY RIGHT HERE OK?

For the record, I am sure Fred and George are going to love their new home. The stairs, the patio doors, the fireplace, the breakfast bar, the sleigh bed. I can’t wait to show them. But they’re going to hate the move. The packing, the boxes (well, George likes boxes), and the craziness right around the wedding. And, most of all, moving day: being in their carriers, in the car for the long drive, and then a new place, one that may seem scary at first.

People ask if I’m talking to the boys about their upcoming move yet. The answer? Fred, yes. George, no.

Fred and I have had a few chats. I tell him about the amenities (particularly the enclosed gas fireplace, which was a non-negotiable condition of move) and discuss game-day strategy. Fred is calm and unworried about the endeavor. He has minions to do his worrying for him.

George? I don’t want to scare him. He’d just be confused. I don’t think he remembers that there’s anything else out there, other than his house. I think he thinks the windows are just one big television program with not enough birds and cars going by too quickly and Outside Kitty (belonging to our neighbors) who occasionally appears as if from nowhere. This would explain why he turns and looks at me sometimes, as if to say, “Put the channel with the birdees on, Mommy.” So no, I haven’t told him yet. I’m wondering if he sleeps most of the ride, I can get away with telling him we just built new walls and changed the channel. I think it’s worth a shot.

Good kitty news

happy-kittyLucien has been adopted!

I don’t know any of the details, but when I checked out Petfinder today (because I’m that obsessed about the little guy), I saw that Lucien is now an Adopted Kitty. Whoever took him, thank you. I knew he’d find someone to love him again. I wish it could have been me, but all that matters is that he has his home again. Be happy together!

One cat down. About 4 million to go.

I want what I can’t have

For the past few weeks I’ve been in a battle of wills with myself. I’m going to win (obviously), but I don’t have to like the outcome.

This sweet boy has been looking for a home for weeks and weeks now. His name is Lucien, and he’s at the Buffalo Animal Shelter, a wonderful place it’s true, a place that brought me the two feline loves of my life, Fred and George, but nevertheless he is there, stuck there, without a home to call his own. They say his owner had allergies and had to give him up… don’t get me started… and that he’s unhappy at the shelter. I mean, just look at this face:

I want him. I want to take him home. I want to go get him, now, yesterday, tomorrow, and bring him back here to my house, and tell Fred and George to lick him and give him lovings. I want to change his name to Sirius Black and squeeze him and make him my boy. And I can’t, damn it. Because next fall when Dave and I are living in Smithtown, our complex has a two-cat-limit. No exceptions. So I can’t do any of that, no matter how hard it is not to just jump in the car and bring him home. I have to lose this one, this time.

All I can do instead is tell everyone I know about this sweet boy, and hope someone falls in love like I did. I think his kitty mommy is out there somewhere. It just isn’t going to be me.