Sunday, August 29, 2010

What's That Smell?

There are few things that Mel loves more than a nice long computer cord to wrap herself up in and chew on, or Chinese food.

About once a week I order takeout and while Mel won't touch any type of canned cat food, cat treats, organic salmon strips, seasoned organic salmon strips, or tuna (I've probably lost $100 experimenting with treats for her), she loves her some Chinese food, especially sauces.  Unfortunately Mel's digestive system isn't built to digest whatever they put in Chinese food sauce (then again, are any of us?) and this inevitably ends up with her farting on my pillow all night long.

Tonight I tried a new Chinese food place.  I came home and set up the containers all over my living room coffee table and scooped from each container onto the plate.  When I order Chinese food I generally get 3-5 different things and continue to eat them for the next week.  Variety is the spice of life.  At my normal Chinese place they know me, and my order, and when he makes my delivery, the gentleman always teases me:
"All fow yoo?"
"Yes it is!"
Giggle, giggle - "You ssshould weigh fow hundwed pounds!"

I briefly went to the kitchen for a moment to get a drink and came back to find Mel's face in my plate of Chinese food.

What's really annoying is she just licks at it.  She doesn't even consume it.

So I debate.  How long has she been licking my egg foo yung?  They say a dog's mouth is cleaner than a person's mouth.  Is that true for cats?  I'd really rather not throw out my entire plate of food because it has a little cat spit in it.  She won't actually eat it, so the rest of it just goes to waste.  I wonder how long ago she last licked her crotch?

I decided to cut around the middle section of the egg foo yung where she had licked, making the letter O in my food.

Her highness had now  positioned herself behind me.  When this happens, I become very nervous.  When this happens, she is usually about to attack my elbow with her teeth, jump on my head or fly from behind me onto the coffee table in front of the couch knocking off everything in her way.  Out of sheer terror for what's about to happen, I usually just freeze and hope that it's over soon.  Well because I wanted to protect my food, I turned around just enough, and sure enough she went flying past me, onto the coffee table and sent soy sauce-y chopsticks flying across the living room and onto my white carpet.  She then proceeded to chase after them, sniff them, and lick them, holding them in between her paws as though they were prey.  Afterwards she thoroughly cleaned herself and sat looking at me with an incredulous look of "geez didn't your mother teach you to share?"

She's now curled up at my feet and her indigestion has apparently already begun.  Thank you Mel. You're a real treat.

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Bonding with a Sadist

Yes.  My cat is a sadist.  She takes pleasure in cruelty and pain.
Particularly in causing it to me.
Our relationship is riddled with nighttime ninja attacks.  Some with more stealth than others, but all quite cruel and/or painful.  I've not yet concluded what her strategic objective may be (rather perhaps I do not wish to face that it might be my own demise).  She has no rules of engagement, at least as far as I can tell.   This is what I can glean of her operational order.
Know thy enemy.  -Sun Tzu

Situation:  Invader who walks on two legs.  No fur except on head and sometimes legs but this disappears every few days.  Controls food supply and exit routes. No friendlies.  Solo mission support.

Mission:  Destroy.

1.) Operation Suffocation - Nighttime operation.  Jump onto bed. Purr, meow and act content.  Invader will allow you to fall asleep next to her once you win her heart and mind.  Once Invader is definitely asleep, maneuver to the pillow.  Settle down.  Make sure Invader is still sleeping.  Slowly creep closer and closer to Invader's face.  Closer and closer.  Resist chewing on hair while doing this, despite tasting yummy and feeling good between the teeth, it will wake invader.  Finally plaster self over face of Invader, making sure to wrap yourself around Invader's head in an intent to cut off air supply.  Invader will suffocate.

2.) Operation Fang - Daytime or Nighttime operation.  Deceive Invader into thinking you are "friends" with her.  Cuddle, purr and use many other deceptive actions (like human males) to "bond" with her.  Once you gain her trust - ATTACK FROM NO WHERE!!!  Drawing blood is always effective.  Risky operation as Invader likely to retaliate.

3.) Operation Thump - Generally nighttime operation.  Jump onto Invader's head while she is lying in bed, from the floor.  Shock and surprise will cause Invader to propel herself from the bed, get tangled in the bed covers, often ending up with Invader in a pile on the floor with a loud thumping noise.

4.) Operation Nightowl - Nighttime operation.  Wait until Invader is making a "schnnnnnnnnnnaaaaaaaaa  scchoooooooooooo"  sound.  Once this happens, find everything in the room that you can make noise with.  Claw the wicker hamper.  Chew on Invader's glasses or lamp shade.  Plastic bags are most effective - paw at them, play with them, lay on them, wrap yourself in them and walk around the room.  Hit the on button on Invader's "alarm clock" - a boxy looking thing with blue glow in the dark numbers on it.  Force Invader to continually get up and get out of bed to remove the source of your noise causing.  When all possible avenues of noise have been exhausted, jump onto the bed and paw at Invader.  Plaster yourself against her shoulder and slap your paw on her face.  Chew her hair.  Put your butt in her face and fart on the pillow.  Bite her nose.  Bite her arm.  Knead her shoulder.  Knead her head.  Meow loudly for attention.  Chase your tail in circles while on stepping on Invader.  Jump off the bed and go running through the house, making as much noise as possible and crashing into as many things as possible and then fly back onto the bed - the head is always the landing zone.  Always remember: A ten pound cat is capable of sounding like a plane taking off.

5.) Operation Urinate- Pee on everything.  Suit jackets.  Pianos.  Carpets.  Clean laundry.  Dirty laundry.  Newspapers.  Magazines.  Important papers (particularly something called "taxes").  Bwahahahaha.

Mel doing some Recon

I'm watching you...

She knows....

In the three years since Mel and I have (successfully?) "adjusted" to having each other as roommates, I've found that we both have a rather keen sense on reading people and situations.
However, I confess that when it comes to ex-boyfriends I may have no skill whatsoever in reading a person.  I am, sadly, easily wooed by someone simply laughing at my jokes, smiling at me, and looking deeply into my eyes. Worse, I may be easily wooed by someone who does not laugh at my jokes, does not smile at me, and does not look deeply into my eyes.
In other words, I'm a total sucker.  Anyone familiar with my love life will vouch.
Mel on the other hand, has an knack for letting me know when she doesn't like someone.
Well, Mel doesn't really like ANYONE, but there are particular people she really doesn't like.
Sometimes she's wrong (she hissed at my grandma which was very rude and very much hurt Gram's and I's feelings).
But on some occasions - it's just too damn obvious to misread.
She peed in a recent, ex-boyfriend's suitcase, long long ago.  I should have read into that sign then.
Though I couldn't stop laughing at the time, I don't think he thought it was very funny and Mel just sat in perfect Mel fashion - "thwack, thwack" with her tail, glaring at him as if to say, "get the hell out of my house."  And looking at me, no doubt, wondering if she had made her point.
She would also refuse to let him walk into the house, get into the bed, sit on the couch, walk into the kitchen, drink anything in the living room without knocking it over onto my floor (causing my anger to be at him, not her of course), pet her, or take a shower without trying to jump in with him and attack.  A flurry of yelps and cursing would ensue behind the shower curtain, which was usually moving in such a fashion that one could tell something very violent was happening behind there.  There were occasions in which I wondered if the "I cut myself with the razor" line was a macho excuse, that the bleeding was from Mel's talons.  She would also give him the look of death from across the room, and if gamma rays could come out of her eyes, he would be a pile of ash.  Part of me regrets that gamma rays don't actually come out of her eyes.
Recent ex-boyfriend turned out to be a real douchebag and I wonder now why I didn't end it when she pissed in his suitcase and sat there looking simply at me as if to say, "Do you understand?."
Mel always knows best.

Thwack. Thump. Mrrrroww.

Three years ago I met my match, in a cat who was named Rosie at the time.
I went to Rosie's foster home to meet her after meeting at least 10 other cats and just not clicking with them - of course they were all cute and I wanted them all, but none of them seemed to really be the challenge I was looking for.  Just like in life, they needed to work for it.  Being cute wasn't enough to come home with me.
When I met Rosie, she came right up to me, sniffed my hand and sat down and glared at me, thumping her tail on the floor in a dog-style fashion.
By glare, I mean she intently stared at me like she already hated my guts and I didn't have a chance with her.
I felt rejected.
Complete and total rejection.
But this was the challenge I was looking for.
I grabbed a feather toy and waved it in front of her face.
She got up, turned her butt to me and went across the room and sat down 10 feet away from me, taking up her glaring contest again and completely and utterly ignoring the cat toy I was trying to invade her space with.
"Come here Rosie," I said, patting the floor in front of me.  "Rosie, do you want to be my family?  Come here."
With that, she let out a "Mrrrroowwww," got up and came over and sat down about 6 inches away from me, thumping her tail some more.
I made no attempt to pet her but glared back at her intent stare.  Here was my challenge.
I knew this was the cat for me.
Rosie arrived with the rather insane animal rescue volunteer.  I hate to categorize all animal rescue people as being weird, crazy, and full of emotional issues, because I would consider myself one of them, but not falling into that category.
"Put her in the bathroom and let her get used to the space," the volunteer said, "Just let her come out slowly and explore."
My bathroom, about the size of a Port-o-Potty, did not have enough room for both me, the volunteer, and the cat.
The volunteer snatched the cat carrier and insisted on showing me how to "introduce" the cat to my home.  Having been a cat owner my whole life, I tried not to be offended and let her stomp into my port-o-potty bathroom to let the cat out herself.
She went in and put the cat carrier down on the 2 square inches of floor and got down on her hands and knees, uttering noises that I can assume she thought "communicated" with the growling cat in the Sherpa bag.
"It's okay Rosie," she chirped.
The view at this point was a half closed door, the volunteer's rump up in the air blocking the door from closing, with her face presumably down near the cat carrier flap - all the while lecturing me on how to introduce a cat into my home.
At some point, I can only assume she unzipped the carrier flap because a highly incensed Rosie, who I would quickly learn was anything BUT the adjective her name alluded to, came flying out of the bathroom, over the top of the volunteer's head and rump, shrieking, hissing and growling all the while.  A whirlwind of gray flew past me, circled the room in tornado fashion, and disappeared somewhere into the small apartment.
The flustered volunteer told me just to "give her time" and "let her adjust" and promptly left, presumably slightly embarrassed, and not wanting me to change my mind on the adoption.
Well it really didn't take anytime for Rosie to adjust, I promptly changed her name as it was not only ill-fitting but reminded me of Rosie O'Donnell.  I couldn't have something sleeping in my bed at night that reminded me of Rosie O'Donnell.  
Melody would be her name.  For the sweet cacophony of growling and shrieking that came out of her mouth continuously for our first year together.  Mel for short.
And quite promptly, my home became Mel's place - I just live here.