Baxter Blog (and Murphy, too!)

Cat bed!!

2007-03-05T18:23:00.000-05:00

Yesterday I finally finished knitting my cats a cat bed, and they love it!! It took Baxter a minute to get used to it, but once he was in, he slept there for about four hours (which is long for him to be in one spot--he's a fidgeter). Overnight, first Baxter slept in the bed, then both kitties slept in it together (which totally would have been photo-worthy were I not half asleep and groggy when I saw them) and then Murphy finished out the night in the bed alone. I'm going to give it a week or so and see if they fight over it or if they can peacefully share it. Making another would be a pain, although how often does one have the opportunity to use yarn called "fun fur?"

Enjoy the photos!

Happy birthday, Baxter! (With photos, too!)

2007-02-26T18:07:00.000-05:00

It occurred to me today that most people who rescue their pets from shelters probably don't know their birthdays. Murphy, for example, was found on the streets of the Bronx (does that give him any street cred?) and no one even knows how old he is. Crazy Cat Lady said three years, his paperwork said one, and the vet estimated somewhere in between.

But Baxter, lucky Baxter, has his birth date written right on his paperwork from the ASPCA, and today makes him two years old. Does this mean I'm now raising a toddler kitty, or do we convert his age to human years (does that work on cats?) to mean that I'm raising some sort of teenage kitty? He's certainly moody like a teenager....

But anyway, how does one celebrate a cat's birthday? I suppose for the "normal," non-obsessed folks, the answer is simply: you don't. But since I clearly don't fit into that category, given the fact that this blog exists in the first place, I've decided to mark the occasion in a few ways:
-Feed him tuna for both breakfast and dinner
-Publicly wish him a happy birthday via this blog (never mind the fact that cats don't use computers)
-Keep a photo record of Baxter through the years
-List my three favorite things about Baxter:
1. The way he follows me, wide-eyed and curious, from room to room
2. His clean/organized eating/bathroom habits (thank you, thank you--I could not deal with two messy cats like Murphy)
3. His special features, such as his "socks" and goatee. So cute.
4. The way he always curls up in the same spot on the bed at night.
Ok, that's four favorite things, but dammit, Baxter is awesome.

And so, without further ado, I present pictures of Baxter on the day I got him (which was shortly after his one year birthday) and Baxter today.

Happy birthday, kitty! And many more!
=^. .^=

Baxter, day 1 (3/4/06)

Baxter, 2nd birthday, 2/26/07

And not to leave out Murphy, because he's cute too (and don't worry--he will have a "birthday observed" in June), here are some bird watching pictures. Did anyone else know this is a two-cat activity? I love how they are both fixated on the same bird.

My kitties, my protectors

2007-02-13T22:58:00.000-05:00

When I was five years old, my mother started reading all the Little House books out loud to me. Every night, I'd look forward to hearing another chapter...unless it had to do with wolves. In fact, I was so terrified of wolves--chasing the girls around or prowling outside their log cabin at night--that my mother had to replace the word "wolf" with "hmph" each time it was mentioned.

So tonight, in much the same way, as I tell my tale of terror, I will be referring to "those awful black/brown insects that are notorious for creeping their way into city apartments" (and if you really can't figure out what I'm talking about then I can't help you because I refuse to call them by name) as "whatzits".

I first noticed something was strange when I saw Murphy sitting in the corner, staring at the wall. I thought he was just being a weird cat so I tried to ignore it. But then an hour went by, and I couldn't stop wondering what was going on in the corner, where Murphy still sat, staring fixated at the wall. He wasn't sleeping, and there was a certain tenseness in his back. I got up and sat next to him, trying to see the wall from his perspective, but there was nothing to see. I walked away, confident that Murphy was just crazy.

But then a few minutes later Baxter went and sat with Murphy...and then started clawing at the base of my floor lamp. I suddenly knew something was there, but I didn't want to admit what it might be. See, in nearly six years of in New York City, I've only found two whatzits in my apartment, which, by NYC standards, is really impressive. It doesn't matter what floor you live on, how clean your apartment is, or who lives next door. Whatzits are inevitable, and I was pretty sure I was about to face my third.

I walked over to the lamp, grabbed it by the stand, lifted it off the ground, and there I saw the whatzit, lying on its back flailing its arms and antennae in the air. Terrified I slammed the lamp back down and ran away. I didn't know what to do, and before anyone makes fun of me for being afraid of a bug let me just say that I have no problem with spiders, ants, or flies, but when a bug is two inches of ugly, I run the other way.

I knew that I'd need to kill it, but I also knew I needed some support, and watching the cats paw at the lamp wasn't helping, so I called a friend. She sympathized with me and suggested that in addition to putting on shoes and grabbing some paper towels, perhaps I should grab something to spray at it.

"Perfect!" I said, looking under my sink. "What do you think will work better, Tilex, Windex, or Resolve?" We settled on Tilex, and I'm not quite sure why, but it sounded poisonous enough. (Let me also add that I'm slowly switching my household products over to biodegradable, non-poisonous, earth-friendly brands, but I was really, really glad at this moment to still have something toxic lying around.)

I went back to the lamp and my friend on the phone had to give me a pep talk to get me to lift it up again. After putting the phone on speaker and setting it on the windowsill, I quickly lifted up the lamp and began dousing the whatzit with Tilex. "It's still alive!" I screamed into the phone. "I'm spraying it!" I must have sprayed that thing six or seven times, and yet it lived. I slammed the lamp down on it again, out of breath and unsure what to do next. "Maybe if I let it suffocate in the Tilex for a minute it will die," I suggested. But when I revved myself up to lift the lamp once more, it was still flailing. I sprayed it over and over again and then, in fear that it would escape and go create some sort of immortal whatzit-Tilex breed, I finally grabbed it in the paper towel. "I got it! It's in a paper towel now but it's still alive!" I screamed, running into the bathroom, and throwing it in the toilet. "Flush, flush!" my friend screamed back. And I did.

It was all incredibly dramatic and horrifying and I may still be shaken by it, despite the fact that about an hour has passed. But if it wasn't for my kitties and their strange behavior, who knows where the whatzit would have gone next, after freeing itself out from under the lamp.

I gave the boys treats, and thanked them for watching out for me. Unfortunately they then continued to patrol the area for a while, causing me to constantly lift up the lamp expecting to see horror underneath. But I am nearly positive now that the horror has passed for tonight, and Murphy has gone back to normal, snoozing away in his kitty bed.

But Baxter's still sitting in the corner, looking out for me.

Good kitty.

Note to self: It's winter!

2007-02-06T18:56:00.000-05:00

So, it never really got cold last year. I never had to use the heat, never had to wear a hat, and didn't bother taking out the humidifier. This year was looking to be the same, after we hit 70 degrees in January, but alas, it's cold now, and consequently my body is completely out of whack.

I've had this cough since Christmas, and a few weeks ago, a wheeze began accompanying it. Then, about two weeks ago I started having difficulty breathing and was starting to wonder if it was possible to get asthma as an adult. Turns out, it is, but luckily I don't have it. According to the doctor I have "asthmatic symptoms," but not asthma. Um...ok. So this means that I have to use an inhaler now until I can breathe again and my lungs stop hurting. Joy.

And so, as an ode to breathing, I thought I'd comment on some of the songs in my iTunes about this unconscious act we usually think so little about.

Breathe, by Anna Nalick: Made popular by Grey's Anatomy, I really liked this song before it started playing EVERYWHERE. Now, enough already.

Breathe, by Michelle Branch: Totally cheesy, makes me feel like I'm 14, and I love it.

Breathe, by Faith Hill: I loved this song in college, and after a recent episode of My Name Is Earl, love it again. Seeing white-trash Joy belt out "her girl Faith" while smoking a cigarette and erupting into a coughing fit right as the word "breathe" comes on? Priceless.

Breathe, by Kylie Minogue: Kinda random and Euro-poppy, but also oddly catchy. I got this song as a CD mix giveaway with a Glamour Magazine I bought in London about four years ago. See? Random.

Breathe, by Telepopmusik: I don't know why I have this song, but it's also random and Euro-poppy. Good if you want to pretend you're in a club...or something.

Breathe In, by Frou Frou: I only have this song because I got the Frou Frou CD when everybody else did--after Garden State came out. Can't say I've ever listened to it, but previewing it now, I don't think I've been missing anything.

Breathless, by The Coors: Totally makes me think of high school, or a cheesy 90's romantic comedy. But I still love it.

Barely Breathing, by Duncan Sheik: A true classic. I feel like I shouldn't still like this song, because it's total 90's soft rock. But having not really listened to it in a decade, it's not bad.

Harder to Breathe, by Maroon 5: I HATE, I repeat, HATE Maroon 5. Overplayed, bad, annoying, not catchy, or rather TOO catchy so that their stupid songs stay in your head for weeks. This one included. I will not even give it a listen for the purpose of writing this blurb, lest it inhabit my brain for the next week.

Every Breath You Take, by The Police: Classic, quiet, and lovely. A must-have, but for some reason I don't. Time to do some downloading...

Here's hoping that soon I'll be able to breathe, too.

Does that make me a hypocrite?

2007-01-17T14:48:00.000-05:00

A friend of mine sent me an article today about the television show, 24, which shows more graphic violence and torturing each season, and now seems to align itself with the Republican party. Though I've known most of this for years, it hasn't stopped me from watching, because Jack Bauer, in short, is awesome. So instead I watch each week, focusing my attentions on Jack's awesomeness, the thriller aspects of the show, and back on Jack. Does it make me a hypocrite to say that I've made entertainment more important than my values? Maybe, but this show is so damn addictive that even the friend who sent me the article said she's not going to quit watching--yet. To quote Cher Horowitz, "Until mankind is peaceful enough not to have violence on the news, there's no point in taking it out of shows that need it for entertainment value.”

Our discussion then turned to Grey's Anatomy and Isaiah Washington's recent bigoted comments towards one of his gay castmates. Though Grey's is her favorite show, my friend has threatened to stop watching unless/until he is fired. But this one seems more complicated to me. Yes, his comments were out of line, but he's a small part of a huge ensemble cast that is arguably the most diverse on tv. And even though he hasn't been fired from the show, news outlets around the country have condemned him for his comments, so they have not gone unnoticed. So is it hypocritical of me to continue watching the show, despite not respecting him? I say no. Along the same lines, I wouldn't forbid myself from watching an occasional Seinfeld rerun because of Michael Richard's recent racist comments. Again, he's part of an ensemble and doesn't represent the whole show, so this doesn't seem wrong to me.

I have, however, given up all things Mel Gibson--not that I ever really liked him or his movies. Somehow his errors seem worse to me. His repeated offenses, lack of apologies, general preachiness, and love of all things religious (which some would call fanaticism) put him on an entirely other level in my mind--and it's been enough to disgust me into boycotting his movies, changing the channel when he's on tv, and refusing to read news articles about him. But is it hypocritical for me to renounce Mel, while continuing to enjoy Grey's Anatomy and Seinfeld?

So where does this put us? Was Cher right after all? Should entertainment take precedence over values--at least until society's values change and entertainment follows suit? It probably shouldn't, but that's not going to stop me from enjoying an awesome hero and some sexy doctors. And if that makes me a hypocrite, well then so be it.

These kids today...

2007-01-12T16:41:00.000-05:00

Excuse me while I get up on my soapbox and get all preachy and sound old, but yesterday, when I was working with the nine-year-old that I tutor each week (we'll call him Paul to protect his privacy), I found out he has a myspace page. He's nine! Never mind the fact that last weekend I happened upon an E! True Hollywood Story investigation that featured young kids on myspace being targeted by pedophiles, which was fresh in my mind when Paul told me about his website. Never mind the fact that the minimum age for a myspace account is 13, so his profile lies about his age, but if you look at his picture you can tell that he's clearly too young. And never mind the fact that I hate myspace (not the concept behind it, just the way the site is executed. I know, I'm in the minority, here.)

I'm all for the Internet and technology, but by not having those things as a kid, I feel like I had a much more innocent upbringing. I played outside and talked to people face-to-face. And I took to heart Officer Friendly's advice never to talk to strangers. Truth be told, Paul probably didn't have a chance of having the "innocent" childhood that I did. He lives in Harlem, shares a bedroom with his teenage sister and her newborn son, and is on a little league baseball team called The Gansters. So I guess it's my job to continue giving him that hour-and-a-half of one-on-one attention each week, help him with his homework, and listen to his stories.

Oh, and encourage him not to talk to strangers online.

New time wasting discovery!!

2007-01-09T20:01:00.000-05:00

I was browsing my computer today and came across a program called Comic Life. Curious to see what it did, I opened it, and it turns out it's a make your own comic book program that links directly to your photos. I still have no idea why it was on my computer in the first place, but here's what I created in about two minutes: (click to enlarge it to see what everyone is saying)

The Animated Adventures of Baxter and Murphy can't be far behind.

I'm such a dork. :-p

Connecticut: Home to nice people, and crappy trains

2007-01-08T10:58:00.000-05:00

This weekend I ventured into "the country" (aka Connecticut) to visit a friend. I took the train there and we had a lovely day visiting Yale (we saw Rory Gilmore's dorm!), shopping at IKEA (which I never need to go back to), and watching football (well, my friends watched while I asked stupid questions like, "When do they say 'Hut, Hut, Hike?'").

After the game, we checked the schedule for return trains home and headed to dinner. The meal finished earlier than expected, so we rushed to try and make the earlier train, only to pull up to the station as it was pulling away. We returned home to watch more football, (this time my brilliant query was, "So why doesn't the guy that kicks the ball run around on the field with the other guys? All he does is come out to kick?") and then drove back to the train station. I got there about 10 minutes before my train, and my friends assured me that they were dropping me off on the right side of the platform. I waited a few minutes, looking for some confirmation that I was indeed on the NYC-bound side, but neither my platform nor the one across the tracks said anything about which direction they were going. Then I saw my train coming--on the other side of the tracks.

I ran through the station, down the stairs, through a tunnel under the tracks, back up the stairs (where I tripped and cut my hand) through the other station, and out onto the platform, just in time to see the train pulling away. Frustrated, tired, and out of breath, I went to call my friends--only to discover that my cell phone was dead. To make things worse, I didn't have any change for a pay phone because I'd spent it all at a Yale parking meter. I did have some dollar bills though, so I started asking (well, begging, really) for someone to give me change for a dollar. I must have looked pretty pathetic because no one even wanted my dollar in return for their quarters, and one woman even offered to buy me a train ticket (which I didn't need).

I had to first call my mother so she could go into my email account and find my friend's cell phone number. Then I called my friend, who ended up coming to pick me up and driving me all the way back into the city. And now I have an extra one-way ticket, good for the next three months, meaning I'll probably attempt this adventure again one day soon, sheesh.

So there you have it. Beware of Connecticut! It has nice people, but an evil unmarked train system that tries to trap you there.

Picture time!

2006-12-20T15:20:00.000-05:00

I have a new camera phone, which means I'm always ready & armed to photograph the kitties. Including the first picture ever that almost captures the beauty of Murphy's eyes (which can only be truly realized in person). Enjoy!

Look at those eyes!

Still cute, though Murphy remains pretty non-photogenic. Oh well.

Were you thinking of going somewhere? Because we plan on blocking the door.

Baxter looks like he's about to wreck Murphy.

Should it concern me that Baxter has a fondness for wearing (and sleeping in) my clothes?

What's more wrong: That I set this image to pop up whenever I get a phone call, or that sometimes I don't want to answer the phone because the picture is so cute?

The phone came with all these weird templates. Not sure what the actual use for this one is.

The 2006 Kitty Awards

2006-12-12T10:37:00.000-05:00

It's time to wrap up the year, and what better way than to give my favorite two kitties awards for their accomplishments this year. And so, without further ado, I present:

The First Annual Kitty Awards

Most obedient: Murphy. While Murphy is slowly discovering his rebellious nature, he still responds to "no!" or repeated water bottle sprays (for now), making him the most obedient by default.

Most whiskers: Baxter. Oh Baxter, what lovely whiskers you have. White and long and pretty and not at all singed by a candle, like your brother's.

Most nicknames: Baxter. I have been known to refer to Baxter by the following nicknames: Baxter, the Baxinator, Bax, Sweets, Scrumptious, Cutie, Kitty, Kitty Scrumptious

Best jumper: Murphy. Whether it's getting from one end of the apartment to the other in three swift jumps, or finding the highest possible place to jump onto (therefore making me very nervous), this kitty loves to fly through the air. Sometimes his landings are better than others.

Most destructive: Baxter. See: my couch. Nuff said.

Best eater: Baxter. While he prefers to take his meals alone, after the hubbub of Murphy's Mealtime is over, once Baxter settles in front of the bowl, he really knows how to go for it. Meticulously selecting each piece of food and working his way from one end of the bowl to another, Baxter leaves nothing untouched, often moving on to Murphy's remaining dinner for seconds.

Best sleeper: Murphy. I sometimes envy Murphy's ability to sleep through absolutely anything. He can fall asleep on my lap, be moved onto another part of the couch, I'll get up and come back, Baxter will poke and sniff around, and Murphy remains in peaceful slumber. Murphy has also been known to disappear under the bed for hours, where I can only imagine he's set up his own little sleepy cat village.

Most alert: Baxter. While Baxter would win a prize for the cutest face while sleeping (he gets this little smile that just makes me want to pinch his cheeks), he's never really in a deep sleep. With every little noise his ears perk slightly and his eyes crack open a teeny bit. Even if he's on the opposite side of the apartment from me, he'll sense when I get up or move and will peek at me to see if anything exciting is about to happen. This cat is aware of his surroundings and nothing's getting past him.

Most aloof: Baxter. Baxter likes his space, and he's not afraid to tell you. Whether it's struggling to be put down every time I pick him up, or keeping a comfortable distance from Murphy and I, he generally prefers to gaze from afar. And he's not afraid to stare...sometimes creepily.

Best cuddler: Murphy. Oh Murphy, my little cuddle buddy. You love to snuggle with me when you sleep, or when I'm lying in bed. Now that it's cold out, you like to burrow under the covers with me. You even try to cuddle with your brother, even though he's not into it. You don't give up and are a most-determined snuggler.

Most vocal: Murphy. Before I got Murphy, Baxter was a top meower. Since I got Murphy, Baxter tends to be pretty quiet, while Murphy meows when I come home, meows when I wake up, meows when he's hungry, or just generally looks at me and meows. We often have conversations completely in meows, and I imagine he's telling me all about his day in sleepy cat village.

Most playful: Murphy. This was another category that I was sure Baxter would win, but since Murphy's arrival, Baxter usually prefers to be a wide-eyed observer. Murphy, on the other hand, perks up every time I move the couch (where he knows jingly balls accumulate), or any time I open my top dresser drawer, where he knows toys sometimes live.

Tidiest cat: Baxter. Unlike his brother, who has been known to aim incorrectly into the litter box, vomit, and leave tiny little pieces of dry food all over my kitchen (just eat the whole piece, dammit!) Baxter is a model of organized cleanliness (See: Best eater). While he doesn't overgroom himself, I sometimes feel that his actions are a mild form of kitty-OCD. He's so set in his ways, methodical in his approach, and upset by anything out of place. He won't walk in the kitchen if Murphy's spilled water, lest he get his paws wet, and he'll be the first to alert me to the mess. Baxter, I commend your tidiness. Want to clean my apartment?

And there you have it. A nearly even split with Baxter just edging out the competition. (Though does "Most destructive" really warrant praise?) Bravo to both kitties. Someone's getting tuna tonight....

Thanksgiving my way

2006-11-29T13:13:00.000-05:00

Let me preface this by saying that Kelli was absolutely right with her guesses last week--except for one. No, I am not a master chef by any means (though I can cook more than just chocolate chip cookies, so I suppose she was partially right).

Which brings us to Thanksgiving. My friend Stephanie arrived around 5 and we immediately started drinking wine. Somewhere into the first bottle, I realized that I hadn't eaten all day, making the wine all the more potent. With the pumpkin pie already baked and the cheesy dip in the oven, Stephanie and I thought maybe we should start the mashed potatoes. Only then did we realize that neither of us knew how to make them (beyond the mashing, that is). For some reason (wine, perhaps?) it didn't occur to either of us that I had at least three cookbooks, which I'm sure would have had recipes. So we decided to cut up the potatoes and cook them, and meanwhile drink more wine.

About half an hour later, we decided to take the potatoes off the stove. Actually, the mulled wine we were making was ready (priorities, people!), so as long as we were going into the kitchen for that, we figured we might as well stop boiling the potatoes too. But drinking the mulled wine sounded way more fun than figuring out the potatoes, so we drained them, got more wine, and left the kitchen again.

It wasn't until around 7, when the wine started running low, that we decided maybe we should prepare and eat the potatoes. We called Stephanie's mother to ask how to make them, and she gave us a few pointers. Then we drank more wine.

At about 8pm, we remembered we still hadn't cooked the potatoes, so we headed into the kitchen with new determination. Unfortunately, they were cold by now, but that didn't stop us. I used a hand mixer that my mother bought for me several years ago, however I'm generally against hand mixers, (things taste better when you mix them yourself, in my mind) so I had never used it. Still, I wasn't about to attempt to mash cold potato chunks with just a fork in my drunken state. So out came the mixer, which meant that potato chunks flew pretty much everywhere, and I'm sure I'll be finding them for years to come. After the mixing, we had to microwave each individual serving so that they'd be warm, but the reheating mostly just made them oozy. But, three bottles of wine into the night, I can't say that we cared too much.

And so it was, Thanksgiving my way. Fun for me, fun for Stephanie, perhaps not so fun for the potatoes, but oh well. None of the evening was fun for the cats either, who wanted no part of any of this. They headed straight under the bed the minute Stephanie showed up and didn't emerge until after she left. Oh well. Those cats have no idea how to party.

And so I will end with my recipe for Drunken Mashed Potatoes.

Ingredients:
Wine
Potatoes
Milk
Butter
Cheese
Garlic

Directions:
1. Drink wine
2. Boil water
3. Cut up potatoes and put them in boiled water
4. Drink more wine while the potatoes cook
5. Remove potatoes from water and let them sit for 2-3 hours (or however long you feel like drinking more wine)
6. Chop potatoes into slightly smaller pieces
7. Throw in some butter, milk, cheese, and garlic (How much, you ask? Doesn't matter when you're drunk!)
8. Mix with hand mixer. Try to keep hand mixer pointed down, rather than to the side, in order to keep contents in bowl. Contents will be thick, cold, and will not mix easily, but keep trying. If you get discouraged, have more wine.
9. (optional) Reheat individual servings
10. (optional) Or just grab a fork and go for it

Drink more wine, and enjoy!

Interactive Quiz Time!

2006-11-21T09:46:00.000-05:00

Last night, while procrastinating writing an essay that's due in class tonight (guess I'm writing it at work today...) I came across a list called, "100 Things About Me." I wrote this list a couple years ago, after my friend Kelli saw something similar on a blog and suggested we try it. (I was clearly procrastinating that day also, since I distinctly remember writing this at work, see a trend here??) As I read the list late last night, I realized that while most of the items are distinctly ME--that is, I don't expect them to ever change--a few are simply not true anymore. And so, dear readers, let's play a little game of True or False. All these were true a few years ago, but some aren't any longer. Take a guess, I dare you. And then write your own list, because it's fun, a great way to procrastinate, and fascinating if you forget about it for several years.

1. I clean to Motown
2. I have a weakness for stuffed animals, and prefer them to the real thing
3. I am extremely competitive when playing board games
4. I like cheese more than chocolate
5. My favorite quote is from Anne of Green Gables: "Would you want to marry a wicked man?" "Well, I wouldn't marry anyone who was truly wicked. But I think I'd like it if he could be wicked and wouldn't." To me, this describes the ideal man.
6. I had an overactive imagination as a child--I befriended the imaginary wolf under my bed and he protected me at night from the imaginary gunman in the closet
7. I think I could make a good lawyer, but the thought of taking the LSAT and going to law school are too daunting.
8. I make the best chocolate chip cookies in the world, but I can't cook anything else

Holidays, Schmolidays

2006-11-20T11:06:00.000-05:00

I confess: I'm a holiday Scrooge. And it's not just the winter holidays--it's all of them. St. Patrick's Day, Halloween, and New Years? Excuses for amateurs to hit the bar and get drunk and stupid. Christmas, Hanukkah, and Easter? Seeing as I'm generally freaked out/uncomfortable with organized religion, these don't do anything for me. Valentine's Day? Gag me. The only holiday I can kind of get behind is the Fourth of July, because I've always thought it was cool to have a holiday based around blowing things up--but I want no part of any "rah rah, we love America" crap.

Which brings us to Thanksgiving. I've had a love-hate relationship with this holiday since I was eight years old. It all started when I was making handcuffs out of ponytail holders and decided that everyone coming to our house for Thanksgiving dinner must want a pair of their own. (This made perfect sense at the time, I swear. And I was eight! Ok, I was a dork, but still.) I started putting a pair on everyone's plate, and my mother, in horror, told me that people would not, in fact, want a grubby pair of handcuffs sitting on their clean plates. Feeling embarrassed and ashamed, I started crying and retreated to my room to hide in the closet for the rest of the evening. I didn't eat anything or see our guests. And so began my hatred for Thanksgiving. Every year dreaded it. I didn't like the food, didn't care about the family togetherness, and always remembered my humiliation.

Then my Freshman year of high school, just as I was starting to wonder if maybe I should grow up, stop being so stubborn, and enjoy Thanksgiving, I had a nightmare involving Thanksgiving, orange juice, and AIDS (don't ask). Somehow, in my 14-year-old brain, this renewed my disgust with the holiday and made me dread the entire month of November.

It wasn't until college that I started to appreciate Thanksgiving. It was nice, I realized, to come home to family, friends, and non-cafeteria food. I started looking forward to this time of year again, eagerly anticipating the warm fuzzy holiday feeling. Until two years ago, when illness struck my family. My parents and brother were supposed to come visit me in New York, and we had planned a lovely family holiday weekend. But my brother got sick--really sick--and the trip was cancelled. He went home to get better, and I stayed in New York, not really knowing what to do with myself. I was on my own, and depressed, and it was horrible. Suddenly I wasn't dreading the holiday because of childish nightmares or stubbornness. This was real. And even though everyone's fine now, I can't help but think that I was right the first time. Thanksgiving isn't a good holiday. Sure, it can mean family and friends and togetherness, but it brings with it stress and high expectations that are rarely satisfied.

So this year I'm doing my own thing. A friend is coming over, and we're having an anti-Thanksgiving. No turkey, no tofurky, no stuffing, no cranberries, and no stress. Just friends, wine, and pie. Just the way I like it.

Smitten for my kitten

2006-11-13T11:31:00.000-05:00

I'm having a love affair--with my cat. I don't know what it is lately, but Baxter can do no wrong. My usually aloof, grouchy cat has been lovely lately. Following me from room to room, snuggling on the bed at night, looking oh-so cute with everything he does. And in return, he's getting extra petting, extra snuggles, extra snacks... I can't get enough of him. I even caught him scratching the couch this morning and my first thought was, "oh, how cute" (followed by a spritz of water, of course). I've fallen under his cute kitty spell.

Murphy, on the other hand, has been somewhat annoying lately. He keeps moving things in the kitchen--particularly the water bowl, which then spills everywhere and forces me to wipe up the floor several times a day. And he has a new hiding place behind the entertainment center. My entertainment center is on a diagonal in a corner, but has a flat back, meaning there's a small triangular space behind it, which is filled with cords and dust. Murphy has started jumping up next to the tv--a space maybe 4 inches wide--worming his way behind the tv and jumping through the hole in the back of the entertainment center that is meant for cords. He then hangs out on the floor, with the dust and cords. This worries me for several reasons, most of all the fact that: Cat + Electricity usually = Bad. I've now blocked the space next to the tv so hopefully this will keep him from jumping back there again.

And then I go back to loving Baxter, who would never dream of doing something so silly or dangerous. He's a cautious cat, a deliberate cat, who realizes that it's way more comfortable to lie on the bed, rather than in a dark dusty corner filled with electric cords. It all goes back to Smart vs. Stoopid, really.

Just fulfilling the stereotype

2006-11-03T22:30:00.000-05:00

I now realize why "crazy cat ladies" are stereotypically also knitters. It's because once you get tired of the scarves, and the hats, and trying to do more complicated projects that never really look right, there comes a point when, flipping through the knitting book you bought years ago, you discover you can KNIT THINGS FOR YOUR CATS.

Oh, yes. It started small--I found a pattern online for knit mice filled with catnip.

While this little critter might not look too impressive, it's a true hit in this household. I've even given them as gifts for friends with cats, and every cat so far has loved his very own knit mouse.

So it was that tonight I found myself flipping through another knitting book, and discovering a pattern for a dangly, fringy cat toy. Now, anyone who doesn't knit may not realize how time-consuming and patience-requiring this craft really is. I remember one of the first things my knitting book taught me was never to knit anything for people who don't knit themselves, because they'll never understand how much work you put into it. I don't know that I agree with that theory completely, but the kitties definitely prove this to be true.

Between the initial knitting, sewing in the ends, teaching myself how to create fringe, making the fringe, and creating the dangly cord, this project took about two hours to construct.

Of course the entire time Murphy was trying to play with the yarn in my lap, and I was constantly pushing him off the couch. When it was done, I couldn't wait to dangle it in front of the kitties and have a new toy for us to play with. I imagined them jumping up and batting at it, and watching mesmerized as it dangled back and forth.

But here's what really happened:

10:15: Dangle toy, cats look interested and bat and jump at it.

10:16: Baxter grabs toy for himself and parades around the apartment in circles for two minutes, Murphy diligently following him.

10:18: Baxter abandons toy, Murphy sniffs it.

10:19: Both cats get bored and go to sleep.

So a whole four minutes of fun this was. Oh well. I still think it's cute. So there.

Morning blues

2006-10-25T10:03:00.000-04:00

Raise your hand if you woke up to:
-A dirty litterbox
-Cat food on your floor
-Cat water on your floor (though water dispenser was thankfully against the wall, rather than in the middle of the kitchen)
-Not one, but seven balls of yarn unrolled and wound around every piece of furniture in your apartment

Because that was my morning. How do I sleep through these things????

At least my hair looks fabulous…

2006-10-23T17:20:00.000-04:00

There's nothing more traumatic than feeling like you're 13 again. (Ok, I'm sure there are things that are more traumatic, but bear with me.) In the last week, I have hurt my ankle, causing me to limp, gotten some sort of eye infection, meaning I'm glasses-bound for the near future, and realized my hair was so overdue for a haircut that it was one long, curly mess. I feel like I did when I was 13 and in my "awkward" phase, which was painful. (Come to think of it, work is a bit like high school--we have lockers and everything--so really it's as if I'm reliving a part of my life that I never ever intended to.)

So I decided that dammit, I'm not in high school and I can take control of the situation. I started on Saturday, when I went to get a fabulous new haircut. I hadn't had a haircut without wearing my contacts in about 15 years, so I'd forgotten how scary it is to be blind for the whole process, just crossing my fingers that it would all turn out okay. Must be how women on The Swan feel when they have the "Final Reveal" in the mirror (minus the plastic surgery, of course). Anyway, the haircut is, in my opinion, fabulous, and it immediately made me feel better. It even goes with my glasses.

Then this morning was the eye doctor, which is always traumatic for me. Last night, I actually debated writing a blog entry entitled, "A Pirate's life for me," fearing that I'd end up with an eye patch. My limp could be replaced by a peg leg, and instead of a parrot I'd have cats by my side.... But luckily, no eye patch for me. Instead, I got eye drops that made my eyes yellow, numb, and gummy, and the eye doctor turned my eyelids inside out, which actually sounds much scarier than it was. But still, I nearly cried when she told me what she was about to do. So now I have some sort of steroid eye drops that I have to use. Maybe they will give me super eyes, but somehow I doubt it.

So I'm slowly mending myself, and at least I have the confidence of an adult, rather than the insecurities of a teenager.

And fabulous hair, of course. It's always all about the hair.

Where have I been?

2006-10-19T18:45:00.000-04:00

The short answer is: around.

The longer answer is: school, work, more school, more work, tutoring, sleeping, more work, getting annoyed with my job, homework, even more work, watching tv, more work, and even more work.

Ok, I don't really work that much. But with my NewCrazySchedule it certainly FEELS that way. I used to think I liked being busy but now I'm not so sure. Meanwhile, I don't know if it's out of protest of my never being home or what, but the kitties have decided that they prefer their water in the middle of the kitchen, and in order to move it there, it spills everywhere. So whenever I come home, I have to clean the kitchen floor. I'm going to blame Murphy for this, because a certain look in his eye indicated he was responsible. If it continues, I may have to post a memo of complaint to him.

Baxter, on the other hand, has truly turned a corner lately. He's been affectionate, cute, sweet, and slightly less destructive towards my furniture. He also had his first visit to the vet this week, and was pronounced in good health, with "beautiful skin and markings" and was the "perfect weight." I'm so proud of my little firstborn. (Though the vet also said, upon taking a first look at him, "He looks mischievous." Oh, if only he knew.)

And as for me: I have a sprained ankle. Or something. I tripped yesterday on the uneven sidewalk and went down. Now I'm limping all around and really can't walk down stairs, which makes the Subway really really annoying. Turns out New York City is not the greatest of places to be when you're injured.

So in light of this kinda down post, enjoy these amusing (at least to me) pics of the boys.

Baxter has decided he likes napping on the floor, inside my sweatshirt.

While Murphy prefers to sleep surrounded by towels.

But they both enjoy hanging out in my closet--especially when there's a nearly empty shelf that they think is just for them!

Cat Grass...I don't get it

2006-10-09T11:13:00.000-04:00

Feeling rather uninspired to write lately, probably due to homework stress (blech). So I'll quickly tell the story of Cat Grass.

For those who haven't heard of it, you can buy little grass plants that are safe for cats to eat, the idea being that it deters them from eating your plants, which is dangerous for them and annoying/destructive for you. I don't keep any real plants in my house (though "stoopid" Murphy tries to eat the one fake plant I have), but I thought it would be fun to give them the grass when I came across it at an outdoor market last week, on sale for $2.

When I brought it home, there was definite curiosity and sniffing. Murphy then tried to eat some, only to find that it was hard to break off a piece of grass without dragging the whole plant behind him across the kitchen floor. So I let them be with the grass and figured I'd come back later to see if they'd figured it out. But the next time I walked by my kitchen the floor was scattered with little pieces of grass. I cleaned them up quickly and stood the little plant back upright, hoping this was a one time thing.

Then yesterday, I left the house for a few hours and came home to a small wet pile of what I can only guess was regurgitated cat grass. Sigh. So that's it for Cat Grass & me. I don't get the appeal. Sorry, kitties.

The Baxter Dance, explained

2006-10-02T14:22:00.000-04:00

A quick comment on the video below...

Baxter LIKES dancing. Really. After we dance he rubs up against my leg sweetly as if to say, "I AM sexy, dammit, and I like dancing."

So stop poor Baxter-ing me. :)

The Baxter Dance

2006-10-01T00:45:00.000-04:00

I don't know how to explain this except:
Cat+computer geek+homework avoidance = This video.

From the Desk of baxtermurphyblog

2006-09-29T10:09:00.000-04:00

Dear Baxter and Murphy,

You may have noticed that I was grumpy, cold, and dismissive this morning. My behavior had nothing to do with normal morning blues, but, rather, was a direct reaction to the extreme mess you left me during the night. In light of this event, I feel it is time to enact some House Rules.

1. Playing With Yarn
If you'd like to play with yarn, I have a ball just for you! It usually resides on an end table, but is frequently strewn about the apartment. Feel free to chew, rip, chase, or cuddle with this yarn. It is not appropriate, however, to open partially ajar desk drawers during the night and extract knitting projects, needles and all, and wind this yarn all over the apartment, forcing me to cut it up in order to untangle it.

2. Scratching
Great places to scratch include the carpet and the scratching post. If you must scratch the couch, please do it while I'm not home. If I'm not there to see it, I can't punish you! If you do decide to risk scratching it while I'm home, please refrain from doing so while I am trying to sleep. Making me get out of bed to reprimand you does neither of us any good.

3. Special note to Baxter Re: The Blinds
You may have noticed that I am perfectly happy to put up the blinds for you during the day. This allows you to gaze lazily out the window, stare at the pigeons, or nap in the sun. But once it is dark out, people can see inside so it is imperative that I close the blinds. I apologize for this inconvenience, however it is not appropriate to attempt to climb through the blinds so that you can look out the window. This behavior may cause choking or cut you, and is also damaging to the blinds. One day I hope to get curtains to accommodate us both, but for now I'd appreciate your compliance with this rule.

4. Special note to Murphy Re: Running/Jumping
I appreciate your playful nature, however if you must run from one end of the apartment to the other, please do not use me as a "jumping off" board. If you are going to hop from bed to couch to table to floor and I am sitting on/near any of those items, please do not include me as an "object of furniture to jump on." It hurts. A lot.

In return for your cooperation with the above items, I promise to:
1. Feed you
2. Provide you with shelter
3. Snuggle with you
4. Buy/make you toys
5. Entertain you

Sincerely,

The Management

Ahhhh!!!!!

2006-09-27T14:58:00.000-04:00

I can only say so much about my cats. This morning while struggling with what to write about, the only thing I could come up with was an essay on the shocking amount of poo they produce...but who wants to read that? So instead I'm going to use my blog as a place to FREAK OUT and complain and explain why I didn't go to business school (short answer being that I have no interest in business, accounting, finances, or numbers).

I generally think of myself as pretty smart. No, I didn't go to an Ivy League school or anything, but I went to a good college, graduated with honors, am doing fairly well in my career, and have pretty good "life skills" (whatever that means). So it's incredibly frustrating for me to suddenly be back in school and not understanding things. My Masters in Publishing program requires that we take two semesters of accounting, which pretty much makes people in this industry run the other way or hide, for fear of math, numbers, or evaluating financial statements. Which was pretty much my reaction, until I talked to some friends and attended my first class.

"Accounting is easy," one friend told me.
"The class wasn't bad at all," a former student advised.
"There isn't even much math involved," said the professor.

So I convinced myself that it would be ok, because after all, one main reason I'm getting this degree is because it's useful to understand the business side of your industry (and necessary for when I become VP one day and take over the world).

It's only three weeks in, but let me just say that EVERYONE WAS WRONG. Today I spent an hour trying to do my first assignment until I got so frustrated that I felt physically ill and had to give up. Turns out there wasn't actual math involved (so ok, maybe the professor was right) but I feel like I'm rewiring my brain to understand terms and concepts I've been using my whole life that suddenly mean different things. Assets vs. Revenue vs. Gain? In "My World," these are the same. Losses vs. Liabilities vs. Debt? The same. Owners equity...say huh? Except in "Accounting World" all of these have actual meanings and, sadly, are not the same at all.

What bothers me most is that my "scary homework assignment" was to do two (yes, only two) practice problems that involved identifying different terms and determining whether they were assets, liabilities, losses, revenue, etc. So to anyone who actually has a business mind and is laughing at my stupidity right now...if you'd like to explain all this to me in layman's terms that I can understand, it would be much appreciated because I'm confused and frustrated and annoyed.

And that, my friends, is why I didn't go to business school.

Hmph.

The most wonderful time of the year

2006-09-23T17:11:00.000-04:00

Since Baxter has yet to take over the world and all is calm in kittyland, I thought I'd divert from cat-talk today in order to reflect on my favoritest of seasons, Fall.

Fall is here, and oh, how I love the Fall. Let me count the ways.
1. The crisp-ness in the air
2. Sleeping under the comforter
3. Fresh air instead of air conditioning
4. Pumpkins, pumpkin bread, pumpkin pie, and Starbucks pumpkin-spice lattes
5. Apples, picking apples, and apple pie
6. Fall television (whoo-hoo!!!)
7. Wearing sweaters but no jacket
8. Jumping in piles of leaves (This cannot be done in NYC, so someone must jump in a pile for me)

Feel free to add your own. Hurrah for fall!

Smart vs. Stoopid

2006-09-19T13:07:00.000-04:00

You'd think that all cats would have a similar intelligence level--from a human's perspective, at least. But looking at Baxter and Murphy, it's clear that one of them is a little (evil) kitty genius, while the other could benefit from kitty special ed. I love them both, but the difference in their intelligence is astounding.

Examples of Murphy's (endearing) stupidity:
-Sometimes goes charging across the apartment, aiming for the windowsill, only to miss and slide down the wall.
-Frequently chases his own tail, spinning round and round in circles until he gets dizzy.
-Loves to lick my bathroom sink (ew).
-Tries to talk to pigeons (Really. He has a special voice he uses in an attempt to communicate with them through the window.)
-Eats the fringe off my chenille blanket. Yes, I said eats, not chews.

Clearly Murphy is not the smartest of kitties. He's cute, just really really dumb--in a lovable sort of way, of course.

On the other hand, I'm convinced that Baxter is some sort of kitty genius. Whether it's a glimmer of understanding in his eye, or a determination in his stride, it's clear that this kitty knows what's going on and the wheels are constantly turning in his head. I'm pretty sure his ultimate plan is to take over the world.

Examples of Baxter's genius:
-Learned to use tools: After watching me use one of his dangly toys-on-a-stick to fish out a toy under the fridge, I witnessed Baxter trying the same method.
-Enforces the rules (when he's not breaking them): When Murphy's misbehaving but is out of sight, Baxter will position himself where I can see him and glare at Murphy, letting me know his brother is up to no good.
-Anticipates loud noises: Rather than running away startled when I turn on the vacuum, Baxter calmly saunters into the bathtub to hide when he sees me getting it ready.
-Knows how to manipulate me: No matter how bad he's been, Baxter knows that if I'm in the kitchen standing near the snack cabinet and he acts affectionate and cute, he'll get a treat.
-Keeps to himself: While Murphy is my snuggle buddy, Baxter loves to sit alone by the window, most often with an expression on his face that says, "Just give me time and I will rule the world. Mwaah ha ha."

So don't say I didn't warn you. Baxter's coming.

The $4000 cat

2006-09-15T15:47:00.000-04:00

Today I was surprised to learn that scientists have genetically engineered a hypoallergenic cat, which costs $4000. Seriously? I know plenty of people who are allergic to cats. Most of them have therefore grown to hate cats, so I cannot imagine any of them suddenly warming to the idea of a cat that would be perfectly fine allergy-wise, but cost a small fortune.

Then of course my thoughts turned to Baxter and Murphy. This morning I awoke to a small pile of kitty vomit. If I had paid $4000 for either of them, would they still occasionally throw up on my floor in the night? Most likely, yes. Would they still scratch my couch, chew through my computer cords, and track litter all over the place? Yes, yes, and yes. So I ask, why would someone pay $4000 for a cat?

It's almost as confounding as cats using the toilet.

Were you planning on baking me cookies?

2006-09-13T12:15:00.000-04:00

I've gotten pretty used to coming home and finding my apartment in some sort of disarray due to kitty playtime. Whether it's a ball of string that's been completely unraveled and wound around every chair and table; books pulled out of the bookcase in order to provide a cozy kitty napping spot; or a previously organized stack of papers in a pile on the floor, I've learned to take it all in as "cute" and imagine what fun the kitties must have had to create such a mess.

I remember the first time I left Baxter alone overnight. I worried all night that he'd be afraid or hungry or bored (this was before I got Murphy). When I got home, I found that not only was he doing fine, but he'd somehow learned how to open the closet containing his toys and had helped himself. How proud I was of my smart little kitty, who'd found his own entertainment when times got rough.

However, I was not prepared this morning when I walked into the kitchen and found my oven door open. How, I wondered, could creatures without opposable thumbs manage to pry open a door? A relatively heavy door? Did they:
a) Stand on the stovetop (eek), bend over, and push it open?
b) Stand on the floor and carefully grab a dangling dishtowel at just the right angle and, using some sort of physics--Torque? Gravity? I never really understood physics--to pull it open?
c) Create some sort of kitty ladder, with one standing on top of the other, wrapping paws around the handle, and then tumbling backwards, letting the door open behind them?
d) Use some type of kitty zen mind power to will the door open?

Unfortunately this is most likely one of those mysteries that will forever remain unsolved. Though I'd welcome any other suggestions on how (or why) two tiny critters attempted to bake.

Baxter and Murphy's first cuddle!

2006-09-09T23:54:00.000-04:00

Ok, so it wasn't as much of a cuddle as it was Murphy jumping on top of Baxter, who was happily snoozing in the kitty house.

Baxter tolerated it for about two minutes before leaving. But still...so cute. What a lovely way to spend a Saturday afternoon.

See ya kitties. I'm going back to school.

2006-09-05T12:59:00.000-04:00

Today I head back to school after taking five years off. I'm going back for my Masters--something I always meant to do and never quite got around to until now. I'll still be working full-time, just taking classes a couple nights a week. But while 90% of my life is staying exactly the same, I feel I've neglected the other 10%.

Currently it's 5 hours until my first class. So far, I have:
-Skimmed the syllabus
-Opened an email account and immediately set it to forward all messages to my personal account

I have not:
-Purchased any supplies (notebooks, pens, etc)
-Found out (besides an address) where my classes are
-Gotten a student ID card
-Attended any sort of orientation

It's weird, this part-time school thing. No dorm of other new students to mingle with; no parents driving you across the country with a car full of all your crap; no pre-school orientation teaching you the need-to-knows of your new university; no wide-eyed discovery of a brand-new city. Needless to say, it doesn't feel quite real.

The real losers in this situation are, of course, Baxter and Murphy. They'll have to wait a long time for dinner tonight, and will hopefully not destroy my house in protest of my new long hours away. Of course, they tried to show their disapproval of my going back to school when they gnawed through the application back in June, hoping it would deter me from applying in the first place. But alas, they were foiled. I'll just hope that they're waiting for me, cute as always, whenever I get home tonight.

Kitty moods

2006-08-29T12:17:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I wish I could talk to my cats. I really wonder what's going on in their heads. Yesterday, for example, I came home and Baxter and Murphy seemed completely normal. But then I realized Baxter was in a mood. What gets cats into bad moods? I suppose they have feelings, hormones, moods, just like humans, but I just expect them to always be the same inquisitive, cute, sometimes mischievous kitties as usual. So our evening went something like this:

I settled down to do some work before feeding time. Baxter went to scratch the couch. I sprayed him with water, and he walked away. Two minutes later, he went for the couch again. Now while Baxter loves to scratch, the water will usually deter him for a while. I have a general rule that if he repeatedly scratches three times or more, he gets a "Time Out" in the one room in my studio apartment with a door--the bathroom. So when Baxter went for the couch for the third time in five minutes, into the bathroom he went. First he meowed, then he banged against the door. Murphy, who had been napping nearby, went to investigate. And I found it difficult to work, because as annoyed as I was with him for scratching, I felt like a bad person for punishing him.

Fifteen minutes later, I let him out. He didn't scratch again that evening, but he was definitely moody. He paced back and forth, looking bored and meowing. I brought out his favorite kitty toy and tried to get him to play, but mostly Murphy played with it and Baxter lay there watching. Finally, I picked him up (which he generally hates) and snuggled him, asking him what was wrong and why he was being "difficult" and "grouchy". He just looked at me, then squirmed to get away.

What does one do in these situations? I think I'm spoiled with Murphy, who has two moods: Sleepy or playful. Playful is pretty rambunctious, but completely adorable. He's always happy to see me, loves to play with Baxter, and is so inquisitive about everything--just as a cat should be. I don't understand Baxter sometimes, and something tells me I never will.

Luckily the bad mood seemed to have passed this morning, and he was back to himself. We'll see how he does tonight...

Murphy too!

2006-07-23T22:30:00.000-04:00

Once Baxter settled in--or rather, once I got used to him being around--I immediately wanted another cat. It was like an obsession. But better to be rational about it, right? Wait a year. See how the first one goes, and then rethink things. Only I kept thinking about more cats...looking at kitties online. I was like a crazy person. So finally I caved and started looking for real. It was time to expand the family.

Murphy came from a foster home, and while he turned out to be a lovely cat and I did get to save a helpless cat's life, I will never go that route again. Over email, I had arranged a time to come see him. His foster mother seemed normal. I figured she was just your stereotypical cat lover/rescue lady. A little kooky, maybe, but nice. And I guess that's what she turned out to be, only what I hadn't thought about was what sort of dwelling a stereotypical cat lover--i.e., fanatic--resides in. I could smell her apartment as soon as I exited the elevator on her floor. I also heard barking coming from the apartment. "That's funny," I thought. "Why would a cat person have dogs?" And then the door opened. Turns out her apartment was even smaller than mine (a large-ish but still small by non-NYC standards studio) and filled with a minimum of 25 cats and 4 dogs. Everywhere I looked, cats. On the tv? Cat. On the couch? Several cats. On the coffee table? Cat. In the hallway? Cat, cat, cat. In the kitchen? Cat on the fridge, cats on the counter, cats on the microwave. It was creepy. I couldn't even tell where this woman slept, since the piece of furniture most-resembling a bed was covered with heavy-duty garbage bags and--you guessed it--about six or seven cats. I wanted to run away. The smell alone made me want to gag. But I was here for a cat, and dammit, I knew I could provide a better home than this place. At the very least, a more sanitary one.

Unfortunately Crazy Cat Lady liked to talk. Once she introduced me to Murphy (then named Polo) and I was holding him in my arms, bonding with him and longing to take him away from this scary, smelly place, she proceeded to talk about who-knows-what for minute after minute after minute. And you'd think that after you've spent a long enough time in a smelly room, you'd adjust to the smell somewhat? Nope. It was that stinky. Finally I saw a window of opportunity to end the conversation, and we made plans for me to adopt Murphy.

He was delivered the next day. The first thing I did was give him a bath, to get Crazy Cat Lady smell off of him.

And then the fun began.

Welcome!

2006-07-11T23:36:00.000-04:00

Welcome to my blog! I recently got two cats, so I thought it would be a great idea to start a blog all about them. Let me preface this by saying I absolutely love my cats, despite any bitching about them that might go on here. I got Baxter in March and Murphy in May of 2006. I'd never had pets before, even as a child, so everything was new to me. So this is a story of a girl and two cats, living it up in the big city...

Baxter (above) was a spontaneous acquisition. I had wanted a cat on and off since I was a kid, but the last time I'd tried to get one (about 5 years ago), I freaked out at the last minute and wouldn't even pet the cats in the shelter. I figured that's what would happen when I went to the ASPCA one day in March--but I was wrong. That was the day I became a cat person--March 4, 2006.

About two hours after setting off on my journey, I came home with Baxter, a tiger-striped cat about one year old. He seemed calm and polite in the shelter...I figured, he wasn't a kitten, how big a deal could it be? I had no idea what I was in for...

Baxter was a bit shy at first. I let him out in the bathroom (they tell you to keep them in a small room for the first few days so they can acclimate) and he took a few minutes to even come out of the carrier. Then he sniffed around a bit and eventually lay down. After a couple hours of this, I felt bad for the kitty, and decided that a studio apartment was the equivalent of a "small room", so I let Baxter out. He did a couple circles around the room, sniffing at everything. I felt like I was seeing my apartment again for the first time--but through kitty eyes. Everything was new and fascinating. Every nook and cranny might lead somewhere, and had to be investigated. It was a rush.

I then made the mistake of trying to put Baxter back in the small room (aka the bathroom) for the night, but after a couple minutes of vicious meowing, I let him free. There was officially a cat living with me. My life was about to change forever.