It’s catty in here…

There are days when I wonder what the hell I was thinking. It can be random or specific. This morning I was wondering what the hell possibly possessed me to think three cats was a good idea.

I lovingly call them the terrorists. Because most days, it’s true. They are demanding little jerks that don’t stop meowing in my face til they get what they want. Which is always food.

My one cat is nicknamed Rollie Pollie, because she could have lived on her body weight for a month. She has been on a diet and is looking svelte, but the road has been tough.

I always swore I wasn’t going to feed my cats canned food, but doing the research I found out that it actually helps to lose weight because it consists of mostly water.

So now the shit show begins. Every morning and night it is like I have three ruthless piranhas circling my feet as I get their food ready. They meow, they knock me over when I’m walking, they try to climb up my legs to actually get to the food before I put it on the floor. There is no understanding that I am the main food source and they need to respect me.

It’s the same when we sleep. I don’t know how I would ever fit a boy in my bed if I had one to fit. And let me specify that my oldest cat is not allowed on the bed because she is crazy as hell and I wake up with her sucking on my hair or actually biting me for attention. So no.

This is where Hank takes over the world. He is the only boy, he gets beat up regularly by the other two, he is a Polydactyl…he is a thug, but the girls rule the world. He is also my favourite, ya I said it…but he will take up the entire bed stretched out. Leaving no space for me and Rollie Pollie. It takes at least twenty minutes a night for everyone to find a spot and lay the hell still.

During the day if I am home, they are in and out of the house like indecisive little lunatics, the opposite place from where they are is always better, especially if the doors are closed and I have just sat down to eat dinner or relax or something insane like that.

I try to keep them outside during the day so they don’t sleep all day and think it’s party central when I am trying to sleep, the exception being Kali (Rollie Pollie) as she has zero street smarts and is better inside. Also she cannot run to save her life, so…there’s that.

When I get home from work I have the welcoming committee, I can’t even count the times I’ve had to literally get out of my truck and make meow meow (crazy old one aka: Lola) get out of the way because she is going to get run over by my truck. She is uncontrollably happy to see me, even if she just wants to bite me and meow in my face…she also doesn’t know she isn’t a dog.

When people ask if I get lonely, I have to laugh. The reason I have camped pretty much every weekend since March is that I get quiet. I sleep like the dead because no one is sleeping on my head or meowing in my face at 4:30 am. Plus they are all mad at me on Sunday because I have abandoned them for two days and they all ignore me until Tuesday. I win you little jerks, I win.

But honestly, they are entertaining on a fairly constant basis, and as much as I complain, I would miss all of them if they moved out and got married. I apparently didn’t take that into consideration when I got them, you know, the part that they don’t grow up and move out. That and they will probably all live forever.

You win kitties, you win.

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