Entries in cats (14)
I drew this in tribute of Bearface, and all the other kitties lost in the struggle.
R.I.P Baby Bearface.
In somewhat related news. . .
My co-worker brought something to my attention via Skynet Google and I meant to share it last week, or at least send the link to my Mom and Jacquie, but I became too preoccupied with my premenstrual mood swing explicit slump of masturbatory self loathing and forgot.
And so I introduce to you. . .
The Caboodle Ranch.
Also known as, Where I Want to Go When I Die.
Craig Grant = AWESOME DUDE
Click the link to visit The Caboodle Ranch's official website. And click here if you'd like to check out the spectacular merchandise they offer. More specifically, the fur baby shirt I will be purchasing.
This is my pride and joy and the object of my deepest affection, Sophie Bear, sucking on her hind foot. Prior to this photo being taken, she used those pants as a kitty slip n' slide, which made me respond with, "dude, you have no idea how much I love you."
Since I started using a more spacious table for my desk in substitute of the glorified TV table I was using before, I loosened my grip on the NO CATS ON THE DESK rule thinking the new surface offered enough space that a kitty could chill next to me while I worked.
You see, my cats are purebred, which means they are attention whores. Snort has always been an attention whore, although when she wants attention she expels a horrific noise out of her deformed nostrils that vibrates her nose wrinkles and comes out sounding like a dying heifer from the sixth dimension of hell. Sophie, one of the most charming kitties I've ever known, is a little more low key However, Sophie likes boys. I mean, really likes boys. And with the arrival of her third father, Sophie has come out of her shell like a blossoming rose, a blossoming rose who is a total and complete attention whore.
Sophie is madly in love with Bear and turns herself inside out for his attention. And when he's not paying attention to her, which he usually is, she will head butt him and rub her face snot on him until he does. Now that Bear is back at work for the majority of the month, Sophie has turned her attention whoredom towards me. I may not be as cool as Bear, but she guesses that I'll do.
There is nothing harder for a mother than to see her kitty feel the pain of a broken heart.
Every night over the past month I would text Jimmy Bear from work and ask what he was doing. "Watching a movie with Sophie," he would text. Or, "laying in bed with Sophie." Or, "throwing a toy for Sophie." Or, "playing xbox with Sophie." Or sometimes, "cleaning up kitty barf." On Monday morning Bear went back to work where he is expected to stay in camp for ten days. Sophie is devastated:
"Where's Jimmy, Mom?"
I give her helicopter rides like Bear does, but they're just not as good. I bounce her up and down off of the floor like the skunk from Bambi, but I just don't do it right. I put my hands on the sides of her bum and jiggle her so her fur stands up on end, but Bear does it better.
I know that if Sophie could translate her meow into words, she would ask me to post this for the man she is missing-- the man who has become the wind beneath her wings.
We miss you, Jimmy Bear.