Cats, Man. Cats.

Let me just start this out by saying I am poor.  Like, very poor.  Literally college student poor.

Last Friday I woke up to the sound of my carpet being scratched in an area of my room my cats never scratch.  

I wasn't wearing my glasses, but I sat up to yell at Sammy, who was doing the scratching.  Then I saw he was trying to use the invisible litter that comes out of the carpet to cover up...  Something.

Something stinky.

So I put my glasses on, got paper towels, a bag, and some Lysol, and went to work.  All the while trying not to gag.  

Then I realized there was a liquid portion to the goop that could only be blood.  Lots o'blood.  Sammy had been acting pretty normally and I hadn't found blood in his stool before, but I could tell he still felt a little shitty.  So I found a vet in town and took him over.  

$88 later I was sent home with what I'm pretty sure is children's amoxicillin (because I had to take that as a kid and it looks and smells exactly the same as I remember) and something to make his tummy less bloated and gassy.  

Cats are expensive.  

I am now more poor.

But my kitten feels better.  So...  Worth it.

Does That Make Me Crazy?

Today I learned something important: my boyfriend needs to put a password lock on his computer.

Why he does not have one I don't know.  What I do know is that I am insane and lack self-control.

You see, he left his computer at my house and didn't have a chance to come back to get it tonight.  So I came upstairs at three AM and thought it would be fun to play with it (it's technically a tablet with keyboard attachment and I like the big touch screens; I can't help it).  But then I was all, "Oh, look!  He has a Facebook app on here!  Just clicking it won't be a terrible idea because he totally won't be signed in.  I meant, why would nothing be protected, just in case?  He leaves his shit everywhere all the time and never gets fraped.  It'll be fine!"

I was wrong.  On every single count (except the part where I said he leaves his shit everywhere; that was right).

No password.

My first mistake was not exiting the app immediately.  My second was deciding to take a "quick peek" at his messages.  You know, to see who he's been messaging.  Over the course of the last year.  With a vagina.  And pinpoint when he was talking to those sluts girls and how much he was talking to me at the time.

I am legitimately insane.  I know.

I managed to only look at one.  And it was the one whose name I wasn't familiar with, who he had messaged the most recently, and who I thought for some reason he was least likely to have fooled around with.

Now I have to figure out how to tell him all of this, as well as try not to be upset with him at all because it's not his fault I can't control myself and he really didn't do anything wrong.  Except not tell me when he hung out with her last.  Or mention her to me at all.  Not that he really tried to hide it, but he never mentioned one word about her existence and it's as if them hanging out could have not happened at all.

I realize I can trust him and he would never do anything to intentionally hurt me, but there is still a part of me (the crazy part) that is kind of looking for a reason to leave him.

He makes me too happy and that scares me.  It's like I think I don't deserve how good he is to me.

It's that same crazy part that wonders what else he could not be telling me.  What he's doing when I don't hear from him for six hours and he's not at work.

What he's going to do that will break my heart.

And I don't know how I can make that not happen and still be with him.  So I have to trust him.  But now I feel like I can't.  And it's my fault because I did something I knew the whole time I shouldn't have been doing.

Crap.

Here, Kitty Kitty.

I have two cats.

One is Hunter, my adorable and amazing four year-old orange angora/tabby mix.  The other is the newb; Sammy.  He is a 5-ish month old black shorthair.  Hunter is neutered.  Sammy is going to be neutered as soon as I figure out which vet I want to take him to.

Since he's indoor only and my other cat is also male, I'm not super concerned about his siring capabilities.  It's more that I am freaking sick of watching him clean his damn balls.  I feel like every time I look at him it's ball-cleaning time.  If these things were silver they would be so polished that they would blind you at the slightest hint of light or reflection.

Also, I never want to see his penis again.  Cat penises are weird and gross and should be kept put away at all times.

I feel bad for neutering him.  But it's not as if it will change his life that radically.  I'll just save him about sixteen hours of ball-cleaning each day.

Of my two cats, one likes to shit in places that are not his litter box when he gets upset with me.  For instance, this month's prime shitting grounds are apparently the nest my roommate likes to keep on the floor of the living room for napping.  Blankets wadded up on the floor are a guaranteed cat shit minefield in my house.

The other cat has issues with aim in the litter box.  Therefore, I go to clean it and not only does he hover the whole time so that he can make sure to get in the box as soon as I'm done and make a big stinky something to share with everyone in the house, but he also ends up getting it on the side of the box.  Without fail.  At least once every two days.  I just don't know what his butt is doing that high while he's pooping.

Once he was having spastic colon issues (I think) and he got it on the wall next to the litter box.  Seriously, aren't cats supposed to be more obsessive compulsive than that?  How does this happen?

I can't even put the lid on the litter box because for some ungodly reason Hunter cannot pee with the lid on the box.  Apparently all those walls make it difficult to perch with all four feet on the edge of the box and his tail helping him balance his butt over the litter.  Yet he is not the one who craps on the wall.

Cats are disturbing and make no sense.  But they are also soft and like to snuggle me after I fall asleep, so it kind of makes up for it.

Though, now that I'm thinking about it, they probably are just snuggling me to make sure I'm still alive.  They're just biding their time until I die and they can eat my face.




Now there are cats fighting in the middle of my complex.  My little soldiers are going to protect me from the windowsill.  Cat fight noises creep me out.