International Cat Day

This past Saturday was International Cat Day, a global celebration of our feline buddies.

While I was able to restrain myself from planning a parade or costumed ball, I thought I’d at least write a special post.

I currently don’t have much of a life outside of work, but I do have an overly-large collection of semi-“squee !!!” inducing photos of my hairy kids clogging the memory on my phone and some random thoughts on the cat psyche.

Voila. I’d rock out a tidy post and clear some photos from my phone cache at the same time.

(Do note that there’s a “Psych!” in the term “cat psyche” and it most likely won’t be coming from my mouth.)

And then…Saturday got away from me, as things tend to be doing a lot of lately, and the magical opportunity to laud my kitties passed.

::sigh::

Until I was forcefully reminded this evening by a 15-lb orange and white furby repeatedly head-butting his full body weight into my ankles…

::Ahem:: Pay attention to me. Now.

::Ahem:: Pay attention to me. Now.

that OHMIGOD, every day is International Cat Day in our house.

So in honor of the four-legged children of my heart, I would like to share some…hmmm…let’s call them “introspections,” that have recently come to me (with conveniently corroborating photos.)

This is the face of a cat. This is not the face of an innocent cat. There is no such thing.

This is the face of a cat. This is not the face of an innocent cat. There is no such thing.


Ditto

Ditto

I have learned that breakfast is not just the most important meal, but it is the most important thing.  Ever.  In the whole, wide world.  Breakfast in itself is so powerful a thing that it erases the memory of every other good thing that has ever happened in the history of time including dinner the night before (and all the breakfasts and dinners in the past) AND IS THE ONLY THING STANDING BETWEEN CIVILIZATION AND THE FORCES OF EVIL, GOD HELP US, WOMAN, OPEN THE DAMN CAN!!!

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I have learned that the act of eating breakfast is so exhaustive, it throws one immediately into a twenty-hour slumber.

I own a 1300-square foot, two-story loft.  I can’t move an inch without tripping over a cat.

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However, when the vacuum cleaner makes an appearance, I couldn’t round up a cat with a hooker and a stack of hundred dollar bills.

I want to know: is it really necessary to run ahead of me to the bathroom, especially in the middle of the night, bellowing the kitty version of “All’s Clear!”?

Make way, make way!

Make way, make way!

I’ve learned that not only do they watch TV when they think I’m not around…

Surfing, really?

Surfing, really?

But they watch really weird stuff.  With great absorption.

I draw the line at buying him a surfboard. Or little surf shorts. Or flip flops.

I draw the line at buying him a surfboard. Or little surf shorts. Or flip flops.

And they sit way too damn close to the TV.

You know if you sit that close, you'll put your eyes out.

You’ll put your eyes out.

If there’s an empty box, bag or handbag…

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There’s a cat to fill it.

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But they are always the best present.

As I’m sitting here writing, I have two warm, snugly little sweethearts curled up against me, grumbling slightly when I inconvenience them by shifting under their persistent burrowing, but fairly intent on deafening me with purrs.

And love.

So here’s to International Cat Day.  Today and every day.

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And to Keegan and Brodie, furkids extraordinaire, for being made of awesome.

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3 thoughts on “International Cat Day

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