5:30am. Southern Man and I are blissfully unaware that a war is about to break out. A sort of "Whose King (or in this case Queen) of the Castle" between our two cats, Gracie and Houdini. Little did I know, the territory they were claiming was me...or more accurately my head.
Let me preface this by saying before these cats came into our lives about a year ago, I was strictly a dog lovin girl. Always had dogs, loved dogs, could never see myself with a cat. EVER. Note the EVER.
Enter Southern Man into my life with his easy way, charming smile and a LOVE FOR CATS! It took him nearly a year, but he wore me down to just go and "look". We came home with Gracie Allen, a lovely grey teenage cat in need of rescuing. Life was fun, life was great and I have to say, I was learning about Gracie and she was learning about me. Then the Southern Man gets an even more brilliant idea: Let's get another cat!
Enter Houdini. I should have known the minute we brought Houdini in, trouble would follow. She was what we call a "street chick" apparently picked up the streets and is trying to redeem herself after a sketchy past of hanging out in garbage bags with dubious creatures with ill manners and bad pasts and no breeding. The result is Gracie is a lot like Julie Andrews and Houdini...well she could easily pass for Amy Winehouse. Minus the bouffant.
I had high hopes they would love one another, ah but that's a dream ship that has sailed. Now I just want to have chairs without shred marks and the ability to walk my kitchen floor without stepping on jingle mice (Gracie's) rubber balls (Houdini's) or kibble (both).
Novice cat mama that I was, I figured these ladies just needed some time together to understand that "everybody gets along" in my home. What they needed was serious cat couples counseling.
The war first broke out in the livingroom. One of my favroite chairs, aptly known as the crazy chair, became the first casualty. The battle waged on toward the kitchen. Kibble was being thrown. Cat litter was a lethal method of disposal. Things were getting worse in the trenches.
Apparently this morning the choice was to have my head at dawn. That's right, my head.
Gracie did something I used to think was adorable (key word, used to) which was waking me up with gentle pats from her paws to my face. Now it's a slap so hard my head rings.
Houdini countered it with a full body tackle and then Gracie...did something that I have no idea how to explain and maybe you cat people can: it was like she aimed a primitive blowgun in my direction, blew a dart and surrounding me with a light mist. A moment later came the most AWFUL STANK you have every known in your life.
No it was not a sneeze, or a hairball. I have already played 20 questions with my husband and I am sure that yes, it came out of her head in some capacity, but no, it was not a sneeze, it was like she "spritzed" something on me, the way you would get at MACYS. But instead of Eternity by Calvin Klein, I got spritzed with "Eternally my owner" by Cat.
The smell permeated my pores. I was out of the bed in moments, grabbing for sheets. Unfortunately, the Southern Man was still blissfully unaware and sleeping at the time I chose to yank the sheets from the bed. You haven't lived until you have seen a grown man roll off the bed like a hot dog off a bbq.
When he asked what happened, who died, and why the heck was I yanking sheets off him in 22 degree weather at 530am, I could only answer, "The cat was marking her territory,and apparently, it's my head."
I believe if you listen you can still hear the sound of my husband laughing so hard he coughed up a hairball.
Let me preface this by saying before these cats came into our lives about a year ago, I was strictly a dog lovin girl. Always had dogs, loved dogs, could never see myself with a cat. EVER. Note the EVER.
Enter Southern Man into my life with his easy way, charming smile and a LOVE FOR CATS! It took him nearly a year, but he wore me down to just go and "look". We came home with Gracie Allen, a lovely grey teenage cat in need of rescuing. Life was fun, life was great and I have to say, I was learning about Gracie and she was learning about me. Then the Southern Man gets an even more brilliant idea: Let's get another cat!
Enter Houdini. I should have known the minute we brought Houdini in, trouble would follow. She was what we call a "street chick" apparently picked up the streets and is trying to redeem herself after a sketchy past of hanging out in garbage bags with dubious creatures with ill manners and bad pasts and no breeding. The result is Gracie is a lot like Julie Andrews and Houdini...well she could easily pass for Amy Winehouse. Minus the bouffant.
I had high hopes they would love one another, ah but that's a dream ship that has sailed. Now I just want to have chairs without shred marks and the ability to walk my kitchen floor without stepping on jingle mice (Gracie's) rubber balls (Houdini's) or kibble (both).
Novice cat mama that I was, I figured these ladies just needed some time together to understand that "everybody gets along" in my home. What they needed was serious cat couples counseling.
The war first broke out in the livingroom. One of my favroite chairs, aptly known as the crazy chair, became the first casualty. The battle waged on toward the kitchen. Kibble was being thrown. Cat litter was a lethal method of disposal. Things were getting worse in the trenches.
Apparently this morning the choice was to have my head at dawn. That's right, my head.
Gracie did something I used to think was adorable (key word, used to) which was waking me up with gentle pats from her paws to my face. Now it's a slap so hard my head rings.
Houdini countered it with a full body tackle and then Gracie...did something that I have no idea how to explain and maybe you cat people can: it was like she aimed a primitive blowgun in my direction, blew a dart and surrounding me with a light mist. A moment later came the most AWFUL STANK you have every known in your life.
No it was not a sneeze, or a hairball. I have already played 20 questions with my husband and I am sure that yes, it came out of her head in some capacity, but no, it was not a sneeze, it was like she "spritzed" something on me, the way you would get at MACYS. But instead of Eternity by Calvin Klein, I got spritzed with "Eternally my owner" by Cat.
The smell permeated my pores. I was out of the bed in moments, grabbing for sheets. Unfortunately, the Southern Man was still blissfully unaware and sleeping at the time I chose to yank the sheets from the bed. You haven't lived until you have seen a grown man roll off the bed like a hot dog off a bbq.
When he asked what happened, who died, and why the heck was I yanking sheets off him in 22 degree weather at 530am, I could only answer, "The cat was marking her territory,and apparently, it's my head."
I believe if you listen you can still hear the sound of my husband laughing so hard he coughed up a hairball.
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