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Posey died today. If you’ve been here long enough you already know that he was a special little person in a fur suit and I’ve had him for almost half of my life.
I’m too sad to write about him right now so instead I’m posting a video we once made together for some orphans in Africa. It’s sort of a long story. Much like Posey’s life.
Please go and hug your little friends a little tighter for me.
Our 16-year-old cat looks like death warmed over. The other day he sneezed a tooth at me and looked at me like “Is this what’s it come to?” He’s also allergic to himself and is full of snot. AND LOVE. Also, I want to point out that I took him to the vet several months ago to put him down and the vet was like “You want to murder your cat? Because he’s fine. He just looks shitty.” I’m paraphrasing. Then he gave me some meds that are supposed to make Posey look less Gollum-like but they totally aren’t working.
Conversation I had with Victor about Posey:
Victor: I think Posey is ready to go visit Jesus.
me: He’s fine. He’s just…tired.
Victor: You aren’t doing him any favors. He looks like he wants me to suffocate him out of pity.
me: HE’S FINE. He’s 112 in people years. Pray you look that good when you’re 112.
Victor: I’ll be begging you to kill me with a hammer at 112.
me: Touch my cat and I’ll get out the hammer now. He’s fine. He’s eating, drinking, pooping, peeing and loving. He’s still doing the 5 “ING”‘s. Some days we don’t even have a healthy balance of “ING’s”.
Victor: Are you saying our family is unbalanced? Too much pooping, maybe?
me: I was thinking not enough loving. For our cat.
Victor: And possibly too much drinking. Right now. Because this cat looks miserable and you’re drunk if think he looks happy.
me: You know what? He’s purring so loud I can’t even hear you.
Victor: I think his purr is busted. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to growl at the grim reaper following him around.
me: He’s fine. He’s gonna be around forever. This cat has outlasted 4 cats and 2 dogs. I think he might be immortal.
Victor: I worry about you.
me: PROVE DADDY WRONG, POSEY. PROVE HIM WRONG.
Victor: I’ll get the hammer ready.
PS. People think I’m joking about Posey sleeping with his eyes open to watch out for death.
UPDATED: Yes, I realize Posey is a girl’s name but I thought he was a girl cat when I rescued him and the name stuck. His full name is Posey Von Lichtenstien though so he still feels bad-ass when people call his name at the doctor’s office.
Me: The vet just called. Apparently Barnaby Jones also needs to have some baby teeth extracted.
Victor: What the hell?! I thought you just took him in to get fixed?
Me: I did.
Victor: Well, they’re looking in the wrong end.
Me: They did a check-up too and apparently he needs his wisdom teeth removed or something. It’s gonna be another hundred dollars.
Victor: Fuck. Call them back and tell them to give him a $10 shot instead.
Victor: Of antifreeze.
Victor: What? That’s what I’m doing with you. You think you’re just sick all the time from some auto-immune disease? No. I’ve been shooting you up with antifreeze for years.
Me: Why would you do that?
Victor: It’s a slow and easy way to die. You’re welcome.
Me: If I end up dying with antifreeze in my system you are going down. I’m writing all of this in my blog right now.
Victor: Dude. I’m totally just kidding. But not about the dog.
Me: You love Barnaby Jones and you know it. Besides, I need someone furry to snuggle with after Posey’s gone. He’s like 140 in people years.
Victor: Seriously? Posey is in the hall right now looking around like “WTF? Where am I going?!”
Me: I MEANT WHEN POSEY IS GONE ON VACATION. POSEY, YOU ARE GOING ON VACATION.
Victor: He’s totally not buying it.
Me: POSEY, YOU ARE GOING TO BE FINE, I SWEAR.
Victor: He looks suicidal.
Me: He always looks that way.
Victor: Okay, now I’m kind of paranoid that you’re going to accidentally drink antifreeze and I’m going to get blamed for it.
Me: How would I accidentally drink antifreeze?
Victor: How do you do any of the fucked up things you do? You once accidentally swallowed a needle, for God’s sake.
Me: BECAUSE *YOU* FUCKING LEFT IT IN MY WATER BOTTLE.
Victor: You’re very defensive today.
Me: It must be all the antifreeze in my system.
Victor: I doubt it. It’s never had that effect before. I mean, what antifreeze?
UPDATED: Video of Banaby Jones after surgery. He had to wear the collar to keep him from licking himself. And because it was hilarious. But then we took it off after an hour because we love him. And because he knocked over a chair with it and practically gave himself a concussion. We’re not made of chairs, Barnaby Jones.
Comment of the day: Is this the same doctor that squeezed your cat to death? Because I don’t think we should trust him anymore. “Yeah, I know his balls are down there. Just thought I’d check to see if I could charge you with a bunch of shit before I kill this one in front of you.” ~ Lori
Today I’m in New York on book tour. Come see me? Pretty please?
Until I’m back I’m posting old posts in the hope because you’ll think they’re new if you have ADD like me. It’s a blessing. And a curse.
Ferris Mewler is back from the animal hospital today, after losing both his claws (it was medically necessary. Stop judging me) and his testicles (for cosmetic reasons. Kidding.). He’ll be in a hard collar for the rest of the week, much to the amusement of the other cats, whom he has mercilessly terrorized and bullied since day one. I’m usually not one for sharing 200 pictures of my cat, but today it’s hard not to make an exception. He looks like he’s dressed like a martini for Halloween.
UPDATED: SEE BELOW…
Today is mine and Victor’s 16th anniversary, which is sort of insane. You might remember last year, when I declared 15 year anniversaries should be marked with unexpected giant metal chickens at the door.
This year I had to outdo Beyonce (the giant metal chicken, not the singer. I try not to compete with her) so I’ve been searching for something similarly unexpected to come knocking at the door. I considered buying a giant metal egg because then when people asked “Which came first, the chicken or the egg?” I could definitively say “The chicken” but it just didn’t seem BIG enough. Then, after weeks of searching, I finally found the perfect thing.
Victor pretty much begged me to not get him anything because I think he was still trying to forgive me for last year, but then I finally convinced him that it was something awesome and so when the doorbell finally rang I screamed “OMG SHE’S HERE” and Victor was all “‘She?’ You got me a stripper?” and I glared at him because that’s the first place his head went, and then I went to answer the door and get his anniversary present.
Victor was speechless.
Probably because there was an unexpected sloth in the house. People are hardly ever prepared for unexpected sloths in the house.
I tried to get Victor to hug the sloth and Victor said “no” and then he said some other things I can’t write here, and then he said I was going to get pee all over me, and I explained that A) these are the risks you take when you own a pet sloth and B) we were in luck because the delivery guy said he peed yesterday and they only pee once a week.
BEST. PET. EVER.
Victor disagreed. Vehemently.
Then I explained that getting a sloth hug could cure the most vicious of heartaches and then that sloth snuggled into my heart and made me feel awesome for the first time all day (because I was still sad that we had to put our ancient cat to sleep this week, not because I was sad it was our anniversary) and I may have gotten a bit teary, and that’s when Victor started to panic because he already knew that I had a Posey-shaped-hole in my life and that I was more than unbalanced enough to fill it with an unexpected sloth.
Then Victor started to look a little sick and I admitted that the sloth was not his present because obviously I couldn’t be expected to keep up with a pet even lazier than me, because that’s like giving an alcoholic a bottle of bourbon for a pet. Nothing good could come of this. Victor was very relieved and even shakily petted Jilly-the-awesome-sloth until I told him that his real present was still outside.
“I GOT YOU A BABY KANGAROO!” I may have screamed. But I screamed it quietly and winsomely because I didn’t want to scare the sloth in my arms.
Then the baby kangaroo jumped all over the house and Victor went into shock when it jumped into the house and ran right to the living room rug, and I was all “You know? For boxing?” And Victor was all “WTF?” and I explained that he’d mentioned wanted getting back into martial arts again and that I thought a kangaroo would make great sparring partner. Then Victor just stared at me and I was all “You’ll have to teach him kung fu though” and then Victor just put his head in his hands because apparently he doesn’t have as much faith in his teaching skills as I do.
Then I finally broke down and explained that it wasn’t a real kangaroo and was only a wallaby, so it’ll stay that little forever and would probably be able to bring us drinks when we were thirsty, but only if we didn’t mind having the drinks splashed all over the house.
“We’ll have to invest in lids,” I explained.
Then Victor mumbled something about not feeling safe in his own house and I finally admitted that the un-kangaroo, Jilly-the-sloth, and the hedgehog hidden in my pocket were just on loan from the amazingly knowledgeable folks at Zoomagination, who were bad-ass enough to help me carry off this entire prank, and who taught me more about sloth pee than I ever would have expected.
Then we called Hailey over and she freaked out in the best possible way and screamed, “THERE IS A KANGAROO IN OUR LIVING ROOM ” and Victor and I both laughed at her glee and it was awesome.
At least in this house.
UPDATED: It’ll probably get changed any second but this is a screenshot from wikipedia showing traditional 15th and 16th wedding gifts:
Conversation with the exterminator about my 16+ year old cat:
Exterminator: Ma’am? I’m afraid you have a dead cat in your living room.
me: Oh, he’s not dead. He’s just really old.
Exterminator: I’m sorry, ma’am, but this cat is dead.
me: He’s just fucking with you. He sleeps with his eyes open.
Exterminator: JESUS CHRIST!
…That was several months ago. Since then, Posey has gotten thinner and wheezier and I felt selfish, so yesterday I took him to the vet to have him put to sleep. But then the vet was like, “This cats thyroid’s fucked up. I could probably save him. I mean, unless you just WANT to kill him.” Which is awesome. So now I feel happy and like an asshole.
Also, the vet told me to take a picture of Posey today and then another one in 3 months so that I can see the difference in his appearance. I assume he means if Posey responds to the meds, and not if he dies of a stroke in the next week. Hard to tell.