And This Is How I Spoil My Cat, Part II

An ever-full water cup on my nightstand is not enough for Umberto Garcia Juanita Lupita Gonzalez III, perhaps because the cup I have given him is small - a child's cup, really. The spoiled bastard prefers the large tumblers I use and so stares at me as I drink from mine, whether I am standing in the kitchen, sitting at the table or resting in bed (especially when I am resting in bed.) I feel his covetous stare as I lift my plastic tumbler to my lips, his pitiful cup disdainfully ignored. I try to temper his spoiled behavior: I tap on his cup, forcing his attention to the fresh water brimming at the rim; I pour a little of my water into his cup, to remind him we are drinking the exact same thing; I drain my tumbler so he will not be able to knock it over when he pushes his head in, looking for a drink. Unfortunately, only the latter tactic works, because inevitably Umberto sticks his head into my (now empty) cup desperately trying to lap up even one drop of water, knocking the the cup on it's side when he removes his head in vain. Only then will he turn to his own cup and drink his fill.

I have ruined my cat. True, I may not help matters much when he goes to get a drink from my water bottle and I pour some water into the cap for him to have a sip. Or when Umberto jumps up to the sink (kitchen or bathroom, makes no difference) either Seth or I will turn on the water for him to drink. Or giving him a damn water cup in the first place. At least he only eats cat food, otherwise he would probably demand roast lamb every day. And I am the idiot who would make it for him.

And This Is How I Spoil My Cat, Part I

Umberto was once a typical cat who drank from a water bowl/dish like other four-legged animals kept as pets. He never turned his nose up at a plastic dish, even if some food had dropped in or some other foreign object was floating along the surface; he drank his water and went on his way. When Umberto and I first arrived in the States in February, however, I didn't have a regular, plastic water dish for him so I used a small ceramic bowl form my sister's kitchen (we were in her house). This was the beginning: I (by this I mean, my sister) bought him a food dish which was actually a food/water dish combo, but Umberto refused to drink water from the "water side" of the dish; he preferred the ceramic bowl. Whatever makes him happy, I thought.

Then, after moving to Austin and moving in my sisters-in-law, Umberto did something I found irresistibly cute: he drank water from a cup. How could I not encourage it? All right, I did not quite encourage him but rather found him constantly sticking his head into a cup so I would just fill up a glass and give it to him. It followed that he completely gave up on the plastic water dish next to his food. Instead, he had a tumbler which I kept full of water right there on floor, next to his food. I tried to correct my mistake and, in our new apartment, only provided him water in his water dish. He drank from the dish for a day, until he discovered how easy it was to jump onto the kitchen counter or table or anywhere and stick his head in my or Seth's water glass. The damage was done and his water cup returned, only this time placed on my nightstand, free from having any stray bits of food unexpectedly dropping in. It seemed to make Umberto happy enough.

Cat Naps

I am currently popping a few Hydroxycut everyday, not because I think that they will miraculously melt away pounds without any effort on my part (I am running again and whatnot), but because I am impatient to return to my pre-Uganda level of fitness: I want to lose ten pounds. Just ten stubborn little pounds. Or five? Maybe two? No, I'd be content with five. I want to look good in my skinny jeans again.

Yet a couple of hours after taking them, the initial "high" wears off and I crash, hard. During said crash I often find those two adorable furballs seen above curled on my bed, tempting me with sleep. I admit I can't resist their snuggly nature.

I sometimes take naps at 9:30 in the morning.

I seriously need a job.

Crazy Cat Lady

Seth's roommate, Ryan, adopted to stray kittens (more like saved them from the street) and I got to help take care of them during my recent visit. Ryan wanted to but cat litter, but I decided that since we live in a sandbox, I'll just fill the litter box with sand from outside. One time, while scooping up sand from the parking lost, three boys approached me and asked if I was okay.

"Yes, just sand for cats."

One looked doubtful. "Help?" he said.

"No, cats."

I realized I must look like quite a crazy cat lady, considering that the litter pan I was scooping dirt into was an aluminum roasting pan. And the fact that I was wearing slippers. Or maybe just the fact that my slippers have mouse faces.

Runty.

Sharkbait.

They're hugging :)

She's playing with his armpit hair.