October 29th, 2014


I may have too many cats...

It is no secret that I'm a crazy cat lady. Even now, I am typing this blind because I have a furry little brat standing in front of the computer screen, refusing to lay down or move (so apologies for any cat-induced typos).

But yesterday, I reached a new high. (Low?) I was lying on the bed in the guest room (the only room with a TV hooked to cable), vegging out to the bland feel-good-ism of a 19 Kids and Counting episode. George, some twenty-odd pounds of lovable fluff, had already crawled up on top of me in the bed, effectively pinning me in place and we, together, had decided that we weren't going to be doing much else for the rest of the evening.

A little while later I felt someone jump on the bed and snuggle in beside me (not particularly surprising given that I was pretty certain, even without being able to lift my head more than a few inches that the other four cats where also in the room).

George offered the newcomer a half-hearted hiss and so I assumed that it must be Ken. Now George and Ken do not dislike each other, per say, it's just that George is a good six years older than Ken, well into her fat and lazy stage of life. But Ken is, while fully grown, still filled with a kitten-like energy and he cannot help but view George's long, fluffy, feathered tail as a perpetually swishing cat toy, something George, most definitely, does not appreciate.

Still, a warning hiss or two is usually enough to convince Ken that George isn't in the mood to put up with his shenanigans today and he'll either move on or accept that this is going to be a snuggle (only) kind of party.

But being a loving, proactive kitty-mom, I moved to break up any potential argument with a pet and a calm, "Now, now, be nice to your brother." Soothed, George snuggled back down without argument, and I then reached out to offer the same (a momma's got to be fair) to who I believed to be Ken.

But the head I reached down to pet did not feel like a Ken head. In fact,reaching out to pet further, I could tell that this fur did not belong to any of my (known) kitties.

So I, very carefully, so as not to disturb George, lifted my head and shoulders just enough to try and see who (or what) was lying beside me and what did I find?

A big (very big), very fat, very self-satisfied siamese cat.

I do not have any siamese cats. I've never had a siamese cat (though I can admit to a certain fondness for their cross-eyed-ness).

Fortunately, I do know someone who does have an overfed, excessively friendly siamese cat and that someone doesn't live particularly far away, so I was able, with confidence and no real concern, put the self-satisfied little interloper out on my porch with a vaguely amused, "Go home, you brat," and go back to my show.

George wasn't all that happy about having to get up so that I could do it, but she snuggled back down as soon as I returned.

Now, if only I could tell you when or how he got his furry butt inside. :p
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