Category Archives: cat

Cat versus Dog


Dog: “I’m biting you! Woooo!!!”

Cat: “Go away!”

Cat: “No really – GO AWAY!”

Cat: “I’ll pound your head!”

Cat: “I’ll bite your ears!”

Cat: “I’ll eat your lips!”

Dog: “Still biting you! I’m biting your leg!”

Cat: “BAD DOG!”

Cat: “I kill you!”

Dog: “You don’t scare me! I’m biting your butt!”


Dog: “Now I’m eating your arm! Delicious!”

Cat: “Go! AWAY!!”
Dog: “Uncle!”



We called him The Squatter. Because one day in early October 2005, he showed up on our porch and claimed squatters rights. He wasn’t going anywhere. He looked to be about 4 – 6 months old and he was starving. Every rib was visible. He had clearly belonged to someone at some point, because he had a collar. He had clearly belonged to someone stupid because the collar was meant for a dog and too heavy for him – it was dragging him down. And he hadn’t belonged to them in a long time, because even in his starving state, the collar was biting into his little neck, almost choking him. It had to be cut off. He almost smothered me with love when I got it off him.

At first, we didn’t let him in – partly because we already had a cat and partly because he was afraid to come in. So he became our porch kitty. I made him a little bed and put food and water dishes out for him. But as it got colder, I couldn’t stand the thought of him shivering on the front porch, so I coaxed him in. He would come in for short periods of time, but the outdoors were ingrained in him and he preferred to spend most of his time outside, often just sitting on the other side of the door, staring at Pussty (our first cat).

We went through several names before we finally settled on one. We called him Milo and Kitty and Asscat and Mike and Balls (OK, only I called him Balls), and the girl – who was almost two at the time, just called him “My cat! My Cat! MYCATMYCATMYCAT!!” Eventually, we settled on Angus and it suited him perfectly.

Little by little, he spent a little more time inside, but mostly wanted to stay out. Pussty was getting older and more frail by then, but Angus didn’t care – he chased him and tackled him and loved him relentlessly. But as much as he loved on Puss, he wasn’t the kind of cat to sit on a human lap. Until December of 2006 when Puss was very sick and we knew the end was near. On the evening of the 9th, I knew Puss wouldn’t be with us much longer. And in the middle of the night that night, Angus jumped into bed with me and snuggled up. I sort of half woke, wondered why the change of heart and went back to sleep. The next morning, Puss was gone. I swear Angus knew and was comforting me. From that day forward, he came a mostly indoor cat.

He thrived in the next few years – he got fat and happy. He still wasn’t a lovey-dovey kind of guy, but he doled it out when he was in the mood – mostly when you least expected it. He loved me, though. Every night, when I would go to bed, he followed me in. As I laid in bed, he’d come over and push his head under my hand so I’d pet him. After a few minutes, he’d be satisfied and settle down in the crook of my knees. We slept like that every night.

When we got the new cat this December, he spent four days grumbling and mumbling and griping and hiding and asking us, “Are you KIDDING ME??” but then on the fifth day, we discovered the two of them wresting and tackling and playing and rolling around. They’d race into the basement and then come back up with cobwebs all over their heads and whiskers, looking nonchalant. It was good for Angus –he was more active than ever and he lost weight. We had to stop calling him fat (except for his head – it didn’t change, so we could still call him fathead).

About a month ago, he came in limping – not using one of his front paws at all. We took him to the vet who thought it was a battle wound of some sort, gave him some pills and fixed him up. For the couple of weeks that he was recovering, we were able to keep him inside. We have never been outdoor cat people, but since he came to us as an outdoor cat, it was hard to break. We didn’t want anything to happen to him. But as he got better, the call of the wild obviously pulled at him. He would sit at the front door and look out – hollering at anyone in the vicinity to Let! Him! Out! NOW!!! Try as we did to keep him in, he was having none of it. He would lie in wait for the door to open and zip his newly svelte body through the open door. He didn’t stay out long, but he liked to spend a short time out every day.

On Sunday night, he was on the porch playing his “Let me in! PSYCH! Let me in! PSYCH! Let me in! PSYCH!” game. We were tired and eventually went to bed, knowing he would sleep on the porch chair and come inside in the morning (maybe after a few more rounds of “Let me in! PSYCH!”) But Monday morning came around and he wasn’t on the porch. Mr. b found him in the driveway, under the van. He liked to lie under there and spy on everyone, so mr. b didn’t really think anything was wrong. But it was very, very wrong. Our Angus was gone. He didn’t have a mark on him, so we think it may have been poison. I am going to let myself believe it was accidental because anything else is too painful to imagine.

I laid in bed last night waiting for a little fat head to come push my hand and settle in behind my knees, but it never came. God, I miss that cat.

I’m Talking About the Dog & Cats Again…I KNOW!


I am pretty sure this conversation happens every night in my house, just as we are trying to go to sleep…

Cat: Hey! You! Cat! PSST…CAT!

Dog: I’m not a cat.

Cat: Whatever. I’m bored.

Dog: Not ”whatever”! I’ve told you a million times I’m not a cat. You’re just being mean.

Cat: Sorryyyyyy!. Jeesh. I’m bored.

Dog: Go to sleep.

Cat: In the middle of the night? What’s wrong with you? Why don’t you sleep in the day like a normal cat?

Dog: I’M NOT A CAT!!! And besides – everyone’s sleeping and we have to be quiet.

Cat: Wooooooooo! Weeeee! Zip! Crash! Sliiiiiiiiiiiide…BANG!!

Dog: Be quiet!

Cat: Oh, you wanna do it too. Come on! You can’t catch me! Weeeeee!

Dog: Can too! Raaawwwwrrrr! Stomp. Thunk! Scramble…BANG!!


Dog: BARK! Ohhhh…..shit! You made me! I hate cats!

Cat: You hate yourself!

Dog: I! Am! Not! A! CAT!!! BARK BARK BARKBARKBARK!!………..shit!

Other Cat: Yaaaaaaaawwwwwwnnnnn….strrrrrrrreeeeeeettttccccchhhh…what’s going on out h….Hey! FUN!! Weeeeeee….WOOOOOOOO!!!


Other Cat: CRASH!!!

Dog: CRASH!!!!!…….SHIT!


Dog: I hate cats!

Cats vs. Dogs


I was talking to someone about the movie Cats vs. Dogs recently, and they asked if I was a Cat Person or a Dog Person. I can’t really answer that, because I guess I am both. But it got me thinking – do I prefer one over the other? So I sat down and tried to figure it out.


Dogs would rather eat off their own foot than poop in the house. Dogs do NOT want to disappoint you.

Cats can’t wait until you slip up and neglect to clean their litter box at exactly the right moment (approximately 5.3 seconds after they are finished, but don’t even think about coming around a millisecond too soon and looking at them, you disgusting pervert) so they can poop on the floor next to it to just punish you.

Advantage: Dogs


Cats: “……….whatever……….”

Advantage: Dogs


Dogs (or most dogs), are not at all interested in getting a bath. They will hide under the bed, run around the house to escape, put their brakes on, brace themselves against the door frame, and cry like a baby when being forced into the bathtub. And then once they are in there, they will sit down so you can’t rinse their ass, shake dirty dog water everywhere, and jump out and run immediately to a nice, dry, non-wet-dog-stinky piece of furniture. And don’t think just because your dog likes to swim or play with the sprinkler that it means they will be good in the bath, because dogs have no common sense. And here’s a little known fact: Dog dirt cannot be cleaned – it can only be transferred to another surface. So when the dog is finally soft and fluffy and fresh you and your entire house will smell like a wet, dirty dog.

Cats clean themselves. I have only had to bathe a cat twice. Once when he got a pitcher of kool-aid dumped on him…by a dog. And once when he was peed on…BY A DOG.

Advantage: Cats

Home alone:

Dogs need someone to look over them. You can’t leave multiple days worth of food because they will eat and eat and eat until they explode and then they will look for something else to eat. They have to be taken out and loved and played with and talked to.

Cats can be left with a vat of food and a big bowl of water (which they will ignore in favor of the toilet).

Advantage: Cats


Dogs: Become startled by their own farts. Regularly tangle themselves up in their leashes.

Cats: Can’t find the treat sitting directly in front of them. Lose a battle of the wits against tape.

Advantage: Tie

Critter patrol:

Cats like to hunt. Most cats can be counted on to seek and destroy mice, rats, moles, centipedes and spiders.

The most you can expect from a dog is a resounding “SQUIRREL! SQUIRREL!! SQUIRRELSQUIRRELSQUIRREL!!!” and the damned squirrel is outside and not bothering anyone. If you are lucky, they will also attempt to rid your house of mail carriers and their shadow. They will fail spider miserably, though.

Advantage: Cats

Coming Home:

Dogs don’t care if you were gone five days or five minutes – their reaction is always the same: “You’re back, oh my God, I am SO HAPPY! I was so worried about you because you were here and then you were gone and I was thinking about you and then you CAME BACK! YAY!!! I LOVE YOU!!!!!

Cats didn’t even know you were gone. If they happened to be walking through the room when you return home, they might give you a barely noticeable glance to let you know that they want food and a clean littler box.

Advantage: Dogs


Dogs will do almost anything to protect the people they love. At the very least, they will bark and let you know someone is coming (and sometimes, continue barking and barking and barking).

Cats will hear a noise in the house at night, puff up, looked totally freaked out, take off and hide under the bed. Cats do not care if you are slaughtered.

Advantage: Dogs


Dogs: Bark! Growl. Snarl. Wine. Cry. Sniff. Snort. Slurp. Chomp. Chew . Yack. Snore. Howl. BARK! BARK!! BARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARKBARK!!!!

Cats: purr…meow…silent, evil stare…meep…purr.

Advantage: Cats


Dogs: Assholes

Cats: Assholes

Advantage: Tie


Cats basically have no smell. Unless they have one of those weird I Refuse To Clean Myself compulsions, they are obsessive in their hygiene. Other than the occasional I Just Ate, Can You Smell The Tuna On My Breath moments, they are pretty pleasant.

Dogs…Lord. If the non-bathing and bathphobia weren’t enough, let’s add in the ass breath. And the dogfarts. And the fact that they like to roll in poop and dead things for fun. Dogs – though delightful – are gross.

Advantage: Cats


Dogs are loyal. They will love you no matter what you do. You can screw up again and again with a dog and he will still think you are the greatest thing ever. You always hear stories about heroic dogs saving their owners, or walking hundreds of miles to find their family again.

Cats, on the other hand, will give you ONE chance to not screw up. In fact, cats are already plotting your death simply because they can. Cats don’t save their owners – cats eat their owners after they fall down the stairs and there’s no dog to run for help.

Advantage: Dogs

So there you have it. The final tally:

Dogs: 5

Cats: 5

Humans: 1,000,000 (or possibly minus-2, depending on how big of an asshole the dogs and cats are being at the time).

The Fish Whisperer


I was (finally) out shopping for my March for Maddie giveaway prize this weekend, looking – obviously – for some weird stuff to throw in there. And I came upon a tiny plastic aquarium with a couple of those “grow” fish in them – the ones that expand in water. And I decided I needed to have one myself.

You see – I am not very good at taking care of pets. No – that’s not exactly true – I am fine with dogs and cats, because they can remind me that they exist and are hungry/thirsty/bored/need to pee/are dicks. But quiet, contained animals? Doomed. That’s the same reason I kill plants. They can’t nudge me with their cold noses, or bark by the door, or stare at my food and “boof,” or knock their empty dish off the platform, shove it across the room, jam it into my instep and “merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl merl! Merl! Merl! Merl! Merl! Merl! Merl! Merl! Merl! Merl! Merl! MERL! MERL! MERL! MERL! MERL! MERL!!” at me until I get off my ass and either feed or kill them.

The fact that I still have living hermit crabs should tell you how little care they need. Because if they required anything more than minimal effort, they’d be hot-glued into little vignettes by now.

So anyway, I got this cute, tiny little aquarium that I can set on my desk and play God with the fake fish. You add water – they grow – you forget all about them and they dry up and shrink. Then you notice them one day and think, “GASP! My fish are dried up!” Then you add more water and they puff back up again and you don’t even have to feel guilty about it! I don’t know if you realize this, but YOU CANNOT DO THAT WITH REAL FISH!

Don’t get me wrong – I love aquariums. I can spend hours just looking at them. Speaking of which, I once did just that at burghbaby’s house. Her husband was nice enough to talk to me for a long time all about the fish and critters. Which – while we’re on the topic, Ms. burghbaby often claims that her husband doesn’t talk, but I certainly haven’t experienced that. It seems that she is either full of shit, or Mr. burghbaby and I are dorks of feather. Truthfully, either is possible.

Anyway, I wasn’t always bad at keeping fish, etc alive. Back when I was a kid (somewhere around 6 or 7), my aunts took me to a carnival. One of the games they had was the one where you toss ping pong balls into tiny fishbowls filled with colored water and goldfish – if the ball stays in, the fish is yours.

My aunt tried to talk me out of playing, since it was a waste of money – no one ever wins at that game – plus, if you do – the fish die in a couple of days, anyway – I mean – they are swimming in tiny bowls of colored water, right? Wrong. I won me a fish and I named him Fred (I went through a stage where everything was named Fred for a while). We took it home (to my aunt/grandma’s house) and within a couple of days, we had a whole aquarium set up for this one fish. And despite what everyone but me expected, this fish did NOT die in a couple of days. In fact, he not only lived, he thrived. Within a week or so, we saw him start to increase in size. I was worried about him being lonely, so we bought him a few friends. But soon, the friends disappeared and Fred got bigger. And bigger. And BIGGER.

He soon started looking less like a tiny goldfish and more like a huge gold river fish. He was bigger than any goldfish you’ve ever seen. His tail was the size of an adult hand when “unfurled.” More than once, when my grandfather was cleaning the tank, he put Fred in another container while he scrubbed the tank in the kitchen. When he came back, he found that Fred had leaped from the tank and was lying on the floor, dry and seemingly dead. But Gramps, who loved animals, grabbed Fred and plunged him back into the water. Then he started rubbing him gently – almost doing compressions. And damned if that fish didn’t revive! And it happened TWICE! Gramps thought the first time was a fluke, but after the second, he started throwing a towel over the container.

Fred lived a good, LONG life. I got him when I was about 6 and when he died? I was in college. College! Gramps was magic like that. He didn’t need a fake fish to dry up & reanimate – he could do it for real.


It’s been seventy hundred years since I have written anything and damn it’s hard to get back into it. I’ve had the flu, and I hate Hate HATE blogging about being sick, so I had nothing to say. Actually I had a LOT to say about how fucking sick I was, again, I hate blogging about being sick. Finally, I am feeling a little better, but sitting here thinking I have nothing to say. Perfect.

Oooo…wait. I do have something to say about being sick. I knew it when I did The Plunge that I would get sick sometime in the following few weeks and then people would start in on how I got sick from jumping in the river. I just knew it. And to those people: SUCK IT!! The flu comes from germs. From other people with the flu. Not from being cold. Hell, if that river was going to give me anything, it would have been superpowers. Which – I feel the need to point out – it did NOT! (WTF, river??)

Anyway, let’s see…um…nothing going on. At least nothing that doesn’t involve violent coughing jags and my poor, childbirth-ravaged bladder. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – those kids better study hard and get good jobs, because they OWE ME!

Oh, I know! We got a new cat. A couple of days before Christmas, I was in Petco buying presents for the pets, and as always, I had to head over and look at the Animal Rescue League cats they have for adoption. As soon as I got over there, I noticed a little black cat. I have a weakness for black cats – they have a special personality. Both of my previous cats (one gone, one still with us) have been black cats. Because of my Can’t Resist a Black Cat Disease, I decided to put my blinders on and walk right past the little thing. But she had other ideas. As I was walking past, she stuck her arm through the bars of her cage and grabbed my coat. And she would not let go. I stopped to look at her and immediately fell in love. She was tiny and cute and playful. She reminded me a lot of our first cat, Pussty – she had the same little bald-ish eye-to-ear stripes and the same long body, tail and legs. And then I noticed the sign on her cage saying she was a polydactyl and that she had two extra toes on each front paw and one extra on each back. I was SOLD.

I went home and had the following conversation with mr b:

Me: I found our cat.

Mr b: What? Angus? Was he outside?

Me: No, not Angus. Our new cat.

Mr b: oh, OK…wait, WHAT?

Me: Well, I was in petco today and…

Mr b: No

Me: …they had Animal Rescue League cats and…

Mr b: NO!

Me: …one of them looked JUST LIKE PUSSTY!

Mr b: Huh? Really? (I knew I had a chance at this point – I had his attention)

Me: Yep – she’s so sweet and tiny, and she’s a little evil and she grabbed me.

Mr b: We don’t need another cat.

Me: But she PICKED ME!

Mr b: I don’t c…

Me: She picked me with her crazy long arms. They’re abnormally long, just like Pussty’s! And she was swinging them around like weapons!

Mr b: But…

Me: She has the KUNG FU! Imagine her with Fat Angus! Or the dog! She could seriously fuck with the dog!

Mr b: We do not…


Mr b: What?

Me: Extra toes. A whole shitload of them! It’s like a sign from God – we HAVE TO have her!

Mr b: How exactly is that a sign from God?

Me: Because God knows how much we would love a cat with extra toes!! Duh!!!

Mr b: Welllll…

Me: Her feet are huge! Like huge flippers! Huge, giant, dog-grabbing, magic, KUNG FU FLIPPERS!!

Mr b: Go get her.

I rushed back to Petco to get there before the ARL folks got there at 6:00. The whole way, all I could think was pleasepleaseplease don’t let anyone beat me to my cat (I was already thinking of her as MY cat). I got there at 5:45 and ran straight to the adoption cats, only to find that there was a couple looking at and *GASP* playing with MY CAT!

I tried to be subtle and hang back and wait for them to move it along, but those of you who know me are thinking, “subtle? Hahahaha!” Instead, I moseyed on up behind them and waited for my chance. When the woman leaned to the side a little, I shoved my face right in between them (I know! If the tables were turned, I’d be here ranting about the crazy ass pushy bitch in the Petco. But I don’t care. She was MY cat. She chose me.) I was trying to give them the jeebies so they’d leave, but they were jeebie-proofed. Finally, I heard the man say, “I’d take you home if I could.” And I relaxed a little. But just a little, because I knew firsthand that this cat had magical mind-changing powers.

Eventually, the couple left and I grabbed a nearby folding chair and planted myself in front of the cage, marking my territory and acting like a crazy person every time someone came near, talking loudly to the cat about how I was TAKING HER HOME! WITH ME!!!

Finally, the ARL people showed up and eleventeen thousand hours of questions and forms later, I had my cat. I walked into the house with the box behind my back and yelled to the kids, “Who wants an early Christmas present?” They came running (of course) and I set the box down and took her out. The dog came over to see what was going on and she immediately went kung fu on his ass and we all knew we had our cat.

She was already named Mittens and we thought about changing it, but one look at her paws and you realize she has to be called Mittens. Either Mittens or Holy Shit That’s Messed Up!

See? I was powerless to resist:

No, seriously:



Dear jogger,
Contrary to what you clearly believe, briefly interrupting your run in order to comply with basic safety laws will not, in fact, result in your immediate death. Not doing so, however, just might
Love Gina

Dear pedestrians,
While I realize that auto traffic must yield to pedestrians, I feel the need t point out that this law refers to pedestrians already in the crosswalk. This does not mean that it’s a particularly wise idea to fail to look both ways and step into the street, assuming that this law will protect you from speeding traffic like some sort of super shield. Because if you step directly out in front of me and I kill you – sure – I’ll feel bad. Really bad. But you’ll be dead nonetheless. If you see that jogger – let her know.
Love Gina

Dear flag-shirt-wearing jackass driver,
If you put as much though into things like traffic laws and stop signs as you clearly did to the application of those 16 “W” stickers, perhaps you’ll increase your life expectancy. Because if you continue to drive like that, you’ll either die in a fiery crash or some bitch with PMS and a liberal streak will beat you to death.
Love, Gina

Dear parker,
It’s a pull-in space! And you’re driving a Chevette. Are you seriously having that much of a problem?
Love Gina

Dear Boy,
You are waaaaay too young to be turning into your father. Please pick your underwear up off the bathroom floor. If you take up snoring, you’re outta here.
Love Mom

Dear Girl,
If you are going to get out of bed and wander the house in the wee hours of the morning, you really need to let someone know. Because I had a heart attack, died, came back to life and spontaneously combusted this morning when I found you missing from your bed. I’m too old for that.
Love, Mom

Dear mr b,
Just because you don’t hear it, smell it or see it, does not mean that it does not exist. Recall, if you will, that you are deaf, blind and have a seriously fucked up sense of smell. And the next time you resort to the age-old, good old boy, misogynistic, bullshit explanation that “[I;m] crazy”, I will be forced to kill you.
Love, Gina
PS. Smoking is ugly.

Dear Bass Thumper,
The volume and tone of the bass is clearly inversely proportional to intelligence. Since my skeletal system is vibrating, you must be a serious mental midget. If you weren’t so obviously disturbed, I might beat your woofers with a club. You know, if I had money for lawyers and damages. And a club.
Love, Gina

Dear Spider,
Get out!
I hate you,

Dear Dog,
You have very few jobs in this house. And while, admittedly, you are doing a fine job of “Barking Your Fool Head Off”, you are failing miserably at “Spiders.” Shape up.
Love, Gina

Dear Cat,
See Dog. Also – spring weather is not a license to jackassery. The “Let Me In…Psych!” game is getting old. I’ll let it slide if you get cracking on those spiders!
Love, Mom

Dear Polling place worker,
Seriously? You are seriously that stupid?? Ok, then.
Love, Gina

Dear Litterer,
You are an asshole. But on Earth Day? Super Mega Giant Asshole of Assholery.
Love, Gina