girlfiend

My vet calls my cats the bridge club. Their names are Isaac, Howard, and Phyllis. Isaac’s the heavyset one, Howard, who’s from the same litter as Isaac, is the badass, and Phyllis is the crazy one.

Phyllis hates me. I don’t take it personally- she hates most people. Unless of course you’re eating meat or dairy products. Then she’s a coquettish little whore who can’t stop rubbing up against you. When she’s not trying to steal meat off your plate she’s either outside killing things or pissing somewhere she should not. She’s pretty though. And when she condescends to let you pet her when you’re not eating, it makes you feel kind of special.

Isaac is the most popular cat in my neighborhood. In the summer when he likes to be outside, I’ll occasionally get a 3a.m. phone call from a neighbor telling me that Isaac’s sleeping over their house and he’ll be home in the morning. Isaac enjoys the outdoors, but only in between snacks. At 18 pounds, he requires many small meals throughout the day, and bites my ankles if the food bowl isn’t full. Despite his hunger induced crankiness, Isaac is a lover.

Howard is a lover, too, but he’s a badass, so his love is the painful kind. An attention whore, Howard can’t stand being in a room with someone who’s not petting him. If you’re otherwise engaged, Howard will make every possible effort to force you to stroke him, headbutting your hand or whatever you’re holding in your hand. Howard is not safe to be around when you’re drinking red wine.

I don’t usually like to write about my cats- most people immediately start to snore- but this time I have a reason.(Please don’t call DHS. It was an accident, I swear.) Last week I accidentally broke Howard. I was emptying the trash and slammed the can on his paw. After limping around for a few days I realized he wasn’t just faking it. I took him to the vet and came home with one sad, funny looking kitty with a paw that’s fractured in two places.

Embarrassed by his enormous cast, Howard did not wish to emerge from my closet this afternoon. This sadness alternates with anger. In this picture Howard is loudly expressing his disdain for me.

He’s not moving around too well with his cat in the hat arm so most of his time will be spent like this for the next six weeks.

I know he’s a cat, but I swear he’s pouting.

Obviously in no condition to handle stairs, Howard is stuck in my bedroom, the only room in the house besides the bathroom with a door. Luckily his brother likes to visit.