Monday, September 21, 2009

A snapshot. Full of pee. Signifying nothing.

So …

I love my boys. I really do. Just over 2 years ago (has it really been that long?) a friend of mine calls me up saying that there were some youngins that were found behind a dumpster, starving and close to death.

She knew I was itching to fill the void that Ms. Liza left when she was unceremoniously a) attacked by a raccoon, b) fought a coyote, or c) lost a fight to a Toyota. (The jury is still pending on cause of death.) I mean, there I was – in my childhood home, sans cat, with only my (soon-to-be-ex, heretofore known as STBE), his dog, and another stray dog. The “guy” level was overwhelming, and the estrogen, after Liza left, was decidedly lacking.

I was a cat, living in a dog world. That shit had to change.

The call …

“Hey, I know this may be a bit too soon, since it’s only been a few months, but this lady at my shop found some kittens … ”

“Ohhhh, I’m not sure. I mean, so much is going on right now, I mean with the house, and the dogs, and the STBE … ”

“But they are SO cute! Here, listen.” (She holds the phone up to some really pathetic meows. My redheaded Virgo partner in crime? She fights dirty.)

“*sigh*. Fine. Let me put on my bra. And some pants. I’ll be there in an hour.”

The meeting …

After fighting Southern California heat, and traffic, in a roller-skate of a car with no air conditioning, I arrive in Riverside. Even if I didn’t bring home an orphan today, I was thankful to finally be out of my car, with some blessedly cool air drying the gallons of sweat dripping off my body.

“Finally! Come here, come here, come here! Just lookit doze cute widdle faces!”

Before I really had a chance to savor not being stuck on the 91, and before I could really grok that it wasn’t eleventy-thousand degrees, I was face to face with this:

Asmo. He's a pisser!

And then? This:

Argus? He's a pisser too!

I was helpless. HELPLESS! How could I say no? (God, I'm a sucker.)

Needless to say, these two little shitheads came home with me that day.

The ride …

These two little no-longer-orphans were now tucked away in a cat carrier on my passenger seat. I had both windows rolled down in my roller-skate, but it was still eleventy-billion degrees out. Their plaintive mews kept cutting into my heart.

“Oh, I know babies. It’s hot out. And you’re scared and trapped in a little box. I’m so sorry. Soon we’ll be home, where you’ll feel the ocean breeze. Kind of. So … tell me … what are your names?”

The bastards played coy with me, and didn’t tell me their names for a full week and a half.

They mewed, and I responded. Even though we bonded during that hellacious drive, they still refused to tell me their names. The whitish one? Just kept staring – he had these huge eyes, that took in everything. The grey one? Well, he stared as well, but it looked like he was plotting at the same time.

Ah, home …

We arrived home and the poor dogs were beside themselves. Kasha was just so excited to have new additions to the home that she just wanted to play. Her form of playing, though, was sniffing the little fuzzballs, bouncing their butts on her nose, and then rolling them around the house. And Teddy? Oh, poor guy … he took one sniff and hid. I guess he remembered some past experience with cats where his nose was decimated. (Can’t really say I blame the guy.)

So, after a week and a half, they deigned to tell me their names.

Argus and Asmo (short for Asmoedus).

They really do live up to their namesakes.

And then the fun began …

Apparently we bonded TOO well on the drive. By this time the STBE was taking turns sleeping on the couch, and in the bed. Soon, the couch was a better option. Why was this? Because the two teensy-tiny hellions were jealous. When he would sleep in bed, they would invariably pee on his head. And on his pillow. Pretty much anything that he touched while in bed? Yep. They peed on it.

One night? They even peed on my hair. (Hand to god. They PEED. ON. MY. HAIR.)

Payback …

They have never really understood the concept that only one thing can occupy one location at one time. Many times, I have gone to sit in “my” place on the couch, only to find it filled with a cat. And though I do lower myself slowly, in the hopes that they will realize their impending doom, they never move.

(I guess my ass isn’t as terrifying as I thought it was.)

Tonight, again, I almost sat on one of the cats.

This time it was different. It may have been the fact that I was really distracted. It may have been the fact that I didn’t pay attention to my surroundings. Or it may have been the fact that I really had to pee.

It wasn't until I felt fur on my rear that I realized one of the cats was drinking out of the toilet.

Thankfully, I was able to reverse course. But if I had peed on Argus' head? I probably would have felt bad.

Just a little. But it did give a whole new meaning to “wet pussy”.

Hmm, maybe I should have. I mean, turn about is fair play, no?

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