My Cat is Crazier Than Your Cat.

About a week ago my husband informed me that there was a creepy-crawly in the kitchen under the boot tray. By creepy-crawly I mean a House Centipede which looks like this:












If you have never encountered one of these, count yourself lucky. They don't bite or sting. They aren't even especially large but they are about the creepiest things you'll ever see. When I came into the kitchen our cat, Miss. America, was pawing at the boot tray, trying to get the invader. We assumed she apprehended said creepy-crawly because it disappeared. Good riddance. Those friggin things give me the jeebs.

Every day since then Miss. America has been holding vigil at the boot tray. She sits and stares for hours on end at the boot tray and water dish. As I write this she is sitting next to me with an unwavering stare. It's creepy. Almost as creepy as the creepy-crawly. It has gotten to the point that I think our other cat, The Fozz, is dehydrated because she's blocking the downstairs water bowl. There is a water bowl upstairs as well but he's partial to the one downstairs for some weird reason. Same exact bowl. Same exact water. It's just on a different floor and he likes the downstairs water better.

I feel that I have to go into the kitty history a bit here. The Fozz and Miss. America are siblings, feral cats that were rescued from under a friends porch in Somerville. The Fozz seems to have come through the experience ok. He's sociable and pretty chill. He hangs out when guests are here and people marvel at his impressive girth (he's 18lbs of gray feline) and laugh when they watch him try to get through the cat door that seems impossibly small for a cat his size. The Fozz is our normal cat.

Miss. America is the crazy one.

Our friends don't believe that we have two cats because they only see The Fozz. Miss. America stays hidden when we have company. So far she will only show her face for me, my husband and my sons. That's it. When we are around she is a total attention hog. She will relentlessly head-but our hands so we'll pet her to the point that after a half hour of constant petting we have to sit on our hands to get her to go away.

But now all she does is sit by the boot tray, watching, waiting, poised for the attack.

Our neighbors cat is on Prozac. Perhaps that is the answer.

The Fozz
















Miss. America holding vigil.

Kitty Torture

Actually we can't really tell if the cats love this thing or hate it. We have a bird feeder that sits in our window like an air conditioner.

















The birds come to have a snack and the cats sit and watch them.

















Occasionally the cats will bat at the glass with their paws but the birds only fly away for a second then they come right back. The cats can't figure out why the birds aren't afraid of them. Hours of entertainment.