Cat Assholes and Other Nonsense

My cat, Boots, has the biggest asshole EVER. Really. It isn’t usually the first thing that you’d typically notice in a cat, but Boots’ asshole is an exception. I would say that it’s THE exception, but that might be presumptuous of me & would put a LOT of unnecessary pressure on Boots. I mean, being “THE” anything would be a bit daunting, don’t you think?

A key part of this little story is that Boots is so fat, she looks as if she’s swallowed a soccer ball. Black & white, she has a HUGE rotund belly and stubby little legs that resemble pegs more than a means of support for the vastness that is HER.

Being the last cat to join the household, and the hardscrabble runt from a farm, she must feel the need to scarf down every last morsel from the feeder as if it were her last chance. On the rare occasions when they get a treat of canned food, she is the one who licks ALL of their bowls clean. Kitchen scraps? The sound of my footsteps in the kitchen takes care of that. She just HEARS the sound of the pantry door opening and she is IN it. Unwrapping anything? Boots knows what it is before YOU do.

She is a chewer. Memory Foam pillows? Not anymore; she eats the fucking memory right out of them. Dust bunnies? No problem with Boots around; they are inhaled like magic. She saves me lots of vacuuming. Plastic grocery sacks? No match for her sharp little teeth. Paper of any kind? Packing tape hanging off of a box? History.

Bawling in fear that my “baby” had puked up what looked like the lining of her stomach (it really resembled tripe), I took her to the emergency vet one weekend. A mere $200 later, I discovered what paper toweling looked like after having been chewed up, swallowed and vomited by a cat. I mean, WTF? I'd never noticed all those ridges on a wet paper towel before.

I have learned to turn the kitchen trashcans so that the access area is NOT facing outward. I learned this after hearing a HUGE commotion in my kitchen at 2am. Apparently, Boots had been beckoned by something in the domed trashcan. I am guessing the exchange went down something like this:

TrashCan: “Hey, cat!”
Boots: “Whuh? Hoozat?”asked sleepily, looking around from her perch on the sofa.
TrashCan: “Over HERE, lardass! I gots some of those foam meat trays in heeeeeeeeeeere for ya!”
Boots: “Ohboyohboyohboyohboyohboy! I LOVES me some meat flavored foam!”

She managed to nudge the lid up as she stood on her hindlegs, bracing her front paws on the trashcan. Her weight was enough to topple the trashcan toward her as her head nudged that domed lid up. Then she was trapped inside the overturned trashcan. I can testify that NOTHING moves 4 other sleeping cats faster than hearing one of their roommates in an embarrassing situation. They all rolled around, pointing and laughing at her as I stumbled down the stairs to rescue her dumb ass from the trash.

She also shows signs of being at least mildly mentally retarded. Bring a box home, and I can predict to the very SECOND when she will commence to tapping the box flaps. Set the box down, see her come into the room & head straight for it. Three-two-one: right front paw up annnnnnnd taptaptaptaptaptaptaptaptap. Switch paws. Taptaptaptaptaptap. Repeat ad infinitum.

I wouldn’t tolerate most of this from my “real” kids, so why put up with it from THIS furrball? Simple: she is abso-fucking-lutely adorable due to her personality, which is at least as huge as she.

This is the little sweetie who greets me by two-stepping in place and getting all dreamy-eyed when she sees me. She crawls up onto my lap or arms or stomach or laptop to snooze, after flipping herself onto her back. She is the one who grooms everyone and everything in sight. They don't usually reciprocate as she picks a fight with them at some point during the process.

This is the little terrorist who gives all the other cats hell in her own special way. She is loving & playful, but definitely rules the roost. A nip to the others in their ass cheeks, and they know she’s the boss.

This is the little shit-ass who makes me crazy. Her obesity has brought new problems to light. I never gave any thought to the fact that a fat cat simply can’t lick her own ass, even with the best intentions. So, even if she pinches that loaf like a professional, she is bound to have an itchy asshole once in awhile. And since I have never seen a cat use a paw to scratch its ass, what better way to relieve that itch than to drag her ass for about a foot on the carpeting in the family room? I think I'll start calling her "Scooter."

I’ve never seen a streak, but I can tell she’s been there when, as the others pass, they stop and intently sniff the invisible trail that says “Boots’ itchy, stinky fat cat-ass has been here. And here. And HERE, too.” They give their little heads a shake and perhaps a tiny sneeze too.

So now, I have a NEW daily job. Everyday, I grab a baby wipe and proceed to clean the hell outta that humungous asshole. Clean cat, no itchies, no streaks on the carpet, invisible or otherwise.

Jesus H. Christ. What have I become?