bobcat or housecat? you decide...

i've never really been a cat person. i love dogs, and have had them for most of my life. i tend to treat my dogs as children. take phoenix for instance. i buy him birthday and christmas presents, and i insist that he's in another room when i wrap them so he won't ruin the surprise. okay, it's kinda weird, but i don't have human children, and ya work with what ya got.

despite gift giving, i'm not one of those annoying people that takes their dogs everywhere in a purse, dyes their hair funky colors, or dresses them in a different outfit every week.

fine, phoenix has been known to wear a sweater on occasion. for example:





doesn't he look *thrilled*?














but in my defense, his life usually looks a little something like this:




that's my bed. yep, rough life.














so, in order to keep my child occupied (because he's obviously not getting enough love or attention from me), i decided to get a cat: less maintenance than a dog, keeps to himself, poops in a box, acts like he's doing you a favor by petting him. you know, all the reasons why you'd want a cat.

two days after i decided to get one, a litter magically appeared in my mom's yard. it's kismet! to be clear, i did not pick my kitten. he picked me. so i took him home because that's what where i was going, and he was going with me. but really, how could you not love this face?



















i will tell you. he's obviously on a mission of some sort...a calling, if you will. i'm not sure who his puppet master is, or what agency he's working for, but that mission is obviously to drive me to the brink of insanity. yes, i suffer from depression, but i'm not crazy...yet. it's only been 5 months.

i haven't had a kitten since i was 16, and that cat, cassandra, was not your average bear. she was feisty but sweet, somewhat lazy, and affectionate. in a word: perfect. now i know that most kittens (and puppies) are playful. holy hell. playful does not even begin to describe grayson.

a sidebar about his name. when we found the litter, we gave each kitten a nickname so that we could identify them, instead of pointing and saying, "that one, with the hair!" while we looked for homes for them. grayson acquired his name because he looked like he was wearing gray socks. cheesy, but it worked.

i brought him home after going to see pearl jam on the east coast (yes people, there they are again) and i could *not* think of a name for him. after two days, i had yelled "grayson" so many times that it pretty much stuck. i had no say so in the matter, which seems to have solidified the nature of our relationship.

back to playfulness...grayon isn't playful, he is maniacal. i swear he didn't sleep the first two weeks i had him. i know. i was home. wall to wall insanity. he ate plants, shredded the couch cover, chewed on power cords, ate paper...pretty much anything that would get him killed, either by me or jolt of electricity. maybe it's a death wish, not a mission...

i got a water gun to "train" him, that's what "they" tell you to do. it's as easy as herding cats. he'd do something he *knew* he wasn't supposed to because i had just yelled at him about it 17 seconds ago. i'd pull out the water gun, and he'd squint and wait to see if it would work. let me add that this water gun was a piece of shit from walmart that worked sporadically. he'd wait and if it did spray water, he'd run...and then return to chewing on my earphone cords or trying to shred the chair ties, playing hockey with dog food, or terrorizing phoenix.

remind me again, why i got a cat?

granted, he pretty much has a dog's personality; he comes when i call him, loves to be petted, and acts like he's part of the pack (of me and phoenix, that is).

and i feel bad. i don't *want* to yell at him, because no one likes to be yelled at. i don't like to yell, i rarely do it (anymore), i grew up in a house *full* of yelling. and he really is sweet and affectionate, except when he's sleeping on my face.


i know, he does it out of love. uh huh.
















the yelling is starting to affect my psyche. about two months ago, i had a dream that i killed a rabbit by shaking it to death until it was a bloody bag of flesh. talk about disturbing. i'm convinced it's because i had yelled at grayson before bed and i felt guilty. then a few nights ago, i dreamed that i pulled one of his front legs out of the socket when he pissed me off and i grabbed him, and i had to put it back in. WTF? (needed caps there)

slow down. before you call the spca, you must know that i don't abuse either of my kids. granted, i yell at grayson, but when your cat is standing in the middle of your dining room table, with a mouthful of the pile of 60 exams you just graded and your lap is full of dog and knitting, you'd yell too.

phoenix is another story, for another blog. in short, i never yell at him because he never does anything wrong, really. he's a super mellow dog who seems to have inherited some of my anxiety. they say that pets mirror their owners, but if that's the case, i must have a split personality. keep your comments to yourself, please.

here's what he did last night:















i'm hoping that once i get grayson neutered, he'll slap on 15 lbs. of laziness and calm down. if not, i'm faced with the prospect of a 20 lb. monster who is a dog batterer and lays on my face.

awesome.