Archive for the ‘cat pr0n’ Category

I’ve been accused of not posting enough cat pron lately. Specifically, the accusation is that I started off strongly but have since been slacking. Point taken. Hopefully this will appease you hungry cat pron vultures for at least the next few months:

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I saw this taped to a street light near my apartment. It’s not the happiest way to start your weekend, but it’s a good reminder why our feline overlords should probably stay inside:

In the interest of full disclosure, I used to work for the Humane Society, so I’m probably a bit biased on the whole indoor/outdoor thing. But I understand the counter argument as well — that cats are wild animals and that their lives are much richer if you let them roam the neighborhood. That may even be true. But at some point you have to do the math. The average indoor cat lives to be about 13. The average outdoor cat, 3.

Faced with those options, which would you prefer?

Those two years of college that you spent chasing tail and drinking Goldschlager?

Or the rest of your life?

(Give me a minute, I’m thinking.)

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Last week I introduced everyone to Drug Kitty.

If you don’t care to re-read that post, just know this: my cat has done more drugs than I have. Heck, I’ve never even smoked pot.

The closest I’ve come to “doing drugs” was in college when a fraternity brother suggested we Robo-trip. (Kids stop reading here.) What is Robo-tripping, you ask? Well, um, you drink an entire bottle of Robitussin and, as it was explained to me, the rest of your evening is tits.

Only somehow my buddy and I screwed up. Turns out you’re supposed to buy Robitussin DM — it’s the dextromethorphan that messes you up — but we bought Robitussin CF instead.

Even today I don’t know what CF stands for. But if I had to guess, it’s probably CONSTANTLY FARTING because that is how I spent the next 12 hours.

Anyhow, that’s really just a long-winded way of bringing you to this gem: a video about what happens to wild cats when someone slips them acid catnip. I’m thinking about rescuing the black panther at the 2:45 mark.

She would fit in a Mirage, yes?

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Dear Person Who Just Searched My Blog for “cat prOn,”

Yes, I saw that. There’s this spot on my WordPress dashboard that lists “top searches.” And while your fellow readers were interested in heart-warming phrases like “father to son quotes” and “how to raise a child,” you were interested in “cat pr0n.” So a couple quick things:

First off . . . thanks for reading!

Second, I have a question: are you a cat too?

Because, if not, consider this your final warning. Until approximately October 21st, my kitties are my de facto children. And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious anger those who would attempt to poison and destroy my . . . cats.

I’m not joking.

the Chris Hansen of Cat Owners,

Chris Hansen

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So today I decided to strap on our Baby Bjorn, and look who jumped in . . .

Everyone, this is Maxine. Maxine, this is everyone. She’s been with me for about 10 years and what you should know about her is that she’s crazy. But unlike the rest of us, she has an excuse.

When I first moved to Tuscaloosa, I lived on the wrong side of town. In the apartment next to me lived . . . I have no idea. There were about 47 people who randomly came and went, and I was never able to pinpoint exactly who the tenants were.

There was also a mangy black cat that hung around and begged those 47 people for food. She was not exactly their pet. She had no hair on her head, scabs covering her ears, and about 10,000 fleas. You think I’m kidding. When she sometimes wandered over to my apartment to try her luck with me, I would duct-tape a ruler to the end of an old comb so that I could “pet” her without having to douse myself in gasoline.

So, anyway, one night I was sitting on my porch feeding Maxine, and one of the 47 random dudes came over.

“T’sup, man?” he said.

I smiled at him the way you would smile at a person you suspected was on meth.

“So you’ve met Drug Kitty?” he asked.

“Who is Drug Kitty?”

“This black cat here. We bring her inside sometimes and give her acid.”

“Wow,” I said. “I’ll have to try that sometime.”

Of course, I did not try it. A few weeks later I also decided to move before the apartment next to mine exploded. In the wee hours of the morning, I took everything I owned and crammed it into the backseat of my 1997 Mitsubishi Mirage. You’ve seen cars like this before, right? Stuffed so full of books and clothes and CDs and dishes and food and laundry that you fear they’ll collapse? Well that car was mine. I was not sure I would have room to drive. But after I finally got the back door to close, I surveyed the situation and decided there was room for one more thing.

Drug Kitty.

And into the sunset we rode.

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