Why My Cat is a Fuckface

30 10 2016


I have been owned by cats my whole life, enough of them to know that they all have their own personalities. Some have been more standoffish than others, some have been so in my face that they made me nuts. Enter my current cat, a ridiculous Maine Coon named, Colette. Colette is a rescue beast, one that I found at a shelter/vet’s office around Christmas one year. The staff had named her Coal, and I was thinking it was because of her dark, dark brown-black fur. It wasn’t until she was a permanent fixture in our home that I made the Christmas and coal connection.

She was 6 months old when I adopted her, and had been found feral prior to her brief stay at the shelter. When I was picking her up, they actually knocked $10 off the adoption fee because she threw a royal hissy fit over having her last shot. At the time I just thought it was odd that they would do this as it didn’t seem weird to me that an animal that was kept in a cage all day, would be pissy towards her captors. Warning bells should have rang in my head when they were all completely shocked that she let me hold her. She was not completely docile in my arms, but I chalked that up to being with an unfamiliar person.

I get her home and she immediately walks around the house, tail held high, sniffing out everything. This I felt was a good sign as most cats new to an area will slink and cower a bit until they get the lay of the land. She was already the mistress of her domain from the moment she set paw inside. This was a huge issue with our existing cat, an elderly, dainty, but fearsome abyssinnian/tabby named Abby. Abby took one sniff, hissed, swiped and stalked off. This relationship NEVER warmed either. They remained aloof but mortal enemies until Abby’s death a couple years later.


At 6 months, Colette seemed to be a typical American Longhair. Her size seemed normal to me. However, by 9 months, when she was already larger than Abby, I knew something was up. When she reached a year old it was finally glaringly obvious that we had a Maine Coon mix on our hands. So much of her build, behaviors, etc. fit with being a Maine Coon…a large breed cat that sometimes feels more dog than cat.

It became apparent early on that Colette was not going to be the lovey dovey pussycat my children would have loved. Nope. This is unfortunate as Abby was never the ueber friendly cat either. Abby would allow the boys to pet her though and would even sleep with them on occasion. She was never hostile towards anyone but dogs, other cats and all the animals outdoors. Seriously. She ruled the yard with an iron claw. Months after her death I caught a neighborhood cat sneaking into the yard to crap by the fenceline, only to dart back out again like his ass was on fire. You can call me crazy, but I like to think that the other neighborhood cats dared him to shit in HER yard. Maybe a bit of new guy to the ‘hood hazing. But, getting back to it, Colette refused to let anyone but me pet her, and she stuck to me like furry glue, even going so far as to sleep under my monitor and swipe at my hands when I would type sometimes.

As she eventually grew far, far too large to sleep in her little under monitor niche, she started sleeping on the side of my desk, but that too became more problematic the bulkier she grew. These days she is banned from the desk entirely as she would take up at least half of it even while curled up.


As she was attaining critical mass, we were also learning to become used to her many, many flaws and foibles. She hates strangers. HATES them. Except she doesn’t just go hide from them like a normal cat, oh no. All usurpers to her kingdom are met with growls, hisses and then slinking face rubs all over their legs. I know, contradictory as all hell and confusing for any person who meets her. “Does your cat like me or hate me?” It’s pure hate, believe me…I think the face rubbing is a way to lull you into a false sense of security. DO NOT try to pet her. While I doubt she would bite anyone hard enough to break the skin…there would be biting. Even I, who am allowed to ruffle her fur and more, get nipped on a daily basis.

She seems to not like when strangers to the house are near me either, and will guard me with a barely checked, quivering rage. A few times I have given her some all natural calming herb cat treats but even those only took the edge of her anxiety away. And this is really what it is, anxiety over the newcomers. She really is not hateful so much as she is deeeeeply distrustful of all humans. If you happen to smell like dog, you might as well sign your death warrant. She is NEVER becoming your friend. EVER. Those who have the audacity to come before her reeking of canine get put in her permanent book of loathing…in indelible ink.

At this point in my posting, I should really just start to list the many things she does that are out of the norm for any other cats that have owned me, otherwise this will become a book:

  • Refuses most cooked or raw meats unless it’s canned fish or bologna. She has a wicked love of bologna.
  • Growls whenever anyone knocks on the door or rings the doorbell.
  • Gets super jealous when I am at my computer desk and looking at any cute animal photos. I make cooing noises which spurn her to mew at me with her meeplike peep of a meow and stretch herself up, paws on my desk, to get my attention.
  • Loves all baked goods. ALL OF THEM. Sure she will refuse a turkey leg, but will take my hand off for a cinnamon roll.
  • Cheese. The beast is a whore for cheese. If it happens to be a cheese sandwich – cheese + bread – watch out. That is like crack to her.
  • Is really kind of stupid. I can fake her out with the pretend toss like you can a lot of dogs.
  • Is always somewhere within my general vicinity and will even bust in on me on the toilet. There are entire rooms of the house that she never even enters…until I do.
  • Whenever I leave the house, she hides somewhere and won’t come out until I get home and am home for a while. This is something that she only started in the last year or so.
  • Is terrified to go outdoors, though she will make brief trips if I am with her the whole time and even then only on the porch.
  • Is scared to death of birds.


Honestly, she really is not so much a fuckface as she is a true character and takes some patience and understanding to get used to. I cut her a lot of slack because the fact that she didn’t really live around humans until she was 6 months old means she was never properly socialized. Despite all of this, I am ridiculously smitten.


Would you like some tea with your disdain?

29 03 2016

Rabid Hyena the Younger is taking an Intro to Culinary Arts class this semester. Every couple of weeks he has a cooking assignment where he has to cook a certain thing and document his work. This week it was to peel and devein some shrimp and boil it. Simple task. However, most of the stores around here that sell shrimp sell it in the EZ peel pre-deveined form. But I knew Whole Foods would have at least one variety that was what we needed, so off we went.

Just as I thought, they had an untouched variety, so shrimp was acquired as well as a few items for which I had coupons…I also grabbed a daffodil for Rabid Hyena the Elder to dissect for his Biology class. I was adulting like fuck! At any rate, as I approached the check outs, I quickly took stock and realized I had too many items for the express lane, which left only one other open check out. I inwardly cringed. The cashier manning said stall was one that I have known in the past. She’s one of those kind of people who work at health food stores. Silently and sometimes not so silently judging as they ring up your purchases. She likes to judge me for buying meat, judge me for having the audacity to be a fat girl, judge me for dairy purchases. I know it sounds as though I am projecting, but I swear I am not. She’s made little comments in the past. I find her insufferable and on more than one occasion have wanted to punch her in her judgy-ass mouth…with a side of hormone & antibiotic laden beef. Honestly, I have rarely encountered people like that at the various health stores in our area…shockingly. Or at least I have rarely crossed them working at said stores. The workers oft times are the cheery, white-rasta, patchouli smearing, herb smoking, salt of the earth types. The people who shop there are a whole other story…the word HONKIES comes to mind.

But needs must and we had to GTFO of the store at some point. I piled our soon to be purchased booty on the counter, including the flower that I had at one point dropped from the cart and rolled over the stem, crushing it. I mentioned said crushed stem and that it made no difference as Rabid Hyena the Elder was just going to dissect it for Biology anyway.

I probably should have kept my mouth shut. I probably should have just let them think whatever they wanted about the sad, lonely, stem-crushed flower. But no…I had to open my mouth and invite stupidity. Immediately, Judgy Cashier asked why he was dissecting a flower. I am almost positive that I looked at her as though she was the stupidest person on the planet, and was about to snark something back when the bagger saved us all by gently explaining why someone would need or want to dissect a flower. I shot her a grateful look and was doing my level best to ignore the other checker when she piped up with “Well, better a flower than a frog. I couldn’t do it.” Really? I’m sorry, you have mistaken me for someone who gives a shit about your opinions. Is what I wanted to say. Instead I shot her a withering look – or what I like to think of as a withering look…she probably thought I was just constipated – and we were on our merry way, me grumbling under my breath about self-righteous twatwaffles.

How I Became a Drug Chicken (Or, Never Do an Odd Job for a Sketchy Sylvari)

27 08 2015

So I am traversing a lower (lower than my level) area in Guild Wars 2, randomly stabbing undead and slaughtering unsuspecting wildlife – like you do – when I come upon a Sylvari (one of the plant people of GW2) who asks me if I am up for new experiences. Honestly that should have pinged my warning system right off, but like a fool I admitted that I did like new things from time to time because let’s face it, my thief is not too bright…he’s built to look pretty and be deadly. After asking me which of my traits I thought were my best out of strength, speed and agility, in true vainglorious fashion I said all three. POOF! This…this is what I ended up as:


Yes, the absolute epitome of speed, strength and agility…a chicken.

Mr Twig then gets to the meat of his task, he wants me to obtain some ‘special roots’ for him from yonder cave. I can only assume that since I am now disguised as a chicken that said cave might be a touch dangerous, but surely he has made me a super chicken, so I should be fine. Right…RIGHT? *crickets*

So I amble and cluck my way into this cave and immediately see my target. I think that this should really be a simple task, and the Champions inside do not seem to notice me at all:



But, apparently plucking these plants awakens some angry, fire-breathing grubs and despite what I previously thought, I am NOT a super chicken. In fact my ONLY attack is the ability to let out a terrifying squawk.


After getting 4 of those grubs on my ass, all hellbent on a roasted chicken lunch, I turn to squawk defiantly before waddling my happy ass out of there. At least I managed to get the stupid roots, I only wish I could have thrown them at the asshole’s head.


Here’s your fucking roots…smoke up, hippy!

Midnight Train Going Anywhere

27 01 2015

I have another surgery on my wrist tomorrow to correct a minor issue with my vein-work. It’s not likely to be nearly as invasive as the last one and my recovery time should be less, however, I am still a little nervous about it and cannot sleep. I also have a wicked tension headache from all the nerves, so that’s not helping either. I just plan on staying up as long as I need to, then getting up at 6:30 am, showering and whatnot, ten Spouse will drive me to the hospital. I can sleep later. Since I am awake anyway, I decided to try to do a little writing, even if it’s just this. It’s this or reading some crappy fiction, watching shitty TV or going down some obsessive internet rabbit hole.

Naturally, this posting is paused with bouts of surfing reddit, the occasional glance at facebook & twitter and obsessive googling…and me singing along with Journey’s Greatest Hits. Yeah, I have been on a serious Journey kick lately. No clue where that is coming from. Even now I am struggling to hammer this into some semblance of a coherent paragraph.

Spouse was editing some old video of the Rabid Hyena Pair earlier tonight and shared the completed files with me. I had to stop watching because they were making me cry just thinking how my mom wasn’t around now to see how the boys have grown so much. It’s coming up on a year (in March) since her death and while I don’t cry over it as much, I still think of her almost every day. It all still seems so surreal. I even have a message she left me a year ago, still on my phone. She was pissed and irritated with me when she left it, and it makes me so sad that this is the only record I have of her voice. Okay, time for me to start distracting myself with shiny, pretty things so I won’t dwell.

Wibbly Wobbly Nerdly Wankery Times 1000

21 01 2015

Because I still cannot sleep:


That Gallifreyan name transliterates to this:


I think I have reached some kind of dubious nerdvana….or maybe I need to try to sleep…


An Exercise in Vomit

29 12 2014

People, in general, are fucking morons. If this were not the case, then we would not be seeing yet another Nicholas Sparks novel turned into a fucking movie. This makes me absolutely livid. I realize that I can simply choose to not see said movie, much like I choose to not read his emotional drivel novels, however, I am simply offended that so many of them merely exist. That they share space on this planet with me. This…this makes me so irate that I practically see red.  We are talking Salieri from Amadeus levels of sheer hate here. Roiling waves of anger are flooding off of me even now. Nicholas Sparks is the Emperor of the Daleks in my twisted little mind. Someone needs to incinerate him before he makes an army of soul-crushing films and novels that takes over the world…he’s already got a good start too!

Fuck him in his rusty pie hole with a filthy hatchet!

I just spent a few moments online and found some quotes from a USA Today article about him.

“I write in a genre that was not defined by me. The examples were not set out by me. They were set out 2,000 years ago by Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides. They were called the Greek tragedies. A thriller is supposed to thrill. A horror novel is supposed to scare you. A mystery is supposed to keep you turning the pages, guessing ‘whodunit?’

“A romance novel is supposed to make you escape into a fantasy of romance. What is the purpose of what I do? These are love stories. They went from (Greek tragedies), to Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet, then Jane Austen did it, put a new human twist on it. Hemingway did it with A Farewell to Arms.”

” Sparks pulls the one beside it off the shelf. “A Farewell to Arms, by Hemingway. Good stuff. That’s what I write,” he says, putting it back. “That’s what I write.”

That’s right. He fucking compares himself to fucking Shakespere. He can seriously go fuck himself.

Vehicular Slaughter

23 12 2014

Dear every other driver out there today,

Those indicator lights…the ones some of you call turn signals? Those are used to INDICATE to the folks around you of any impending turns and/or lateral maneuvers you might want to make. They are not some kind of disco decoration or just to be used ‘if you feel like it’.


P.S. Go fuck yourselves.

So today I saw an old Chevy van that had it been white would have immediately pinged red flags in my head. This one, however, was painted a lurid shade of purple and had a spoiler on the back. Yes. A Spoiler. On A Van. You know that was doing it no favors. I tried to decide if somehow this was more or less creepy than a white panel van. I mean it’s completely conspicuous, so any sketchy doings would certainly be reported with ease, but yet I still found the creep-factor to be ueber high. I was actually shocked to not see any Grateful Dead stickers on it anywhere, but then that lack is most likely what pushed it into freaky territory for me…as though any kind of band decals would somehow mellow the ick factor. Well, godspeed to people and their life choices, but really…a spoiler? On a van? Ridiculous.