Tuesday, August 31, 2010

My cat...

Well I guess he's a kitten still really. About 8 months old. You can't cuddle him, you can barely pet him, and if he lays on you it's at your own risk.

I named him Chaucer. Like the author Geoffrey Chaucer. I saw him at Petsmart and he was handsome and he looked intelligent so I decided he must be a Chaucer. He was there for a month before I finally gave in. He was just so gorgeous looking, being mostly white with an orange tail and a few other orange spots, and he was a kitten still! Surely he would be adopted before I could give in. I already have a dog, my last cat had passed away a few months before...I so was not getting this kitten!! Then a month passed and he was still there, so I gave in. You see where this is headed, right?

I guess I should've tried picking him up before I made the final decision. Then I would've known why he hadn't been adopted yet. I pick him up to put him in his crate and he starts BITING ME. The nice lady that I dealt with promised that it was just because he had been cooped up for so long and needed to get out and play and SURELY when he settles into his happy new home, he'll be much calmer.

LIAR!!! But what do you do? I had paid and signed everything and she had gotten him a bright PINK collar that glared so nicely off his squirrel like white fur. I can't give it back now! To top it off, my dog hated him, and he hated me and drew blood often...

But now...the dog I'm pretty sure still hates him most of the time, and Chaucer still attacks everything that moves. My friends call him Geoff because he's dumb, but the freaky thing is...he's really not. He's REALLY smart, but about the strangest things. For instance, he knows every place that I may hide a hair tie. Even if he's only seen it in said place once. Like the travel bag I use for toiletries, my purses, the trash can from when I broke one, and the back of the toilet when I hop in the shower. And he methodically checks these places on a daily basis. He saw a bug in the fireplace ONCE well over a month ago, and spends an hour or more sitting in it looking into the corner every single night.

He has a cat door that goes to the basement and his litter box, right? I wake up this morning and there is something lying in front of it and I realize it's a blanket. A blanket I had left in the laundry room down there to wash.

I can't tell you how much I wish I could've seen him contemplating the blanket, then carrying it across the floor, and up a flight of stairs. That would've been funny enough for me.

But the fight to fit it all through the cat door would've been priceless.