Today’s the day I start blogging…

pumpkin roll

If you’d like to read a little more about me, you can stop by my profile page. I’ve got plenty to say.  But tonight’s post is all about one of my cats.  If “cat lady” didn’t come with all the connotations of mental instability, I would gladly accept the title.  But being of sound mind (debatable to some), I’ll stick with cat lady in training.  Cat young lady.  Young cat lady. Oh whatever.  I have 3 cats. All rescues.  Hashtag I’m a sucker for animals in need.  (For the LOVE of all things holy – WHAT is a hashtag?) Never mind, it’s more fun to use it incorrectly and watch people get bent out of shape.  Regardless, tonight’s blog revolves around my four-year-old Maine Coon kitty named Pumpkin.  Unbeknownst to me, when I took Pumpkin into my loving home as a kitten, I had no idea he was a long haired cat.  There are surprises with a long haired cat that I never encountered with the others.  This is where tonight’s episode begins.  And, may I add, if you have a weak stomach, this post isn’t for you.

It was about 10:45pm, and after a long day of OT classes, and another three hours of fieldwork, I was exhausted.  I got home, threw leftovers in the convection oven for a few minutes, then plopped on the couch.  Pumpkin comes sacheting into the living room looking slightly mortified. He had just been in the litter box- my house is not that big; you can hear everything.  Works to my disadvantage when I need to use the little girl’s room when the boyfriend is over.   Anyway, back to Pumpkin.  I’m about to bite down on a french fry, when suddenly, and without warning, he throws his foot over his head and starts going to town on his “nether” region. It was horrifying. It did not stop.  I just could not eat with that in my peripheral vision, so I went over to survey the situation and politely suggest an alternate self-colonic location for him. It was then that I observed a piece of poop stuck in his fur. In all fairness, I did warn you.  So, doing my “mommy” duties, I got a paper towel, and pulled. Along with the turd came about 5 more inches of fur-like grossness. What goes in… must come out… After a legit mini-vomit, there was still a poop situation with which to contend. I ran and grabbed a scissors- I wanted to give Pumpkin ample time to sharpen his back claws and practice his capoeira. The fight that ensued will be re-enacted in a sequel of the next exorcist movie. Bloodied up, and probably needing a stitch or two, I lulled my cat into a sense of false security, then wrapped his Maine Coon butt up so fast he didn’t know what hit him. It wasn’t enough. He began writhing about, so I flipped him on his back with only his nasty bum sticking out of the hell burrito. I literally straddled him, supporting my weight but pinning him at his sides with my inner legs. I had 5 seconds to chop at some butt fur before his back foot, claws in full extension, emerged from the end of the Hannibal Lector roll-up like a zombie’s hand emerges from the earth. He somehow was able to roundhouse swing that freaking kitty leg 360 degrees and sink those razor claws into my forearm… again. Distracted momentarily by my new flesh wounds, I failed to realize Houdini had thrashed his way out of the towel wrap and into a corner of the bathroom. He flattened himself as low as he could go, and proceeded to give me the glare of death that every cat owner has experienced in his or her lifetime. At that moment, he was Gollum, trying to protect “his precious.”  Sensing my demise eminent, I hid the scissors. Last ditch effort: warm, wet paper towels. Then, my life sunk to an even lower level of low as I asked him, “can I at least wipe you off?” To which he silently responded with a facial gesture suggesting something along the lines of  ”#!$@ you..”  He didn’t seem thrilled about the warm paper towels, but it beat the other alternatives of the night.  I probably wouldn’t have had to have been so thorough, but apparently as a cat there’s something so irresistible about sleeping with your butthole just inches from your humans face.   After all that, I somehow don’t feel like eating.

The good news is- I found my lost Band-Aids.  Maybe some day I’ll find my dignity…

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About ohthatjusthappened

I am a college graduate with a B.A in English, thousands of dollars in student debt, and, wait for it, currently finishing up my associates degree in occupational therapy. I'll give you a moment to figure out how the two majors are related... (*spoiler alert* there aren't any). But, just because I've given up on my dream of journalism or corporate editing (and by dream I mean changing my major to English as a second semester junior in college because I no longer wanted to be a teacher), doesn't mean I don't still love to write. And, because journaling on paper is just too "dear diary" for me, I'm spilling my life out into the blogosphere, waiting for the day when a rogue search engine displays my blog link as a result, and some unsuspecting victim stumbles onto my page. But, like an awkward 6 hour car ride home for college break with someone you barely know, who knows what I'll end up sharing. But for now, all you need to know is that Pumpkin, Sasha, and Maisy are the names of my 3 cats. Just in case you read my blogs and think I'm into some really weird sh.... stuff.
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