Tag Archives: Man vs. Cat

Because I Love You

Usually in human-pet relationships, the human is the “parent,” and the pet is the “child.”

Sometimes Esme gets confused, and she tries to be the parent. Usually she uses discipline: she scratches me.

Just when I start to wonder if Esme really loves me or if she just loves scratching me, she does something a loving parent would do.

Esme Pillow
She sleeps by my head to…

  • Keep it warm.
  • Keep it from hitting the wall.
  • Act like a helmet in case psychokillers break-in in the middle of the night.

Or she sleeps by my head because she knows her loud purring will wake me up an hour before my alarm, annoying me so much that I may get up and feed her just to get her to stop.

That might be it.

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Is That Tuna on Your Forehead?

I consider myself an animal person. I love them all the cute ones equally.

Please see Exhibit A for my love of penguins (specifically Pete), Exhibit B for my love of wolves, and Exhibit C for my love of dolphins.

In the ongoing cat vs. dog debate, I choose cats. Only because cats are lower maintenance. Esme once opened the cabinet where her food was because she was hungry. So when I’m away on travel for a couple days, Esme Kitty can take care of herself. 

And when I come back, she forgets she’s a cat, and she acts like a dog by showing me how much she missed me and licks my forehead.

No, I did not smear cat food on my forehead for this photo op.

No, I did not smear tuna juice on my forehead for this photo op.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “You could always do what I did to scare my OBGYN away. I accidentally let one go and I think we all wished we were dead afterward. No need to explain why I didn’t go back. He didn’t come looking for me either.”—So I Went Undercover


An Accident Waiting to Happen

Esme has a new favorite place.

At first, I thought it was cute….

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What a curious kitty!

Now…not so much.

Because every time I throw clothes in the dryer, I panic. It doesn’t matter how many times I check to be sure the cat isn’t in the dryer, this still happens:

Me: Esme? Esme? Here, kitty kitty.

Silence.

Me: Esme? Want some nom noms?

Silence.

Me: ESME!

::runs to the dryer and flings open the door so clothes fly out::

Me: ESMEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

::checks black socks to be sure they are indeed black socks and not cat bits::

Esme: ::crawls out from under the bed:: Meow?

This happens every time I put clothes in the dryer. Every. Time.

I may never do laundry again.


Cat vs. Mouse

Esme is a pretty lazy cat. Or maybe she is snobby has extremely high standards for what she’ll play with.

Esme used to play with her mouse toys all the time. Then in my old house, she started catching real mice. And birds.

Now she wants nothing to do with her toy mice.

So I tried something different. But she didn’t want the computer mouse either.

You call this a mouse? It doesn’t even have a tail.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “If you hadn’t been feeling awful (and I am so sorry about that), you might have been able to turn this into a teachable moment to improve the poor woman’s math skills by holding up three fingers to make the concept of 3 more concrete and then inviting her to read between the lines. Next time.”—Hippie Cahier


My Chip Bag Brings All the Pets to Yard

Did you know cats have better hearing than dogs?

My old cat Caramel would running any time the refrigerator door opened. Esme runs to the sound of a can opening.

You: Big deal. My cat does that, too.

Me: No, you don’t understand. Esme. Doesn’t. Run. Ever.

Esme is pretty lazy. Unless food is involved. And Esme isn’t very affectionate. Unless food is involved.

And even more than a can opening, Esme loves a chip bag crinkling.

Poor Kiefer. When he sat down with a chip bag in his lap to watch football, he had no idea what he was getting into.

“The animals love me best!”

Esme: You’re in my chair, and you have chips. Gimme. Now.

Ozzy: The cat wants some, so it must be good.

He had no idea that archenemies would unite to double team him…just for a chip.

Favorite Comment From Last Post: “I brought my nephew to a haunted house once, he was about 6, I was 21 and stupid and I got in trouble at the age of 21 because I think I might have ran out the door and kind of left him in the dust, yeah, I got in big ass trouble. Dumb kid, he was suppose to run like hell with me, dah?”—Lucy’s Reality