The Bitchy Kitty Litmus Test

I'm pretty sure I have mentioned it to anyone who is near me for three seconds and appears to be able to hear... but I have a bitchy cat (cough, cough, cough).

She spits at strangers, scratches me, and almost always regurgitates her food. She's the worst.

At this point in our eight year relationship, I've come to accept this fact but, for a while, I was sure there was a way Sophie and I could work through her terrible temperament. I googled different options, searched PetCo high and low, read about "natural blends" of substances that calm cats down, researched homeopathic cat medicine, considered googling "kitty lobotomy" but realized the results would be horrific and in no way the funny sarcasm I was looking for, and finally settled on talking to my vet.

I have to point out, too, that Sophie puts on a major show at the vet. Those are the only people in the world (besides me aka her "food source") that she tolerates. Every time I walk in with her, they goo and gah and click at her, and I always roll my eyes and wonder what great animal drugs they just took in the back room to make them excited to see "Bitchface" (as my mom calls her).

I set up an appointment to see the vet to take care of some other things and, while I was there, I asked her about any possibilities of medicine or training that would make Sophie nicer. She petted Sophie while she talked to me about gadgets that worked sort of like air fresheners and would release calm inducing pheromones into the air. She mentioned a few other options and also kind of implied that Sophie wasn't that bad and none of these were 100% proven and all cats are different and maybe I should just love her for how horrible she is. (She didn't say that last part but I heard it).

I left disheartened and went back to work to wait for them to call me to come pick up hell kitty. A few hours later my phone rang and I headed over to pick Sophie up. When I got there, they brought her up in her carrier and put her on the floor and the vet came out and pulled me aside.

"So there was one option I didn't discuss with you earlier..."

I was definitely curious. I wondered what had happened that made her want to follow up with me.

"Valium."

I looked puzzled. I didn't know if she was offering one to me. I cocked my head and squinted my eyes. "What?"

"Valium. There are options to give animals that really need it human drugs that will calm them down."

At this point, a cat that lived at the vet and had a pretty sweet life wandered over to see what was going on. He rubbed against my legs and dragged his tail across Sophie's crate. I bent down to pet him and kept listening to the vet.

"I mean..... Sophie doesn't even like Onion."

OK- I had heard "valium," but now was I hearing "onion?"

I did the confused face/RCA dog thing again. Was there some unknown food trick that I didn't know about to find out if your cat is truly as horrible as she seems? Was there a bitchy kitty litmus test????

She tilted her head toward the cat I was petting. "That's Onion."

I was back up to speed and Sophie was having a full out break down in her carrier while another cat rubbed against it and her owner.

"Onion gets along with almost every animal that has come in here. And Sophie just really doesn't like him."

Sophie's box rocked and weird spit/yowling mash up noises came out of it.

I thanked my vet for the information and headed home with a ball of really angry fur and considered the option. This was quite the commitment. I would need to stay on top of it. Also, I traveled sometimes for work. Would someone else give my cat these pills? I discussed it with my parents and soon after my Dad found a cartoon similar to this one.

Yep. That was enough of a reminder. I liked my face the way it was. And I guess I would have to like Sophie the way she was, too.

Cat Scratch Fever

I may have mentioned it before but, just in case, I want to let you know again. I have a mean cat. Her name is Sophie. And yes, she is pretty. But she is mean.

It never fails that I have some form of the following conversation when people first encounter Sophie.

Them: "OOOOHHH... is that your cat!? Look at her! She is so pretty."
*They begin to approach her.*
Me: "Yeah, she's pretty but she's mean as hell. Don't try to pet her. She will scratch you."
Them: "Ooooohhhh, I'm sure she's not THAT mean."
Me: "I promise you she is THAT mean. She will scratch you."
*They start to reach to pet her as they turn to me."
Them: "I'm an animal person tho---- OUCH. SHIT!! SHE JUST SCRATCHED ME!!"

They look at their wound and their mouth drops open. They turn to me and hold up their appendage to show me the blood. I stare at their facial expression, which combines elements of betrayal and surprise. I look at their sad eyes and their mouth contorted into a perfect "O" of unexpected pain and my heart, just like that of the predestined Grinch's, begins to grow.



Just kidding. I TOLD YOU SHE WOULD SCRATCH YOU.

I shrug and let them know where the band-aids are with a tone that implies a certain level of wussiness if they actually go and get one.

They usually follow up with some comment/question about why she lets me pet her. She is my cat. I feed her every day. I put up with her bullshit and when she thinks I have left her alone for a night, she shits somewhere that is hard to clean and that is not her litter box just to let me know what she thinks of me. I guess that's her way of showing she loves me. And, to quote J. Giles Band "love stinks."



So, to my tens of followers, this PSA is for you.

I HAVE A MEAN CAT. Despite what her fluffiness might portray, she harbors a certain level of darkness that should have gotten its own level in Dante's Inferno. Don't pet her. She will scratch you. And if you do pet her, don't come looking to me for sympathy. Idiot.

Thank you.

Have a nice day.

Sophie, cont.

For those of you who have not read my post introducing you to the angry cat beast that I own, let me introduce you to Sophie. She is my cat. She vomits a lot. She does not cuddle. And she sleeps at the foot of the bed and will claw the shit out of my foot if is in her space. I think this picture pretty much sums her up.

You talkin to me?

Sophie is somewhat similar to the honey badger, she doesn't give a shit.

I travel a lot for work and have to find cat sitters for Sophie. My words of wisdom for them while watching her:

• She's mean. She will rub against you because you are feeding her, but she is still mean. She will still probably swat at you or bite you at some point. 
• She pukes. A lot. Sorry. It's gross, but I ask that you pick it up. If not, she will just eat it again later. OK- so she's mean and nasty. 
• She really likes canned cat food. The best way to that girl's shriveled little black heart is through the distinct pop and peel sound that only a can of cat food can make. But don't let her response trick you, she is still mean.

After a coworker of mine watched Sophie for a few days, he came to work with a scratched up arm. He showed our boss his arm and said she did that after he fed her. My boss, who also owns cats, told me that there was something wrong with her. I responded "Yeah, she's mean." He said he had never heard of a cat that will rub against you, love you when you feed it, and then scratch you immediately after. (Which is a little peculiar since she loves her food a lot... she had to take time out of eating to scratch my coworker. Maybe he was distracting her from her food and she was annoyed. Maybe she was just having a bad day.)

My parents have also had the pleasure of watching her for me. They have multiple cats, which is not OK with Sophie. When she goes home with me, she usually follows me to whatever room I am in. You can always hear her coming by the screaming and spitting act she performs each time she comes across another feline. When I am not there, though, she doesn't have anyone to follow and therefore perches herself on their stairs so she can survey the activity without a blind spot in which another cat could mosey into. My Dad let me know that she spit at him multiple times when he climbed the stairs. "I've never had a cat spit at me in my life." "Dad, I told you: She is mean."

My parents will be watching her for an extended period of time soon. When I broke the news to them (as softly as possible), my mom responded "Just remember this favor when you have to change our diapers." At first I didn't think it was an even trade and then I thought about picking up regurgitated canned cat food and cut my rebuttal short.

Would a rose smell as sweet by another name?

I don't know. But my cat probably would be just as mean with another name. Any other name would probably be more fitting, too. Rather than "Sophie" I could call her "Beelzebub," "Diablita," or my mom's favorite when addressing her, "Bitch Face."

We always had pets when I was growing up. For most of my life, we had one or two dogs and at least two cats at any given points (pretty much like Noah's ark). Needless to say, when I entered adulthood, I really wanted a pet of my own. The prospect of finally owning an animal that would truly be mine and would love me the way most animals admire one family member a little more than the rest was exciting. I kept putting off getting a cat because I think I was a little scared of the 13-17 year commitment and I didn't have an extra $100 or so to go to the SPCA to get a healthy, spayed/neutered, friendly, compassionate, not afraid of people, nice to other animals cat. But when my boyfriend called me and told me that they found a kitten that had been dumped at the golf course he worked at, it was hard for me to say no.

Enter Sophie.

I was out of town when Dan brought her home and was anxious to get back to NOLA and see my new pet. She is a talker and the only way they could find her in the tall grass that she was hiding in was to meow to her. She would meow back. She was incredibly afraid of people so it took multiple guys a few hours and oven mitts and a box to get her. In Dan's defense, he had never really dealt with animals before and did not realize that while a tiny cat could claw the shit out of him, it would really not be that bad.

I ran into Dan's apartment and was ready to see a kitten playing on the floor, or sleeping on the sofa, or doing anything that normal kittens do but she was nowhere to be found. We had to meow for her and track her voice to her hiding place. I reached in and grabbed her and revealed my precious (I like to say it in a Schmeigal voice). My skinny ass, freaked out, sick, precious. As I begin to pet her, I realized she was sick- really sick. She had a huge scab on her neck, and she was very thin. The first night I brought her home, I put some towels in a laundry hamper and put her in the bathroom. She cried until I moved the laundry hamper into my room and put it next to my bed.  (Get your 'awwwwws' out now, because this is about the only time you can say it during my four year relationship with Sophie).

I took her to the vet and three things of fluid, multiple tests, shaving her neck, removing the parasite that had been living there, getting her up to speed on shots and vaccinations, and $500 later, I finally had the cat I had been so excited about owning. And she was scared shitless of me and any other human.

During her first week in my house, her litter box (which was in the kitchen) remained clean. This really baffled me until I realized that she had been treating my laundry hamper with all of my work clothes that were waiting to be dry cleaned as her litter box. Great. She was too afraid to walk to the kitchen. Immediately after I found her new bathroom spot, I walked into my sun room- where she was- which scared the shit out of her. She puffed up, jumped on my desk and knocked over multiple tiles I brought home from Portugal, that I couldn't replace. At this point I looked at Dan with tears of rage in my eyes and told him I might get rid of her.I mean- can you blame me? So far- I had a cat that wouldn't let me touch her, felt it appropriate to poop on my work clothes, and broke things that couldn't be fixed or replaced.

Around month 2 of my proud ownership, she went into heat. I called the vet and told them but they said she was too young to go into heat. After a few nights of sleeplessness spent listening to my cat SCREAM for a mate and Dan wanting to shake her to death, I called the vet again and promised them she was in heat. Apparently, she was so dehydrated when I brought her in originally that she was much smaller than she should have been. (Don't worry- her weight has leveled out. When she runs, her stomach makes  large swings side to side to keep up with her feet. It's charming). (Also, if you are unfamiliar with the noises cats can produce when they would like to mate or are mating, you can check out my enlightening post).

Over the first few months of owning her, she became more comfortable around people and even let Dan and me start to pet her. If you met her now, you could consider her a new cat. At this point, she is not afraid of anything. In fact, she often tries to kill any other cat that crosses her path. Once, I opened the door and the neighbors cat shot into my apartment. The result was the equivalent of a tantrum larger than those thrown on Toddler's and Tiaras. Sophie was so angry that she hid under the guest bed and screamed for hours. Even after the intruder had been escorted out, she still spit at me when I looked under the bed. Sweet Sophie.



Oh yeah, and did I mention she vomits? All of the time. I can hear her puking four rooms away. To make this whole situation better, picking up her puke often makes me lose my lunch. It's one of Dan's favorite things to witness. I use to think he was really mean until Mollie was over and got to witness it. After disposing of Sophie's puke- and then puking myself- I came back into the room to both Dan and Mollie cracking up. Honestly, though, I am really not sure if there is anything worse in the world than regurgitated canned cat food.

So, after a child hood of owning animals and dreaming of my first pet, I have Sophie. A cat that is guaranteed to live for at least 15 years (evil never dies).

I do have to let you know that I have been a little hard on her. She does love me. She follows me around and when I don't get up when she thinks I should- she comes in and does a very cute meow to wake me up. Also, when it is cold outside, and she is not sleeping directly on top of the vent in my room- taking up all of the heat for herself- she will cuddle up next to me (no lie- I will wake up in the middle of the night shivering to see her covering the entire vent. When I mover her off of the vent, her fur feels like an electric blanket). She sleeps on the foot of my bed and waits for me to get out of the shower. All in all, she has not turned out to be a totally terrible cat- she is just not the sweet, loving, fluffy thing I always wanted. But she is mine. And she does have a sweet, loving, fluffy name. So that has to count for something.

This is Sophie.... sooooo happy to be held. LOVE!

Y'all.... I gotta get out of this group

Now this is one of my favorite stories that I like to tell repeatedly to the same people (well only because I only have so many people in my life. And divide that number by at least two to determine how many of those people will listen to my stories again and again). I also assume that the people that were there to witness it also tell it every now and then. But they probably tell it at a party when people start telling stories about their weird ass friends. That's when my friends tell it....

When I was a freshman in college, a new website was invented called facebook. I am sure we have all seen the movie and know all about the Winkelvoss twins (who aren't that good looking in real life), but people my age were the exact market facebook was first introduced to. My sophomore year, facebook was opened to Tulane. And by junior year, most of the school checked it at least once a day. So- my friends and I were the first people to experience writing on each other's "wall," posting pictures of each other, and of course.... joining groups.

Well back when groups were just groups (and not free advertising for businesses or ways to communicate with specific crowds and whatnot), there were some pretty funny groups out there. In fact, my dear friend KTO created a group about the movie Wedding Crashers. It was instantly joined by hundreds of other Tulane kids. Ahmazing.

So during the first year of my addiction to facebook, I was living in an off campus apartment that was a lovely little three bedroom. And like most apartments in New Orleans, it was raised about three or four feet off the ground. Also like most other apartments in New Orleans, its neighborhood had its fair share of cats (feral, domestic, and whatnot). Well at some point that year, my apartment became the shelter that was kitty version of The Boot. And apparently any hour after dark was happy hour. Cats from all over the damn city started to meet and mingle under my happy little abode. They would hang out, have a few drinks, probably make out to some really horrible early 90s rap song (which is not a slow make out song and no one else is dancing slow to so they really just look dumb right there in the middle of the furiously dancing crowd but hey... whos judging), and then they would get down to business. Cat business. Right there. Under my apartment.

I assume you are saying "so what" right about now. That is- if you are even still reading. Because really- who wants to read about cat sex? WELLLLLL.......... everyone- or at least thats what I thought. When I started the group.

So- in case you have never heard two cats do it- it is absolutely horrible. It sounds like a ghost being tortured with poker sticks that someone is shoving through their ghost stomach and twisting. It is a horrible horrible noise. And you know in the cartoons, when a cat is sitting on a fence, and meowing or whatever, and someone throws a shoe or an opened sardine can or something at them. Yeah- well that cat was probably not singing in real life. The animator probably lived in New Orleans. In my neighborhood.

So anyway this cat match.com BS goes on for a while under my apartment. And I am up late one night- "studying" (surfing the net) when I hear it. And I get a flash of genius and decide to start my very first facebook group "No more kitty love under my house." I grin. I invite my two roommates. And I go to bed.

The next morning I get up and excitedly check my new group. One member. Moi. Well- that's OK. I am sure my roommates (BEST FRIENDS) were not on facebook last night. I go about my day. Check it again. Still one member. This goes on for a while (how long- I can't exactly remember, but the fact that it went on for at least 24 hours is not OK). I think it has finally hit me after a day and a half that this group is totally UNACCEPTABLE. This is not OK. This is not what the Winkelvoss twins and that rutheless bastard Mark Zuckerburg had in mind when they created facebook. They did not want to know about cat sex. Ever. Never. Ever. Ever. And while my roommates and I could discuss it in private, that haunting haunting eerie love making, we were not to display it proudly on the most visible place possible- facebook. Well there I am. In my room. By myself (just like the group). And the epiphony rushes into my brain like a whiff of cat nip. Y'all... I gotta get out of this group.

I immediately unjoin. Delete. Shudder.

I don't think I brought it up with my two BEST FRIENDS immediately. But I certainly had a realization that day. They wouldn't let me walk around with some broccoli in between my teeth. Or with some ambiguous stain on my pants. They would tell me. But the minute I tried to bring them to my level and shove that leafy green in their pearly whites. Nope. It was not happening. I was stuck to flail completely and totally alone. Well not totally alone. I am sure the cats would have been there for me.