14 March, 2006

Bag of Hammers 5, Purrsey, 0

I inherited 4 cats in the divorce. I was tickled to keep the kids, but the cats were just one of those responsibilities that you step up for. Oh well.

I managed to give one away to a good home. I check on her from time to time, and she is happy. I had no choice. She had to move out. Our first cat had decided that she was the perfect squeaky toy. This poor little being was falling apart, collapsing under the feline version of post traumatic stress disorder, as cat #1 tried to chase the stuffing out of her every time she was bored. She is safe and happy now.

I love the first cat. She bonded with me the moment she walked in the door, and I would be hard pressed to put her out. The last cat is cute enough to make up for most of her hateful habits.

But the middle cat.

Daily he gives me new examples of why he is actually dumber than a bag of hammers. I have had some hammers, and even in bag-sized quantities, they only have ZERO intelligence.

This cat is well into the negative numbers.


  • I have never seen a bag of hammers poke itself in the eye while rubbing up against my ankle.
  • I have never seen a bag of hammers beg to be let outside, and upon arriving there take the mathematically minimum number of steps to get to the window to beg to be let back in. If 7 steps is the minimum distance to the window, he takes 6 steps to my window and commences to screaming.
  • When I push him away from the door so that he won't get out (and make himself miserable) I use my foot. For the next 3 days, he will be afraid of my foot. Anywhere and everywhere in the house, he will flee from the foot of death. I have never seen a bag of hammers afraid of things that never wanted to hurt it.
  • I have never seen a bag of hammers go 2 hours with no food in its dish, panic, get fed, eat until it pukes, and go back for more.
  • And, I have never seen a bag of hammers fall off my lap for no reason.

But, Monday night he set a new standard.

He actually ran into the living room after eating too much food, and puked in my shoe. Well, actually he puked all over the shoe-rug, and I cleaned it up Monday morning. It was not until tonight that I found out he had deposited most of his treasure in my shoe, and yes, I found it out in Murphy's way.

So, why?

("Why what?" you ask?)

Why is he sitting in my lap as I type this!



http://millytime.blogspot.com/ said...

NO way this is too funny I am trying not to laugh because my son is doing his home work and needs to think.

A cat pre-nup is what I'd shoot for next time.

This is why I have a dog. She's a bit odd herself.

Anonymous said...

Because...he knows.


Danny Kaye said...

Why? Because fair's fair.

Look, Codepoke. You started the whole thing by pushing him with your foot.

He cops a 'tude and wants to get even with said "Foot Of Death" (or FOD).

Lacking perfect English skills, he must find and employ another way of informing FOD of his displeasure.

He found a way. He employed the way. The way was a success. Everyone is even, now.

Fair's fair, man.

You don't kick the cat. An' he won't puke in the shoe.

Milly said...

You don't kick the cat. An' he won't puke in the shoe.

Cats just don't think like that. He can and will reserve the right to puke in and what he wants when and where he wants.

I had cats very big don't make me go in the house cats. They liked to tree Chigger's dog and stock the cattle.

codepoke said...

You don't kick the cat. An' he won't puke in the shoe.

I might expect my bag of hammers to rise to this level of reasoning. Purrsey - not so much.

And as far as kicking goes, I played enough soccer to know a kick from a push. I have yet to score any goals with this cat, nor yet even to remove all 4 of his feet from the ground.

He may have slid a considerable distance a time or two, but he never bounced off anything ;-)

Milly said...

I read this to my son. He is still laughing.

Purrsey-you name a cat something like that that and you well you step in puke.

Snoozer, Bogart, Shakespheare, and cat. Those are cat names. Cat's that won't puke in your shoe. Tree a raccoon dog :-} hold the puke

Andreia said...

Yet another reminder of why I don't ever want another cat.

Seriously, whose idea was it to domesticate these animals? Could it be (think SNL here)....Satan's?

http://millytime.blogspot.com said...

I'm at work, only the sound of me drilling, and the stuff that creeps into my head is what I'm hearing. I work alone a bit. (Ha! drill bit. Darn Ken Nordine out of my head) Any who, I start to wonder about how many hammers would go into my bag at my house, then I wonder how many Bibles we have and what is use more the hammers or the Bibles? Just thinking. I know what the answer should be. I use hammers at work though,Lord.