Really?

There are no words. Just thought you should see this since I had to.

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Another view

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Nice Doggy…

We had a yard sale this morning.

Apparently this is the weekend for this type of thing. We got out there early – really early and had people all morning.

Our neighborhood has great walking paths – there’s always folks out with their babies or dogs or both.

Now…before I begin the rest of this post…let me be clear. There’s one thing that I usually don’t discuss with people. No, not religion or politics or money – I have no problem talking about that stuff (as long as you’re a grown-up and not secretly angry).

What I’m talking about is a subject near and dear to many people’s hearts. I’m talking about pets.  Pets. Specifically, my non-love for/of them. My complete un-need for pets. I know. I’m a monster.  I don’t stroke, coo, or otherwise touch them. Do I wish them harm? No! NO! I love that you love pets. Dogs, cats, birds, whatever. Good for you. It’s just not my thang.

My husband is a cat person. He’s had and loved cats his whole life. He’s made our children cat people too.  And we have one. Lexi, a very pretty Calico. Before her we had a very street smart, rat-turned-cat that my husband found behind a dumpster in the Bronx named Virgo.  I’ve posted pics before.  I offer this not as an excuse, but merely as part of my history.

Back to the yard sale.

As I said, we set up early for all the hardcore “buyers” who troll the neighborhood at 6am. During the course of the morning, we met many of our near and far neighbors. Some were curt and all business – nodding and forging ahead. But many were super friendly. Stopping to chat and look around.

Many of the awesome folks that stopped had dogs. And inevitably, I felt deep guilt when I didn’t acknowledge the dog. Because you see I know you love that dog. And I think that dog is awful cute. But here’s what happens, when I say something about the dog, like, “oh how cute” or “what a sweetie” or something – all of which I mean sincerely –  you immediately loosen the harness so the dog can come closer and I can pet said dog.

And then….nothing. You get nothing from me. I start stuffing my hands in my pockets. I start fixing my hair. I do anything but pet/stroke/touch the dog.

Awkward.

Because what you don’t know is that I don’t even pet the animals that live in my house.

I blame my parents. We never had pets – until I went away to school – then my family had a pet revolution. Everywhere you looked there was a big, fluffy dog. I missed out.

So you see I appreciate you and your love for the dog/cat/bird/fish – but I’d rather not touch it.

Is that ok?

Am I still a good person?

I’d rather kiss a 100 snotty babies than rub a dog’s belly. I’m a freak.

Not news.

Cat Nap

Gird your loins.

Another cat post.

I took this video for my boy – who is in mad love with this cat. Since it’s Friday and my brain can’t function – I decided to use it as my post too. A nice Friday cheat.

I came down this morning to find Lexi sleeping in her spot and making a noise.  Kinda like snoring or sleep meowing. I dunno.

She was doing it loudly enough for me to hear it in the kitchen. By the time I decided to go get my phone and tape her, she’d mellowed a bit.

Stick with the video…around the 2o second mark, like a great whale, she starts again.

The round blob of fur is hard to figure out.

Here she is in all her fat, whiskery, stank eye splendor

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The Lexi Life

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I asked my boy last night what I should write about on my blog

since I’ve promised to not slack off so much.

He said,”you should always write about Lexi.”

Then he spent the next 10 minutes going through all her amazing qualities:

She’s beautiful. She’s clean. She’s purrrrry. She’s his. Blah Blah Blah.

I asked him to go take a picture of his perfect cat.

And he did. And the picture is perfect too.

Now I’m annoyed.

And jealous. I think/know/am sure that he may love her more than me.

Look at her smug face. She knows it too.

And she’s accomplished something I thought could never happen.

I’ve written a cat post.

Send help.

Virgo

My husband is a cat person.

If he was older, unmarried and a woman – he’d be a really good cat lady. He’s had cats all his life and loved them. Me? Not so much.

This is Virgo – he was with us for almost 12 years.  My husband had just graduated college, gotten a job in the big city and was about to move out of the Bronx – where he had been living for about a year.  As he was leaving, he went to the back of his old building to dump some garbage and a little, gray cat the size of a large rat ran over to him. It was love at first sight for both of them.

Virgo was not a gentle, loving, purring kitty. He was a Bronx born, garbage raised hooligan. He considered every touch a call to arms. He didn’t like to be pet. The irony. A pet that doesn’t like petting.  The only person in our family that even tried to love that cat was my husband – and he’s got the scars to show for it.

Virgo lived the good life. He went from eating garbage in the ‘hood to eating only Fancy Feast – my husband insisted. For most of his life he had a better healthcare plan than all of us combined and he was groomed way more than I was.

It was the first time I ever lived with a pet. I know, I know. Cats are easy. Cats aren’t dogs. Cats are low-key. Except this cat wasn’t low-key. This cat was wild, crazy and mean most of the time. And the liter box. Can we talk about the liter box? It’s box. Full of poop and pee that just lives with you. The horror.

That seat was his perch, his favorite spot in the house.  There is a permanent indent in the cushion where he sat – and where now, our new cat, also sits.  Yes, we got another cat. Lexi. The complete, polar opposite of Virgo. A loving, purring, soft, sweet little girl. You want her?

I don’t think I’ll ever be a cat person. Or a dog person. Or a fish….you get the point. But I’ve made my peace with cat living.

 

 

 

Call of the wild

Today’s post was supposed to be about the following things:  picking up my babies from camp & the Olympics.

I plan to be at the gates of the camp as soon as it opens. Just kidding. Not really. The two weeks both flew by and took forever. I’ll never send them away again. Just kidding. Not really.

The Olympic opening ceremonies are on tonight!  Danny Boyle directed the production so I fully expect a little “jai ho” slipped in there. When I was little, the summer olympics were a major ritual in our house. Cooking shows were tuned off. Bollywood movies were put on hold for it. It was big.

So of course I sprung out of bed and bolted downstairs to post this before my big day – and look what I found waiting for me.

**warning** This is gross, offensive, disgusting and revolting (that’s how I felt anyway).  For your protection I only included a thumbnail photo.

Sorry. But I think you need to know what happens here.  It’s like a war zone.

I did what any sane person would do – I screamed and woke my husband up to clean it. He came downstairs, said a few swear words and told me that the cat is sick.

Yes…Sick. Twisted. Wild. Needs to be in the woods. This is why we shouldn’t have pets indoors. What were we talking about?

This now concludes the overshare.

I’m going to go back to my happy place now. A place that does not involve cat puke or poop or whatever that was!

and then, and then, and then…

Know what happened? An actual flower grew on my hibiscus experiment/plant.  As promised I was going to post an update on my farming skills by taking a quick picture and posting it. But then I got distracted…

Apparently there’s also a lavender plant in my front yard. It requires zero upkeep from me – thus explaining it’s survival and healthy growth all these years, I wanted to take a picture of that too and take credit for its beautifulness (yes, it’s a word) …but then I found a big, fat bee on it. And then a butterfly. A plain jane little white butterfly. Then I couldn’t get the zoom on my camera to work. So instead of trying to figure out how to use it correctly, I just took 1,000 pictures hoping for a couple of good shots.

Then i came back inside and found our cat sitting in a compromising position on a chair. This can’t be normal behavior for a cat – it didn’t even look comfortable.  Plus she looks like she’s 500 pounds and needs to be broken out of the house via crane. And then I had to burn the chair. Weirdo cat.

Then I was exhausted by all the to do and had a diet coke (too early for wine).

The end.

(apologies for telling the story like an 8 year old – no offense 8 year olds)

This is the flower that started it all….

Then I saw this!

Then I saw this…ewww…puke puke