I'm on yer shelf... bein a book.

A very happy create-your-own Caturday to you.

Last night as I lay in bed well past midnight more physically exhausted than I’ve been since… ever but still wide-freaking-awake (damn you, coffee!), the cats started to seriously doubt my ability to rise early and post Caturday.

Oh ye of little faith.

BUT guess what we talked about in yoga yesterday, you little jerks? We talked about how intention can reconstruct your reality. How simply thinking something will make it so. So I set an intention to get up at 5:45am and not go back to bed as I usually do. Sure, there was an alarm (and three cups of coffee involved), but it happened, didn’t it? I will use my newfound powers for good only, which means I’m also going to eat a milkshake with a cupcake in it tonight. Intention = set.

I have a test on primary series today so Viva la Weaz has been quizzing me.

Nononono... it's downward facing CAT.

Weazasana

Ralph is not exactly helpful when it comes to yoga because she condemns it as devil worshipping. You all know Ralph is a conservative Christian, right?

I want you to know you're going to hell.

Thanks, Ralph.

I’m off to yoga my life away.

Good job, Weaz.

... is he still here?

Happy Caturday?

I’m not sure. The cats are not very pleased with this whole puppy situation. I can’t say I’m dancing through the day either. This little nugget is too damn much. No one told me puppies are only cute to look at from afar.

I will eat your soul.

On night one, I slept approximately zero hours and took him out into the frosted grass to have explosive diarrhea multiple times. I’m talking, like, projectile fire hose kind of business. Had I been standing three feet down wind of him, I would’ve been hit. You’re welcome for that description.

2 o'clock in the damn morning.

As a result of sleeping zero hours through the night, I eventually must have fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning because I slept through three alarms, a Google calendar reminder and a text from a coworker informing me I was an hour and a half late. VERY GOOD.

My brother asked only one thing of me and this was to not let the dog on the bed. That is going well so far…

SHMEEEEEEEEEEE

Whatever. I caved. On night two I simply could not handle his constant crying so I just put him in my bed. (That’s what she said?) Those five hours of uninterrupted sleep were the only five hours I have liked him so far. What a little angel when he’s not biting me or crying or projectile pooping.

I woke up to find Ralph AND Weaz in a state of total Paranormal Activity just hovering over the bed staring at us.

CUH-REEEEEEE-PYYYYY

The cats have spent the weekend puffed up to three times their normal size making strange guttural noises and ninja swiping Scout any time he walks by the couch.

Needless to say, this house is a royal shitshow. I am grateful for this experience only because it has shown me that I want absolutely nothing to do with a puppy or a baby for a very, very long time.

Of course, as I say this the little nug has finally passed out on my bed like a little angel. I am not fooled. But I will go rub my face on his ears for a little bit.

Baby.

Oh, bother.

… and a very happy and productive Caturday to you, too.

Weazcheese is all mopey because it’s raining on her day off. Why… why does life have to be so hard?

I tried to invite her to a movie (she’s been dying to see Beauty and the Beast 3D), tried to let her help me bake (she’s been working on her yeast activating skills) and tried to suggest she just take advantage of the weather by taking a nap. But nothing’s working.

Ralph isn’t helping.

It's raining because God hates you.

But I think I know just the thing to snap her out of it…

Butter. Duh.

I’ve still never actually been to Butter, but I do like to pretend that it is Weaz’s favorite place on earth. She so loves getting slutted up and pretending to be more important than she is.

"Yes," she declared. "I shall rally."

And with that, we’re off to get our hair did.

Heads Carolina, tails California...

Happy where-the-hell-did-January-go Caturday to you and yours. Ralph is feeling feisty and spontaneous and a little bit jealous that I went to the Bahamas without her and keeps trying to talk me into another trip. Talk away, Ralphus. Mamma’s got bills to pay. And you see that ominous stack of papers piling up on the desk? Those are tax documents. Look away. Look away, lest they burn a hole through your pure, innocent little tax-evading soul.

Weaz is definitely gonna get audited this year.

Bitch, please. I got biznass expenses.

Easily the most exciting thing that has happened in our (Ralph, Weaz and me) collective life this week was that I washed my sheets. And my comforter. I will not disclose the last time this happened.

Weaz supervised.

Colonel Weazface reporting for bed-making duty.

Ralph hovered there waiting, just waiting, for the perfect moment to sprawl out on my nice clean bed leaving an army of black hair tumbleweeds in her wake. Guh-ross.

Chop chop. This bed's not gonna shed on itself.

Mmmmmmmmmbed. I'm gonna pee in it.

What is with cats and my clean stuff. They do this to my clean clothes too. Which I leave in a pile on my dresser. Duh. Because my closet is tiny and it frustrates me to try and hang things in it. This is logical.

Hey Hoarders called. They asked if you want to apply.

And with that, we’re off to sleep in our clean bed. All three of us. Every night. Don’t be so jealous.

WHAT DO YOU MEAN CHANTAL IS BACK?!

Oh heeeeeeey.

Do you know the last time I had a Caturday off?

Go.back.to.work.please.

ME NEITHER.

DAY OFF DAY OFF DAY OFF

I have big plans to sit around by myself and do absolutely nothing but bake and read and yoga and sleep and throw more things away (just kidding, donate). I love getting rid of things. Where do all these things keep coming from? No one knows. I just keep accumulating stuff… like cats.

They’re coming out of the woodwork.

HAAAAAAAAAA

Anyway. I don’t have anything to say about the cats. Except that Ralph has almost memorized the entire ashtanga primary series. And I’m proud of her.

Good job, Ralph.

Let’s go bake something. Happy Caturday.

Sorry, Weaz. No cats allowed.

Oh heeeeeeey.

I’m in the Bahamas.

WHAT.

I’m serious. I left this morning with a backpack, a tent and a yoga mat.

I know, right? Who do I think I am? I don’t even know. I can tell you it was definitely a last-minute decision. Like… I bought a bathing suit from Target at 9:54pm last night. I’m writing this Caturday at 2:32am. My boss doesn’t know I’m not coming to work on Tuesday (or Wednesday) and… My parents didn’t find out any of this was happening until I was already in Miami. (Sorry!)

NO ONE CARES

BUT… no one cares. Because it’s Caturday. So let’s cut to the chase and talk about who gets these gems if I decide to live out the rest of my days on an island…

My mom. Both cats go to my mom. I’m not kidding. She’s the only other person in the world crazy enough to treat them the way I do.

Moving on… Mitch is catsitting while I’m acting horribly irresponsible for a few days. I trust Ralph and Weaz will be perfect angels, right?

Right.

WRONG.

A little forewarning, Mitch-Mitch… Ralph might will give you attitude. She’s sassy. Don’t take her sass.

And if you can’t find Weaz, she is definitely inside something (think: closet, backpack, refrigerator) OR she’s on top of the refrigerator sitting by the air vent soaking up all our warm air.

Yeah, girl.

Actually, I think she’s trying to get to the wine. Keep it firmly corked or you’ll have to take her to the ER to have her stomach pumped. You know how she can’t stop after one drink bottle.

And keep an eye on my laptop. We don’t want her to get all drunk and send inappropriate pictures to her boyfriend in prison just like last time…

Gross, Weaz.

Alright, kittens. I seriously am in the Bahamas. Even though I’m writing this at 3 in the morning and at 3 in the morning I’ve actually decided that I’m definitely not going to get on that plane because it’s too scary and overwhelming and impulsive, I have faith that with at least a couple hours of sleep, this pre-posted post will find me alive and well on the sandy shores of a tropical island.

As my friend Jack so kindly reminded me in my state of complete and utter FREAKOUT: “”You have to keep showing up, being open, and doing the work. The journey into the self is not a group experience. It’s solitary work. But so many of us are afraid of being alone. So you need to experiment.”

Consider this my experiment. Holy moly.

See ya when I see ya.

Oh, hello. May I offer you a nightcap?

Happy first Caturday of 2012. The world is ending this year, right? I hear that only people with 2+ cats will be raptured. Or will die like everyone else but at least be reincarnated as cats. Also all the current cats in the world will become humans and we’ll all switch places. So y’all should really all stock up on some felines. I’m just saying.

Something like that, anyway…

THIS IS MY FIRST WEEKEND OF TEACHER TRAINING.

I feel like this:

EEEEEEEEE

But this day is about cats, not yoga. Or is it…?

LOOK what Emily sent me:

Maaahahaha

A Yoga Kittens calendar. All I know is I cannot WAIT until November 2012…

Aaaahahaha

Thank you, Emily. I think it was a very thoughtful and timely gift. Ralph and Weaz, however, would like to just point out that it is not edible. And they want some treats.

Since Mitch and I are going to be at the studio for the rest of our lives, the cats now have free reign of our humble abode. Ralph has decided that what’s Mitch’s is hers and is spending an inappropriate amount of time in her bed.

I do what I want.

Weaz appears to be playing a never-ending game of “don’t touch the lava” and, as such, spends all of her time on counters and tables I told her not to ever touch.

Technically speaking, I'm not on the table.

Jerks.

I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m too high on yoga right now. Sorry you had to see this. Here’s a chihuahua in a hoodie for your trouble:

Bitch, please.

I’m gonna go eat Indian food and say things in sanskrit. Just kidding. (No I’m not.)

L.O.L.

The best of Caturday 2010…

We got a dog.

Waldo!

 The cats were not impressed by the dog.

I hate Waldo.

Weaz went to work.

Spreadsheets. Synergy. Jargon.

Weaz got stuck in the window.

HALP.

The cats turned three and four.

KITTEN PICTURES KITTEN PICTURES KITTEN PICTURES

Ralphie got a lion cut.

Haters gonna hate.

We realized Ralph looks just like Toothless from How to Train Your Dragon.

Aaaahahaha.

This picture.

PUT ME DOWN.

Ralph took dance lessons.

AND one and two and three and four AND...

Weaz was constantly hungover.

VODKA ME.

You can see every Caturday ever here.

Happy holidays from Ralph.

A very merry Catmas eve to you all. The stockings are hung by the litterbox with care and the cats have been anxiously awaiting Santa’s arrival because they know they’ve been really terrible this year and aren’t so sure he’s coming…

Is he here yet? Is he here yet? Is he here yet?

I mean, he totally knows when you’ve been bad or good and considering the cats have done nothing but drink and be hungover all year, I’d say things aren’t looking so promising on the present front.

It's not alcoholism if you pour it in a glass.

HOTPOCKET ME.

I suppose only time will tell. Well. Time and me. I’ll tell you. They’re getting a new scratching post, a can of food, treats and a new damn water fountain because I’m sick of them drinking out of the cup on my bedside table. Weaz might get a wheel of cheese.

Me? I get cats.

I wrapped myself. There's a poop in the litterbox.

Check ya later. I’m off to work…

"My body just needs yoga," says Weaz.

Happy third-to-last Caturday of 2011, beefaronis.

I trust you are all diligently making your Christmas lists and checking them twice by this stage in the holiday game. Not us. Nope, the cats and I have yet to purchase or request a single Christmas gift. Nothing like a little last-minute frenzy to get us in the holiday spirit.

Know why we haven’t done anything Christmas-y? Because we hate Christmas. Because we’re too busy. Because we’re on the Internet all the damn time.

Refresh. Refresh. Refresh.

This blog’s not gonna run itself, you know?

We decided that all we really want for Christmas is money, which is not Christmas-y at all. But seriously. Seriously… it’s all we need. I told my mom she could present it to us in a dramatic Publisher’s Clearinghouse-esque ceremony with balloons and a giant check if she must.

If I get gifts that are not money, please believe I will sell them for money so that Ralph and Weaz and I don’t end up on the streets in January.

Hobo Ralph

You better believe it.

Ralph loves setting goals.

Happy TOOMUCHCOFFEE Caturday.

Holy canoli. I am seriously tweekin’ over here.

Guess what happened to the cats this week? Dun dun DUNNNNNN…

GROO

MER

Ralph came back looking significantly worse than she did when she went in and not at all like a lion.

Mangyass cat.

Who did this? An intern?

Stop. I'm embarrassed.

I should’ve known something was up when I picked them up and they were all, “Oh, uhhhh… we were supposed to charge you $XXX but instead we’re just charging you $XXX (less). Why? Uhhhhh, just because.”

UM. IS IT PERHAPS BECAUSE YOU MUTILATED RALPH RALPH?

Je.sus.

At least they both came home in stupid bandanas. A snowman for Weaz and a present for Ralph.

So dumb.

I’m off to buy Ralphie a full-body wig…

We forgot to make the bed.

Well. I’ve been bustin’ my ass all day since 6:30 this morning to get in enough hours to finance the cats’ organic food habit only to come home and find them passed out in my bed. Actually, Weaz was on top of my pillow.

Bring me a grape.

Seriously though? You jerks can’t even make the bed for me?

I will do no such thing, says Ralph.

HAAAAA

This week Weaz and I built a table. She then proceeded to sit on top of it.

I do what I want.

After “assisting” me by actually doing nothing but staring at me like this:

Hey.

She demanded vodka for her efforts.

Please, may I have some vodka, please?

Please?

No, Weaz. Just… no.

Tia's kind of a cat...

Happy post-Black Friday Caturday!

Ralph is still recovering from yesterday’s shopping rampage. Rumor has it she put some old lady in the hospital over a steeply discounted iPhone… I’m not talking because whatever I say can and will be used against her in a court of law. I know nothing.

She wouldn’t tell me what she got everyone for Christmas but I found an Urban outfitters bag full of ironic coffee table books so…

Haha. You have to be smart to get it.

She got another pair of red Toms, too. She now has 37.

Speaking of hipsters… Weaz got her first Instagram portrait courtesy of Mitch’s iPhone…

I look so good blurry.

I know, I know. I’m just bitter that I don’t have Instagram on my Droid so Weaz has to deal with looking like this:

Why do you have to be so lame?

I didn’t get much quality time with the cats this week because I was dogsitting at Rachael’s house…

Gabby!

Gabby is 18 freaking years old and in better shape than Ralph. Sure, the scent of her breath signals that she’s rotting from the inside out, but homegirl can still ball. She’s awesome.

I missed not waking up to this little face today…

I miss you.

Needless to say, the cats hate me for spending time with the dogs. I made it up to them with a Thanksgiving feast of turkey shreds (WITH CHEESE).

And suddenly I am forgiven.

Off to work… got you THIS:

My mom sent me this.

You forgot Caturday.

No I didn’t.

I bet you guys thought I forgot Caturday, didn’t you? You know how I know? Because I’ve received tweets and emails and phone calls and Facebook messages to the effect of: WHERE THE HELL IS CATURDAY???

Maybe the cats died. Maybe I just like to keep you on your toes. Maybe I was at work. You’ll never know.

But don’t worry, guys. Ralph has got this one under control…

SUPERRALPH

You wanna know the real reason there was no Caturday this morning? Because Ralph was drunk.

D-R-U-N-K

Look at that asshole. She claims someone roofied her at Butter but I know the real truth. She stole two bottles of Ashley’s wine and watched Lifetime movies with a tube of cookie dough in her hand. I don’t know where she learned these habits.

Only after drinking the two bottles of wine and syphoning out the last of the cookie dough did she proceed to Butter to shake what her momma gave her. (I am not her momma.) The bouncer gave me this picture from the security camera…

I FUCKING LOVE BEYONCE

We’re staging an intervention tonight.

Weaz is feeling emo about it.

No one understands me.

So there you have it. Caturday for November 19, 2011. Never a week missed since 2009.

PS – I bought a journal this week. I thought it might help me curb my internet usage if I could just write down my thoughts instead of tweeting and/or Facebooking them. So far this is all I’ve done with it…

Weaz does love TV.

God, is that you? It's me, Weazus.

Heeeeeey, kittens. Happy Caturday from the past… It’s Friday night (early Saturday morning?) and my roommate is singing “feelin’ like a star, you can’t stop my shine” across the hall and we’re running out the door to the bar because that vodka’s not gonna drink itself, you know, and I know I won’t get Caturday up on time in the morning because I plan on going to straight to cheer on the Thunder Road Marathoners and then straight to yoga (still drunk, I presume) and I just don’t want you all to miss out on these gems.

Mmmmhello.

The cats spend most of their time laying around seductively. It’s true.

Look at these fools.

Oh. Hello.

Not so much what I want waiting for me at the end of the day but… I’ll take it. They’re good cuddlers after all.

Bring me my vodka.

I miss when Ralph looked like a lion.

That’s all I got. My roommate and I have been drinking all night and then came home to make motivational signs for the marathon tomorrow. The runners will be passing by our house bright and early so we’ll be out there with coffee and fleece blankets and a little mile one motivation…

Alright then. See you in the morning.

This bed is mine now.

Happy productive Caturday, my friends. Since I didn’t do a thing I was supposed to last night, we’re taking care of business over here at Caturday Headquarters. I’ll get a handle on my schoolwork, so help me God…

We haven’t been entirely worthless this week. We did clean out my closet…

No one needs 13 pairs of jeans, Katie. No one.

The cats gave me their honest opinion on what should stay and what should go…

That outfit makes you look like a MOOSE.

Let's just light it all on fire and start over.

By the end we’d cleared out and condensed enough space to free up the spare room for our new roommate.

It was hard work.

New roommate? Yep. It happened. We crammed one more living creature into this tee-tiny little ill-equipped apartment. The cats have already claimed all of her belongings as their own…

What's yours is mine.

To give you an idea of how our personalities and styles will mesh, these are our teapots…

Mine is on the right.

And this is her bedside table:

Winston the frog butler

We are a match made in heaven. Words cannot even describe how great it feels to come home and see lights on in this little apartment.

Even the cats agree.

Happy Catoween!

I love Halloween. It’s my absolute most favorite holiday. Unfortunately, I haven’t really had time this year to do any of the delightful Halloweeny things I love so much–like carve pumpkins, make pumpkin seeds, decorate the house, go to haunted houses/mazes, pick apples (more importantly: eat apple donuts) and make a costume.

Two years ago, I went as both Ralph and Weaz, and I made the costumes myself.

I'm a Ralph, duh.

In fact, if you Google image search “homemade cat costume,” Weaz and I are on the first page of results. I consider this one of my greatest accomplishments in life.

Speaking of Weaz and Halloween… How’s this for CREEPY AND WEIRD:

The other night I was minding my own business, you know, sleeping when all of the sudden I was jolted awake by a hissing, howling, writhing Weaz at the foot of my bed. When Ralph came to investigate (clearly concerned about the commotion), Weaz tried to attack her. I’d watched the first 30 minutes of Paranormal Activity the night before (against my will, of course) and was perfectly terrified to be pulled from my slumber in such a manner. Several things were wrong with this situation: 1) Weaz has never made those sounds before, 2) Weaz has never woken me up like that before, 3) Weaz can’t take Ralph and she knows this, 4) Weaz was possessed by a demon.

My thought process was far from rational and went something like this:

1. Ohmygod, Weaz has rabies.
2. Where is the emergency vet in Charlotte?
3. How did Weaz get rabies?
4. WAIT. I bet she saw a ghost standing over my bed…
5. WHY IS THERE A GHOST IN MY ROOM.
6. I am going to die tonight.
7. Maybe she just had a nightmare…
8. Maybe I am having a nightmare.
9. WHAT IF THERE’S SOMEONE IN THE HOUSE?
10. I need a gun.
11. Cheese. Weaz just needs some cheese.
12. Weaz loves cheese so much.
13. WEAZ WAS POSSESSED BY A CHEESE-LOVING DEMON

The cheese did the trick. It’s her favorite thing in the whole world so she started purring uncontrollably and calmed down quickly. She eventually went back to bed but not before staring at the ceiling for several minutes and following something I could not see from over my bedroom door to directly over my bed several times. WHAT THE HELL, WEAZ?

It did not help that I had discovered the Ecto-1 parked in front of my house earlier that night…

Who ya gonna call?

Clearly there is something my landlord’s not telling me if the Ghostbusters are making house calls to the complex.

Anyway, Demonweaz is just fine and has no recollection of her outburst. I’m scheduling her an exorcism for tomorrow.

Don't be fooled by this look of innocence.

Ralph suggests we just get rid of her.

I no longer feel safe in this house.

Anyway, happy freaking Catoween. Now I’ll never get to sleep. And I already took a 6-hour nap tonight… So here’s a happy little video of a demon-free Weaz drinking water vodka.

Public Service Announcement for Cat Owners

Seriously though… Keep your cats inside this Halloween weekend and every Halloween. My mom has always told me this, that heartless, cruel, disgusting little hoodlums like to torture, mutilate and otherwise abuse wandering cats (especially black cats) on Halloween night for no reason other than that they are disgusting human beings who will surely rot in hell. I’ve read horror stories about cats coming home bloody, beaten, limbless and (this really happened) having had explosives shoved in their butts and set off. I hate people. I’m a pretty peaceful person, but there is no limit to the crazy I’d unleash on someone I saw abusing a cat. None.

Hibernating.

I slept for 30 of my 90 minutes of yoga today. Straight up curled up in the fetal position and just went to bed. This is either 1) exhaustion, 3) mono or 3) a sure sign that winter is on its way and I’m ready to hibernate.

The cats are with me on the hibernation. They usually greet me at the door when I come home, but as the temperatures drop, I’m more likely to find them balled up like the photo above or under my covers. I don’t even know how they get in there really…

That's my side of the bed, by the way.

Yes I do. Weaz can get in anything. The other night I heard a loud crash but when I went to investigate there were no cats to be found.

It took a minute but finally…

OHHHHH.

She also gets on top of things.

Did you need your backpack today? I need it.

Weaz looks a lot like a baby seal there (much like Ralph did this time two years ago… TWO YEARS??)

Speaking of Ralph… where the hell was she this week? No one knows. I can’t get her to stand still long enough to not just be a big black blur in a picture so I was forced to do this:

RALPH.

We’re off to make baked goods and watch TV and do ab-so-fu-cking-lute-ly nothing. Sorry, mom. I split it with a hyphen. It’s not really there. This was all an illusion…

SPEAKING OF CATS GETTING IN THINGS…

Oh my sweet Jesus… I have forgotten to do this for a solid month.

A very long time ago on a Caturday far, far away, I mentioned my neurotic fear that my cats are somehow going to get trapped in a cabinet or closet or the oven or something and that’s why I insist on seeing them both and saying goodbye before I will walk out the door. Every time. It’s true.

Lauren commented and informed me that her ridiculous cat really did get stuck in the refrigerator one time. FOR TWENTY MINUTES.

I thought this was the funniest, most horrifying thing I’d ever heard and asked her to send me pictures of this glorious creature.

Sundance, the refrigerator cat.

From Lauren: “I would be honored to have my two babies (or just Sundance) included in a Caturday post! I’ve attached photos of both my cats; the black and white boy is Sundance, the tabby three-legged boy is Cassidy, so named for Hopalong Cassidy. (Nothing so obvious as Tripod for my baby.) Cassidy was named first, and Sundance sort of fell into the name by association. I swear, no Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid references were intended. I adopted them both from the local Humane Society, at a “BOGO” sale, I like to joke. Truth–I just happened to go in during a “special” and if you adopted one, you got a second free. So that’s how I ended up with two cats.

As for the fridge fun, well, Sundance loves to hop in whenever I don’t catch him first. I don’t know why. It all started because it’s tough to get him out without bribing him with food, which I don’t like to do. So I usually end up shutting the door, usually for a few seconds, to spur him out. The first time I forgot him in there, he was in for about 10 minutes when Cassidy, who adores his little (HUGE) brother, let me know that something was wrong. He just kept staring into the kitchen, which was very unusual, and then I realized I couldn’t find Sundance. Panic ensued when I realized I had left him in the fridge, but he hopped out, his fur just a little cool, and strolled away. And he still wants in the fridge every time I open it, so it obviously didn’t damage his psyche too much.

And then my mom apparently did the same thing, but I was out of town. That could have been disastrous, but thank goodness she went looking for him and remembered the fridge.

Other fun facts:

• Sundance loves raw cauliflower and enjoys lettuce upon occasion
• They have no table manners
• The vet thinks Cassidy may have been born with three legs, as the length of his leg is a weird length for an amputation
• Sundance weighs 18lbs; Cassidy is 10lbs (Sundance is on a diet) Maybe that explains the fridge fixation

They really are the most peculiar cats I’ve ever owned, and like you, I adore my babies to bits and pieces.”

HAHAHA. Thank you for existing.

And his friend Cassidy the three-legged cat.

Getting in things. Of course.

Aw

Thanks, Lauren!

Gluconeogenesis, bitches.

Happy I’M-ON-VACATION Caturday! My college friends and I have descended on our old stomping grounds to relive our glory years and I have already eaten a pizza at 2am and been yelled at by a cop to “stop laying in the street.” Things are going well.

Like any responsible graduate student, my friend Lindsay brought her books and is studying. Me? I left the cats in charge of highlighting anything they think I might need to know for the rest of the semester. They’re presenting me with an executive summary of their findings on Sunday.

It's hard to hold the highlighter without a thumb.

Ralph and Weaz would also like to take a moment to express their gratitude to everyone who emailed, tweeted, commented and Facebooked to let them know that, despite being called “NOT CUTE” and “unremarkable,” by an Internet hater, they are, in fact, cute and remarkable.

I am cute and remarkable.

Hate on, haters.

Good evening, Dr. Ralph.

Is it Caturday? I don’t even know. I worked like a million hours yesterday so forgive me if I can’t get a grip on left from right, up from down, the days of the week or how many cats I have. (Six if you count the four strays I’m feeding outside. DO NOT JUDGE ME I’VE ONLY NAMED ONE.)

But don’t nobody care about me and my woe-is-me-I’m-so-busy sob story. Least of all my cats.

Nope.

[PS - Upon uploading this picture, I promptly slowly dragged myself out of bed and removed that old picture of Stew and me. I forgot about it. I'm in my house (and awake) for like 15 minutes a day. Lay off.]

Sometimes I wonder if they wonder where I am all the time when I disappear for 14-hour stretches. But then I realize that–much like the honey badger–Ralph and Weaz simply don’t give a shit.

I mean, I leave them plenty of food and water. They poop in a box (most of the time). They sleep all the time. And Ralph runs this joint anyway.

I'M A MF BOSS, SON.

I operate under the assumption that that little black mass looms over me while I sleep every night just waiting for me to feed her again…

Weaz mostly doesn’t know what’s going on ever.

Shmeh?

But be not fooled. She’s a tricky little weasel. I caught that conniving nugget all up in my underwear drawer last night…

BUSTED

I was going to sell them on the Ebay...

Weazalicious

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. If I had known four years ago that I would have cat hair on my clothes, in my food and all over everything in my house until I’m, like, 40, I probably would’ve thought a little harder about letting my little sister feed that fat stray black cat chicken nuggets…

That’s not true. I wouldn’t give up the cats for anything. In fact, just yesterday I was telling my friend Ashley (she’s a maniac; check her out) that I’m thinking about getting them health insurance since there’s no limit to the subterranean level of debt to which I would plummet in order to save their lives should anything ever go awry.

We are priceless.

You think I’m kidding.

Anyway, the cats have one job and one job only on this lovely brisk Caturday morning and that’s announcing the five winners of the Lundberg/Stonehouse 27 giveaway. Weaz is nursing a hangover so without further adieu, Ralph is here with our winners…

Ahem.

Vani!

Meredith!

Anna!

Kate!

HEEL CLICK

I will email you all to collect your shipping info and final flavor choices (you’re not married to whatever you mentioned in your comment; especially you, Meredith, since you were just mesmerized by my Tupperware…).

Hot Pocket, please.

Good day.

Whoa, Caturday. Slow down. It’s already after noon and still I have not updated the world on the state of Ralph and Weaz. Maybe it has something to with me living in a constant state of RUSHING SOMEWHERE AT ALL TIMES. I can’t even handle it.

I’m currently blogging this from a coffee shop near work, counting pennies to buy a much needed caffeinated beverage (because I left my money, ID and sanity in the purse I carried last night) and trying to figure out how I’m going to pull off this day without passing out. Good work, Katie.

ANYWAY, the cats are furious with me this weekend because I’m spending all my time with these little nuggets:

Gabby... Gabbie? Gaby? I don't know.

Tia

I did swing by my house this morning long enough to feed the cats and wash the week’s worth of dishes that has been tormenting me even from afar. Just knowing they’re in there makes me crazy.

Naturally, as soon as every single dish in my house was clean, Weaz decided to sit in the window directly above them with a cloud of cat hair in her wake.

I do what I want.

I DO WHAT I WANT

I’m pretty sure that I when I get back to my house on Sunday, I will die at the hands paws of this one…

I know where you sleep.

I’m so exhausted from last night’s Fashion Week shenanigans. The cats are too.

(Didn’t you know Ralph and Weaz are on Facebook? Duh.)

But you know what I get to do? I get to work all day uncaffeinated because I can’t find enough pennies. This is gonna get ugly. But come 10pm, I’ll be curled up with a chihuahua in my lap watching cable that I don’t have to pay for. Thank you god.

Save me a spot, Tia.

Hello, Weaz.

I have to give a speech about celiac disease in front of 150 nurses in 8 hours and yet… here I am at 1am on a Friday night writing a mf Caturday post. The things I do for these creatures…

Have you heard of the 5 Love Languages? Of course not. Let me enlighten you. (It’ll eventually be about cats.)

So the five love languages are different ways people like to express and receive love in a relationship, and (supposedly) you should fall into one of the following languages:

• Words of affirmation
• Quality time
• Receiving gifts
• Acts of service
• Physical touch

I must just really love love because I’m a tie for quality time and acts of service with physical touch and words of affirmation tied in a close second. Gifts are waaaaay down at the bottom for me. As Pink said, “Shorty got a job, shorty got a car, shorty can pay her own rent.” I want your time, not your money, which can actually be harder to come by…

ANYWAY, the point is that I have not been spending nearly enough quality time with the cats, who I love more than anything in this world. AND they do not perform any acts of service for my benefit.

NOPE

And while I appreciate that they want to be near me, this is not exactly the physical touch I want waiting for me in my bed every night…

Great.

But there they are. Every.single.night. Without fail.

Good for me.

I’m not ready for my speech tomorrow at all, but I did at least lay out a cute little outfit to wear. Which Weaz is currently sleeping on. Perfect. This is my life.

Live it, love it... betch.

Tough love with Ralphie: You are a disaster.

Happy cool, crisp Caturday morning! The weather in the south has finally switched from sweltering to bearable and (in the morning, anyway) even chilly at times. Ralphie for one can’t wait to rock her new thigh-high leather boots.

Speaking of, are those only for streetwalkers? I mean, Ralph was before I took her in so it makes sense. But… those thigh-high boots are only for strippers, right? I want some.

THE POINT IS… fall is here!

Hooray!

Which means the windows are open. Which means the cats get to sit in the window. Which means they are preoccupied long enough for me to go spend a million dollars on their expensive ass food.

I gave my left arm for this. And I'm a lefty.

$20 a bag. TWENTY DOLLARS. I don’t even know the last time I spent $20 on one item. (Isn’t that sad? Don’t answer.) But for the cats… anything for the damn cats.

You bet your ass anything.

I didn’t want to buy the cats nice food (don’t judge me!) but my mom told me I was being a bad mom and that I had to give them what they want. They want $20 cat food. In an effort to avoid giving my mom a reason to believe that if I’m a bad cat mom I’ll be a bad mom mom, I buy the food. But I’m not happy about it.

We are.

You forgot to do Caturday.

I didn’t really forget to do Caturday. I just didn’t do Caturday first thing in the morning. That’s because I was too busy forcing 90 minutes of hot yoga upon my body even though (let’s be honest here) my body was probably still a little bit drunk. Who am I?

Excuse me no one cares.

Of course no one cares about how I’m hungover aaaaagain on Caturday morning. This is cat time.

Did you know there is such thing as a cat superhero? (Other than Cat Woman duhhhh.)

Danananadanananadanana CATMAN

It’s true. Someone asked me last night who my favorite superhero is so naturally I googled “cat superhero.” According to Wikipedia, he is a supervillain and foe of Batman. See also: Ralphie. And just so people will stop telling me I’m a crazy cat lady, in my hunt for cat superheroes I came across this lunatic who has turned himself into a tiger. “Avner’s body modification operations have included bifurcation (splitting) of his upper lip, surgical pointing of the ears, sillicone cheek and forehead implants, tooth filing, tattoos, and facial piercing – to which whiskers can be attached.” Mmmmmhm.

Now who's crazy?

Ralph has super powers too, you know.

Faster than a speeding... cat.

Weaz… can’t do anything. I suppose if she had a super power it would be… nope. I got nothin.

I do this.

I’m off to google “cat + ______” and see what I can find…

All dress up and nowhere to ho

Happy Back-to-School Caturday! Now that every single second of my life is scheduled again, the cats are doing… absolutely nothing to help me keep the house in order.

Ralphie doesn’t do laundry…

Nope.

Weaz watches countless hours of reality television:

Casey and Vienna are trouble.

And both spent the whole week thwarting my many attempts to keep ahead of my school work…

You need this?

Cease what you are doing and pet me.

Plus, now that we are single, the cats have been party animal drunkards. They keep tempting me with nights out and vodka rather than nights in and vitamin metabolism readings. I’ll get this balanced out eventually. For now, though, I have a hangover. Again.

Ralph, too.

HAHAHA

Happy Healthy Living Summit Caturday! The conference is great fun so far but something tells me I should’ve carted the cats up here because all anyone really wants to talk to me about is what they’re like in real life. I should’ve probably brought some autographed photos.

Because they got left behind, the photo above represents how Ralph and Weaz feel about me being in Philadelphia. They are very bitter.

I get incredibly stressed out when I leave them alone but I left them with plenty of snacks, poop space and windows so I think they’ll be fine.

What is this?

Privacy, please.

Good job, Ralph.

And a sitter. Obviously a sitter. Who do you think I am? I understand some people leave cats alone for, like, five days at time. I want someone to come by twice a day. Better yet, it’d be nice if someone would just live at my house. Don’t judge me. They’re celebrities for god’s sake. I have to make sure no one has come by to catnap them.

DON'T EVEN THINK ABOUT IT.

Seriously. There’s no limit to the amount of CRAZY I’d unleash on someone who did harm to these two creatures. I would be a murderer. And I’m fine with it.

Special thanks to my friend Amber’s cat Tassey for graciously hosting me in DC and giving me my feline fix for the weekend. Much appreciated.

Honorary Caturday Member

Bedside table. Yer doin it wrong.

Happy last-full-week-of-summer-vacation-for-me-Caturday! I don’t know about you, but I’m ready for brisk air, boots and a schedule that will (hopefully) keep me busy enough to stop crying myself to sleep. Am I right? I am right.

The cats have really enjoyed their vacation. Even though they live like this every second of every day of the year, they like summer better because I have been around for torturing these brief few months.

Mostly we just watched TV…

Tyra, of course.

And Weaz got in the way.

Took naps…

My bed, sucker.

Weaz... everywhere you want to sleep.

And covered my entire house in hair.

Yesterday I was doing my daily Clean Up Cat Hair Routine and it occurred to me that, should these creatures live into their twenties (as I fully expect both to do; don’t crush my dreams) then I’ll be cleaning up cat hair well into my 40s. And thats when I realized I’m not cut out for motherhood just yet. How long do babies live?

I will live forever.

***UPDATE: 2nd Birthday Giveaway Winner Announced!***

Man, did Ralph and Weaz drop the ball or what? I told them they were in charge of announcing our giveaway winner and they totally skirted their duties. They’re just here for the fame. Can’t get a damn second of work out of the two…

They claim it’s because they were busy baking a cake for the winner but, as we all know, if cats could talk, they would lie to you. At any rate, the winner is…

Kim!

#21

Hooray!

Kim, please email sweettaterblog@gmail.com with your shipping info. Hooray! Congratulations, and thank you!

Weaz loves Mama Pea

Happy early-morning Caturday. Since my wild and crazy Friday night consisted of doing laundry, eating leftover pizza and watching Rick Steves tour Tuscany on the public access channel, it came as no surprise that I was bounding out of bed at 4:45 this morning all “HEEEEEY, Saturday! Let’s do this shit.”

Weaz, on the other hand, felt like this:

Nooooooo

She was out drinking again.

The cats hate waking up early. But I suppose they hate waking up at all most days.

Bring me a mimosa. And one for my tail.

When they do manage to pry themselves from their seemingly endless slumber, they succeed only in getting all up in my way.

Did you need this computer?

Did you need this bathroom?

If you think for one second that having pets is not like having a roommate, think again. At first they’re all fuzzy and cute and cuddly. Then the next thing you know they’re eating all your Hot Pockets, leaving hair in the sink and paying their portion of the rent in catnip. Watch out.

Could you pass me the remote?

"We're all out of Hot Pockets," says Exorcist Cat.

This is my life.

Oh, hello...

The cats and I have fallen into a nice little routine here together. I’d never really thought about it until now, but they’ve never lived alone with just me… ever. When I took Ralph in and she had Weaz I was living with my sister and later my friend Jack. Then I moved my new herd of cats in with my friend Lindsay. And then Stew and I moved in together and got Waldo, too. So adjusting to a home with just the three of us has been interesting.

It’s like when you regularly hang out with a group of people  until one night everyone cancels but one person and you suddenly realize you don’t know that person at all. Awkward.

Luckily, the cats and I like many of the same things. Jeopardy…

I'll take Crazy Cat Ladies for $500, Alex.

[Did you know that 71-year-old Alex Trebec blew out his freaking Achilles tendon chasing an intruder out of his hotel room this past week? And also that in recounting the event he specified that he FIRST put on his underwear and THEN went chasing after her? This style of dress involves wearing nothing at all over your genitalia and is completely inappropriate for a 71-year-old man. What is commando? R-S-T-L-N-E, Vanna!]

The Bachelorette, duh…

Excuse me, it's time for my show.

Cuddling…

Weaz is selfish and always gets to be little spoon.

Um, at least two of us like cuddling.

You'll never understand me.

And as of tonight, we’ve learned there is one thing we all HATE. And that is bugs getting all up in our shit.

You gonna die, bitch.

Any time I see one of the cats looking at something I can’t see, I know something terrible is about to go down. When I see both cats looking at something I can’t see, I brace myself for the worst. Last night the worst came in the form of a godforsaken palmetto bug, which for anyone north of the Mason Dixon is a ROACH. It’s just that down here in the Dirty Dirty we like our shit classy so we make up waspy names for even the lowliest of life forms.

Weaz decided she wanted to go first but I promptly pulled her away and made her wait on the couch knowing full well that having never lived on the streets, she’s too stupid to hunt and would surely chase the damn thing straight into my bed. So I put my fierce little mini lion Ralph in charge instead.

Ralphie to the rescue

The little bastard didn’t stand a chance and was down for the count in less than 10 seconds. At which point I started jumping around shouting: WHOSE HOUSE? RALPHIE’S HOUSE! WHOSE HOUSE? RALPHIE’S HOUSE. (This really happened.) Then I doused it in Febreeze for good measure. Just in case. And because I don’t have any poison in the house.

Let this be a lesson to all you other bugs. We gon’ find you.

Where were YOU on that one, Weaz?

Jellybeans?

My therapist says...

Happy hot-as-hell Caturday! I really try not to be one of those oh-my-god-can-you-believe-how-hot-it-is??? people because, well, it’s summer. It’s always hot in the summer. It’s always unbelievably hot in the summer. Believe it. Accept it. Move on with your life.

Your bike could use some attention.

So, as has been noted previously, Ralphito is suffering from a bit of a little post-move/breakup mental breakdown. First she decided she’d lick her paw until it bled. I found little bloody footprints all over the house the first week we were here. That was terrifying at all. Once she got over that (thank God) she moved on to scratching her head until it bleeds. Now I’m finding chunks of bloody hair all over the house. Is this a food blog? Sorry.

Anyway, Ralph’s gone off the deep end. I’ve tried talking sense into her but she says I “wouldn’t understand.” I’ve also tried pretending like nothing is wrong and disciplining her as necessary when she acts a fool but she keeps responding with the ol’: “but my therapist says I should ________:

• throw litter wherever I damn well please
• put my litter-covered foot in your drink
• run sprints around your bed when you’re sleeping
• try to put my butt in your dinner plate

Ok, Ralph.

I like squirrels.

Weaz, of course, is fine. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t even know we moved. She has, however, been needy.as.hell. the past couple weeks. When I get home she screams her little head off until I drop everything to sit down with her for a few minutes. This then makes Ralphie feel left out and she starts licking herself. It’s a vicious cycle.

Don’t worry about us. We’ll be just fine.

If cats could talk to you, they would lie.

Critical Weaz doubts you.

Ew. I never update my WordPress techy thingies and I finally did and am unhappy to report that I hate the updates for version 3.2.1. Ew.

End rant. Happy Caturday! Does it feel like fall where you are, too? I love me some heat and hate me some cold but this temperature seems to be the best of both worlds. I approve.

Weaz does not.

I regret to inform you that I haaaaven’t taken so many pictures of the cats this week.

Because you don't love us.

Because I’ve been taking pictures of so.much.local.food. But look…

There's Ralph back there.

And here’s Weaz burying herself underneath me while I’m trying to read on the couch.

Weaz pillow

Perhaps the most significant event of this pre-Caturday week was watching me move from curious to concerned to straight up PANICKED to sweet glorious relief when looking for, losing and eventually finding my childhood security blanket(s).

My “blankets” are actually three of my mom’s old nightgowns. I’ve had them forever and ever and my mom always said I’d probably walk down the aisle with them if given the chance. (No but I might have them sewn into my garter in some way.) When I went to first grade she had to cut the pocket out of the robe so I could take it with me. With a toy pig tucked inside. My grandmother eventually sewed me a bag for my three gowns because I kept losing them when I spent the night at her house. But then I wore the bag down until it was so full of holes the gowns would just fall out and get lost again. And then I tried to patch it up myself but it looked like Frankenstein so it’s gone now. The gowns remain. But then I got a boyfriend and they got tucked away somewhere. And then they were lost. And then I didn’t have a boyfriend any more and I got sad and wanted them back but I thought they got thrown out in the move. But then Ralphie found them in a box. And here they are:

Mine now, bitch.

It's MY birfday now, beetch.

Hello and happy Caturday: Birthday Edition. I’ve learned that even though the cats have their own birthday in May, they’ve chosen to hijack mine, too. Just look how hungover these drunkards are from my their birthday part last night:

Pleeeease, I need hashbrowns.

I'll never drink again.

Weaz says that now but just eight short hours ago she looked like this:

Mmm vodka, you are my best friend.

I tried to talk her out of her fourth pint glass of vodka but… by that point telling her anything but “WE’RE GOING TO TACO BELL, WEAZ” pretty much falls on deaf ears.

In hindsight the chalupa was a mistake

Ralph can control her drinking better than Weaz but it doesn’t stop her from being a big ol’ bitch to my guests. Just look at this:

HEEEY. I hate you.

She also tried to get in Julie’s purse (no doubt to steal her wallet) and didn’t get me a present.

I will not apologize.

Plus, I got you these apples?

I GOT YOU THESE.

No she didn’t. My mom sent those. Weaz definitely didn’t get me anything. In fact… she steals things from me most of the time. Behold:

Nothing to see here...

GIMME DAT.

Didn’t know it was my birthday? How awkward for you. Here are some last-minute gift ideas:

Want.

Need.

Ship them to: c/o Weaz, Caturday Headquarters, Charlotte NC.

Anyway, looks like I’m off to nurse these hungover felines back to life. After that I’m headed to Asheville with my little sister.

Me too.

No… she’s not.

Happy Caturday to all and to all a good… shot?

Shh, Weaz is studying.

We here at Caturday would like to express our sincerest disgust for the fact that it is all of the sudden freaking JULY. When did this happen? Where did June go? And, hell, May for that matter? The last thing I remember I was getting ready for finals. Then I blacked out and woke up in Charlotte… in July… and Ralph looks like this:

Tail.

Good thing Weaz is here to hold down the fort and get me through my classes.

It's the square root of blah blah fleh fleh nrrr alpha pi booger.

[That is honest to God what my stats professor sounds like to me. Gibberish, I tell you.]

I got this.

Good thing Weaz got this.

SO… something very important. Remember all those times (ok that one time) I told you Ralphie looks like Toothless from How to Train Your Dragon? Well, I have more evidence.

AAAAHAHAHAHA

AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAA. I can’t even stand it. Cackling away in my bed. HAHAHA.

Emo Ralph is offended and angsty.

I really shouldn’t make fun of Ralph. Really. Time for serious time on Caturday… Poor Ralphus has been seriously stressed out since the move. Stressed out to the point that she’s taken to gnawing on her right paw until it bleeds. I don’t know what to do with her but she seems to be calming down over time.

Because Ralph was a rescue (you can read about that whole story–and see baby Weaz pictures!–here), I am hyper aware of her stress level. She was a mangy, pregnant mess when I found her but she did still have a collar on, which tells us she belonged to someone at one time… which tells me she’s always a little bit terrified of getting dumped again. Needless to say, cat carriers, car trips, vet trips and moves do not bring the little nugget joy. She’ll be fine but I hate causing her any sort of distress. I think she needs a cat therapist.

Seriously though.

Anybody else have a severely neurotic pet you can tell me about to make me feel like less of a pet owner failure?

Oh, and Weaz’s mental state since we moved? She probably doesn’t know we moved. Not the quickest one, that Weaz. She was the runt after all.

Me, Weaz

Perhaps on this lovely Caturday morning you are thinking to yourself, “WHAT has Weaz been up to since Ralphie got the lion cut? I mean, that lion cut was delightful the first 50 times I saw it but now… WHERE IS WEAZ?”

I’ll tell you. Mostly she’s been sitting on this white couch.

Here I am again.

When she’s tired of sitting on the white couch (which is not even supposed to be white but I ran out of the money necessary to purchase a slipcover, you see) she spends most of her time opening every single cabinet in my entire apartment. This is not a newly acquired skill since the move; she used to open the cabinet under the sink to get her treats. But opening every cabinet every day is definitely new. And annoying.

And then, when she finds time, she also meows. Like howling meows. I think she’s looking for Stew. Sometimes I feel bad for her… but mostly it’s just irritating. She also likes to stare at things I can’t see, which sends me into a panicked oh-my-GOD-is-it-a-bug-or-a-ghost frenzy. I assume it is neither.

It’s true that Weaz has been the star of the Caturday show for the last two years and you are probably missing her but now that Ralphie looks like THIS:

Stop, Ralphie time.

It’s hard not to share a million pictures of her. [Joke's on me! That's my phone hovering entirely too close to her butt in that picture. I don't even know how she got it.]

Fierce

I think she’s been looking for Stew, too. Or Waldo. If I talk in Waldo’s voice (yes, each animal has a different voice; it’s complicated) she looks around for him. She spends most of her life these days in my bed and won’t move for anything but food. And I get a sneaking suspicion she expects me to bring that to her… in my bed.

Puh-lease shut the hell up.

But wait, can you feed me first?

Time for bed. Big wild fun plans for Saturday.

Bitch please, you're working today.

I still look like this.

It’s 1:30am on Thursday 6/16. I leave for the airport in three hours and rather than sleep at a least a little bit since I won’t be doing any of that for the next three days, I am up writing Caturday. You are very welcome.

I probably wouldn’t have slept much anyway considering these little devil beasts have decided to run sprints around my bed all night and then throw themselves against the window beginning promptly at 4am.

Yeah what of it?

Ralphie still looks glorious as a black lion and I spend most of my time just gazing at her. Remember when she looked like this?

HAHAHA

She’s funny-looking no matter what. But since I got the carpet in the old place shampooed today and the cleaner’s response was: “How often do you vacuum? Triple that.” I’ve decided the lion cut is here to stay.

Aw shucks

La Weaz has been OUT of damn control in the new place. I think she’s looking for Waldo. Seriously. Don’t worry, Weaz. He doesn’t even know we moved. Poor senile old man.

Awwwwaldo

I’ll be back in blogging action tomorrow with more NYC updates than you can stand.

RAR

51 weeks ago we moved into this shiny new townhome. We hated the location but the home itself is pretty amazing. So amazing, in fact, that I declared that the cats would be groomed promptly upon our arrival so their out of control shedding wouldn’t tarnish the bright white interior.

A year later, I finally did it. It’s too late for this house, I’m afraid. Shedding occurred. All day. Every day. Hair floated through the air and blew across the ground like tumbleweeds. I can’t even tell you how many hairs I probably consumed just by breathing. Not so much something you want to hear on a food blog.

Weaz sheds more than long-haired Ralph. Lots more.

I tried brushing, obviously. You try brushing Ralph and see how much of your epidermis you come away with. I bought soft brushes, hard brushes, that damn $40 Furminator and those silly oven mitt brushes. No go.

But now… now I win. I played the groomer card. I didn’t want to. For a year straight I backed out of doing it. The night before I tried to back out. The day of I tried to back out. Stew made me do it. I swear.

I hate this more than Weaz does.

Oh yes.

Seeing the cats in any sort of distress causes me so much anxiety that I avoid putting them in any sort of unpleasant situation. In case you were wondering, going to the groomer is VERY unpleasant.

RAAAAR

We joked about getting Ralphie a lion cut. We call her our little lion after all. I didn’t expect that to actually be the recommended haircut when we arrived. I almost said no. In fact, I cringed. I looked at the groomer like I might cry. I said, “But don’t you think she’ll feel embarrassed?”

She looked at me like I was crazy. Stew looked like he might explode with joy (say yes say yes say yes, I could see him willing me into action). I said yes.

Now Ralph looks like this:

Haaaahahaha.

I laugh every time I see her, which can’t be good for her self esteem. But seriously. Look at this fat roll on her butt:

HAHAHA

Weaz went to the groomer, too. But she came out looking the same:

Here I am.

And hating me more:

I hate you.

Weaz doesn’t recognize Ralph anymore now that she’s a lion. She hisses every time she walks past her. Slowly but surely, she’s getting over that, which is good because it hurts Ralph’s feelings.

It’s so very hilarious, yes, but I didn’t just put her through hell for my own entertainment. Her fur was getting matted as she shed her winter coat. And Weaz won’t stop throwing up hairballs. It was a necessary evil but so very worth it. You want to know how much worth it? I’m not telling you. But I can justify it because I myself only get haircuts like once every two or three years and the rest of my upkeep is pretty Walmart-priced. So I can spend a hefty “personal care” budget sum on my two former street cats. That makes sense, right? Please tell me it makes sense.

Through it all, Waldo has yet to notice that we now have a small lion running around the house. Much the same way he failed to notice someone stealing Stew’s car out of the driveway. He’s a sleeper.

Sleeps like a rock.

Doop.

So that’s the story of how Ralph turned into a little lion. I hope her hair never grows back. She looks delightful and is the softest thing I have ever touched. Also, butt lump:

Yes.

We’re off to pack up our lives. It’s moving day, y’all.

Weaz... check.

The cat days of summer

It has been hot hot hot here in South Carolina and even though my pampered, indoor, air-conditioned cats don’t know what it’s like to live outside a constant 68-degree comfort zone (except that time we wouldn’t turn the AC on), they still like to dramatically drape themselves over furniture as if the world (or life) is ending.

Happy last Caturday in South Carolina, y’all. Next weekend I’ll be up to my eyeballs in cardboard boxes, sweat and probably some tears as I attempt to move my life (Ralph, Weaz and all) up to Charlotte.

Weaz is ready.

Moving is the worst, isn’t it? It is. I’ve pretty much been an inconsolable, dramatic, sensitive, broken down version of myself the last couple months since “The Move” decision was made. I understand people’s interest in and concern for what’s going on, but I promise you I will tear up if you ask me about it. And then you’ll feel uncomfortable. It’s best to just leave it alone until I get through next week. Then I’ll be all giddy about the new place. I’m just not there yet.

And we're not gonna make this easy either.

I can’t tell who hates moving more, me or the cats. Considering RALPH POOPED IN STEW’S CAR last year when we moved, I’d say she wins for least excited about next weekend. I, on the other hand, have no plans to poop on anything. Promise.

My pile or yours?

In case you’re curious, Waldo goes with Stew. He’s definitely his dog. Plus, this is how Ralph feels about him:

And stay out there!

I’m off to see if I can get anybody up to help move this packing process along. I don’t see it going well…

Something tells me you will pack alone.

Weazadillo

Oh lawd, it’s Caturday, right?

It’s been a busy, fun-filled day. For me. Not the cats. The cats are furious and plotting my death. Weaz even enlisted the help of her diabolical sidekick Mr. Armadillo. I don’t stand a chance.

Ralph doesn’t need backup, though. Ralph will take me down with one angry glare.

I won't look at you or you might die.

If you (like my mom) assume I am dead when I don’t post Caturday, please rest assured I’m still kickin’. I just got up ass early to go to yoga, went straight to work, straight to the bar and now straight to dinner. Hello, even Saturday mall workers need Saturdays. Am I right?

I am right.

You are wrong.

Hello.

At 11 o’clock last night I made a horrible realization that I had forgotten to celebrate the cats’ birthday. Granted, I found Ralph on the street and have no idea how old she really is let alone the day of her birth, but I remember Weaz’s quite well because it happened in a laundry basket in my lap. So we decided Ralph would just share that day, too.

That day, I thought, was May 20, 2008, the same as my friend and, at the time of cat birthing, former roommate Jack. But then again, sometimes I can’t quite seem to remember if it occurred on Jack’s birthday or on the day after. At any rate, I panicked, threw a candle in a can of Friskie’s turkey shreds with cheese (their favorite) and hosted an impromptu party in the final hour.

Cat cake

(What kind of mother will this make me? Sigh.)

Way to go.

No, I'm not mad... just disappointed.

I was then informed by Adam who was informed by Stew who we can only assume was informed by me at some point that the cats’ birthday is actually 5/21. Today.

You can't do anything right.

So good. There’s that.

When I think about the fact that Weaz is three years old, I die a little bit inside. We think this makes Ralph four since the vet estimated she was barely a year old when she had Weaz. (What kind of world do we live in where 1-year-old street cats are having babies??)

Anyway,good thing cats never die. Otherwise we’d be a fifth of the way through the 15-20 years I assume they will be around.

Stew says he hopes he dies before the cats because he doesn’t want to deal with my grief-stricken, worthless self when they go. But, again, good thing cats never die.

When it’s all said and done, I guess it’s a good thing we celebrated a little early considering the world will end tomorrow and all.

And now, what you’ve all been waiting for… baby pictures.

Baby Weaz's first hour

I can't even stand it.

Baby Weaz, 5 months

Classic Weaz, couple of weeks old

Little Murray Sparkles and Odelay

Ohhhhh Weaz.

Stinkeyes watchin me sleep. (Ralph's short hair!)

The cat who started it all.

Homeless. I can live with you?

Yes, Ralph. Forever and ever. Amen.

I love these cats more than most humans I know. I’m not kidding. I’d give them both a kidney. Yeah, I only have two. You see what I’m saying.

Happy birthday, cats. I’m not even embarrassed to say you are my very best friends.

What about me, Waldo?

TURN ON THE AIR, SUCKA

Since I’m writing this last night… assuming we made it through Friday the 13th in one piece, Happy Caturday! Weaz insisted we watch horror movies but we ate raw food instead.

Not only was yesterday a “freaky Friday” of sorts, it also marks a significant win for the cats (and Waldo) in the epic battle: AIR CONDITIONING.

Yes, due to animal protest, we finally did turn on the air.

Turn on the air or I turn on the KILL YOU

Without air, I will surely perish.

Wait, what?

The cats (namely Weaz) are dramatic as hell about the heat but the decision to turn on the air was more for Waldo and (a tad bit selfishly) for us. His breath is like rotting pile of feces-stuffed wheel of cheese and when he pants that’s what the whole house smells like. It was definitely time.

And now I would like a treat.

Now I can sit upright! (Look at her feet)

Now that everyone is happy we can all rest comfortably.

Especially Waldito.

Ralph in a box

I’m running behind on Caturday today because I’m too busy being a responsible adult. Not only did I update my computer and turn off my computer for the first time in like a month… I also got my oil changed. Bring on the responsible adult award.

Exactly (Source: Hyperbole and a Half)

Weaz has been responsible. She helped make the bed…

I learned from Martha Stewart.

And Ralphie is on recycling duty.

Reduce and reuse, sucka.

We’ve also been plenty active. I went to back-to-back classes this morning–superflow at Y2 Yoga (my favorite) and my first (0f many) butt whooping at Hilliard Studio Method. If you’re in or around Charlotte or just come to visit, you have to take classes at these two places. Have to. I’ll go with you. Ralph and Weaz insist.

Waldo has successfully done nothing at all today.

Ehhhh hate on, hater.

But he at least looks polite while doing nothing:

Good day.

While Weaz looks like this:

Doop.

Weaz also has no table manners.

MINE.

You gonna eat dat?

She’s a lost cause.

HALP!

Welcome to Caturday: Panic Mode Edition. Not only is Weaz stuck in the window again…

HAAAAALP

But I also have to study for and take a comprehensive final covering mmmm 600 pages of material in the next three hours. I haven’t looked at any of the material. That’s good. Since today is going so well already, Waldo has agreed to walk you through Caturday…

Me, Waldo?

Yes, YOU Waldo!

Me, Waldo!

I’m actually so old and oblivious and FARTY that I didn’t even know we had cats until today. What a wonderful surprise… Is it time for breakfast?

This little thing does this when she wants something.

How about now? Breakfast?

This big thing does this when she wants something.

That’s mostly all they do. Is it time for breakfast?

This is the little one getting Furminated.

Gross, Weaz.

You are gross.

I would like breakfast now.

Breakfast?

Thanks, Waldo. That was… terrible. As you well know, it is time for breakfast every single day the exact second I wake up because you jump around like an idiot and I know you’ve been sitting there staring a hole through my soul since 4am. So yes, it’s time for breakfast.

Side note: Do you and your roommate fight over the thermostat? If your roommate was a cat do you think you’d still fight over it? You would. Here’s Weaz being dramatic about our decision to not use air conditioning.

They absolutely do drink out of a cup.

Happy last-week-of-school Caturday! Ok, so that one was mostly for me but I hope you have something to celebrate on this glorious weekend. A belated Earth Day, perhaps? Oh… Easter! You see I have my priorities.

I celebrated Earth Day by writing 6 of the 10 pages for my paper due Monday and ignoring the fact that I have another 12-pager behind it. But THEN I smuggled Ralph and Weaz into my purse and did this:

RAAR

If you haven’t seen African Cats yet then you’re a big ol’ loser and no longer allowed to read Caturday. It opened, uh, yesterday so… you’ve had plenty of time.

Clearly I didn’t really smuggle Ralph and Weaz in. There was no more room, what with the water bottle, bag of popcorn and industrial-sized sack of peanut butter M&Ms. Next time, guys!

Shmmeeeeeh

It was an awesome movie. Though I fear I was far more enthralled than Stew. I kept finding myself squeezing his hand whispering, “Toooooo stressful” any time there was a chase/fight scene.

I won’t give away any plot details (there’s a plot!) but I will tell you this:

We're going to Africa!

Yes, Ralph and Weaz want to roam the land of their ancestors. Who am I to deprive them of that adventure? It will look something like this:

Perfect.

I do think Ralph looks like a mini lion and Weaz looks more like a cheetah. Speaking of cheetahs… COOL. The slow motion shots of that animal in an all out sprint are insane. I was like a giddy child the whole time. I caught myself beaming in the opening credits.

Oh, we were two of the, like, 6 people in there. What better things do people have to do at 10pm on a Friday? Losers.

Yeah.

I'm a lion.

I can’t wait to get a lion. How many do you want?

Hey Weaz

Happy Caturday: Tax Edition! If you waited until the last minute to file (or filed a million years ago and waited until the last day to actually pay, like I did), then Weaz would like to extend to you an offer of her accounting services.

Spreadsheets. Meetings. Jargon.

She charges 100 cans of Friskies turkey shreds with cheese but don’t worry, she’ll just pull it out of your return. How convenient!

x 100

In other news, we had a very, very exciting visitor re-enter our lives this week. I know what you’re thinking: Richard? Slice? John Kerry the Winning Cat? None of the above! Unfortunately, Ralph and Weaz haven’t made as many friends as they had in Greenville (and, uh, Stew and I haven’t either).

But Ralph does have one tried and true friendship that was put to the test back in October when I, uh, lost him…

Federico!

Stew bought Federico for Ralph sometime last year, I guess. She and Weaz never take interest in toys (unless they’re bathed in catnip) but for some reason Ralph took a liking to Feddy the ferret. She fell into a depression and wouldn’t eat when he went missing last year but he came back pretty quickly. Then, about six months ago he mysteriously disappeared again. The horror!

You know where he’s been for six months? In a lululemon bag. In my closet. What? I can only assume Weaz put him in there. She’s the one who gets in bags. At any rate…

Reunited

And it feels so good

Weaz is only mildly interested in Federico.

Mmmeh

Because she was too busy doing this:

Eehhhhhgg

Ralph!

Happy gorgeous Caturday. Let’s make this quick so I spend every second of the day outside…

Look who it is! A Ralph! It’s rare that I “feature” Ralph on the “cover” of Caturday (who would buy this if it were in print?? EVERYONE) because it’s near impossible to capture a decent photo of her. She’s always doing this:

Oh HEY. You're taking a picture? PET ME

This one is pretty glorious:

The majestic Ralph moved delicately across the floor.

Finally a winner:

Ralphiiiie

Weaz, as we all know, is a much easier photo target. She’s always… everywhere. Staring blankly.

Here I am. I pooped in yer toilet.

Me again. Just watchin you sleep.

Want a cuddle?

Found yer weights!

She’s not always this easy to find though. And when I can’t find her… watch out. It’s panic mode times a billion. Like, the kind of panic mode where I frantically dig through the dryer to make sure she’s not in there.

But usually it just ends like this:

Oh dear sweet Jesus WHERE IS WEAZ

Oh.

I hope you didn't want this to never have hair on it...

It’s hangover central at Caturday headquarters. Weaz had one too many tequilas and things got a little out of hand…

Craaaaaazy bag time.

She was jealous of Stew’s tattoo…

I want one.

So she got a Stew-too of her own.

Also this.

Always the voice of reason, Ralph tried to get her alcoholic kitten under control.

And stay in there.

Don't come in. Weaz is puking.

And she was. She puked right into the sink…

Pleh.

Sigh.

Today she feels like this:

I need hashbrowns.

And has this to say:

You know who’s never ashamed of anything?

This guy.

Shmeeeeeee

But you know who is very ashamed of everything? This hilarious guilty dog. If you haven’t seen that video, WATCH IT MOM.

Preview.

If you’d like to support Weaz’s drunken ways, you can get one of these:

Viva la Weeeeeaz

Except you can’t really because they don’t exist. But they might if the people demand it.

Ralllllph

Happy Caturday to all. We have had a pretty uneventful week over here. I ignored life as I know it, bailed on most of my responsibilities and didn’t even manage to take many cat pictures in my “free” time.

Photograph me.

She’s not supposed to be on the table, you know. But I just don’t have the heart to spray her in the face with the water bottle. That’s Stew’s job.

Pets are hard… training them and cleaning up poops and whatnot. I had this epiphany the other night as I was pulling up to my house… It was that I am in no way at all ready for children at all because as I was parking I was thinking, “Please don’t let the animals bother me the second I walk in the door.” I knew this wish was futile and, sure enough, there they were sitting so close to do the door I couldn’t even open it. Just like always.

The cats are definitely the best adult decision I have made to date (I don’t make a lot of decisions, you see) and they bring me more joy than most humans I know. But sometimes… I just want Weaz to not yell at me when I come home. Is that so much to ask?

Oh hi. I was waiting for you so I can meow incessantly.

When I got home that night I realized I didn’t want the animals to bother me, they bothered me more than ever. They literally stood within three feet of me the entire night. To my right…

Pay attention to me.

To my left…

PAY ATTENTION TO ME.

Ralph is a bit less needy on the independent-to-clingy-as-hell spectrum. Ralph and I have this mutual respect for each other’s time and energy (until she realizes she wants to go outside). Weaz… not so much. But I suppose that just as much as she meows and clings to me and really just won’t EVER shut the hell up, I am constantly petting her, scooping her up and rubbing my face in her stomach (what? I don’t do that).

So while the battle to be more annoying rages on with my pets, Stew has adopted a 10-year-old dog with built-in annoyance control that just sleeps all day.

Aw.

He does, however, pee without warning. Like an old man. We’ll get him Depends…

Yes.

WHERE IS MY MOM

Happy Caturday! I’m pre-posting this on 3/10 before I even leave for Nicaragua, but right now at this very second in time as you read this, I should be en route to the great US of A–likely somewhere in the air between Managua and Miami. I love traveling, yes. But is anything better than the customs agent saying, “Welcome home” when you get back to the States? I certainly don’t think so.

In order to pre-post all the greatness that is Caturday, I have kept a running file full of pictures on my desktop:

CATS. Perfectly normal.

So without further adieu…

Sittin in the window. Yer doin it wrong.

That's better.

Good day, Mr. Stewart. I made you pancakes.

PLACE THAT TINY PANCAKE WITHIN MY REACH

Doopey dooo

And, of course, some Waldo…

Emo Waldo

Happy Waldo

Cool Waldo

Waldo.

That’s it for me posting from the past/future/what(?)! I’ll be back on American soil and in my own bed by midnight tonight. And hopefully into a shower somewhere in between those two events.

Ralph & Weaz's "Special" Cat Treats

When Ralph and Weaz told me they wanted to offer up some “special” cat treats for the bake sale, I jumped at the opportunity. After all, they are the primary traffic drive to this little corner of the internet and I figured they’d bring in some hefty bids.

As you know, things went according to plan, bids flooded in, the trip was financed and here I am. Unfortunately, Ralph and Weaz neglected to mention that they had never actually made their special treats, that they didn’t have a recipe for their special treats and that mostly they just wanted me to have to buy catnip so they could have the leftovers.

So the responsibility fell to me (of course). I scoured the web for “vegetarian cat treat recipes,” of which there is ONE. That one was not to my liking so I tweaked it and now we present this:

Ralph & Weaz’s Vegetarian Catnip Treats

1 c wheat flour
1/4 c chickpea flour
1 Tbsp catnip
1 egg
1/3 c milk (or milk alternate)
2 Tbsp wheat germ
1 Tbsp molasses
1 Tbsp oil

Mix everything together. Spread it out on a parchment-lined baking sheet. Bake on 350 for about 12-15 minutes. It will be like a big flatbread cracker. Take it out of the oven and cut it into bite-size pieces (or shapes of choice) and return to the oven for another 8 minutes or so until crunchy.

Vegetarian cat treats

Store in an airtight container with an extra teaspoon of loose catnip for good measure.

Good day, Weaz.

Happy Caturday from ATL! I insist on at least catching the vows at my good friend’s wedding so I’m compounding the stress of my Nicaragua trip by tacking on an extra 1o-hour roundtrip adventure to Atlanta. We’ll be there barely 24 hours. Good work, Katie.

Ralph and Weaz are pissed, of course.

I can't even look at you

Your soul, I crush it

You need zis book? Sorry.

I will miss my nightly family dinners with these two and Stew:

Maaahaha

But I shall return with many tales to tell around the table.

Waldo remains unmoved by my departure:

Weeeee. PET ME

And he’ll be going on a roadtrip with Stew:

Sitting: You're doing it wrong.

Ralph and Weaz will also be holding down the blog while I’m gone. Here’s hoping the censor themselves…

Haaaaha, in the guestbook at Amelie's...

Weaz will eat your soul

I can’t believe it’s taken me a year and a half of Caturday posts to realize it has the word turd right in the middle of it. How very fitting.

Ralph and Weaz would like to thank everyone who bid on their “special” catnip-laced treats in the Thursday’s bake sale. Paige, I hope you’re ready for what’s to come…

Best.ever.

Unfortunately, the little turds waited until last night to tell me they don’t really know how to make the treats they auctioned off. So it looks like that duty will fall to me. Also, I cannot tell you how hard (and how long) I laughed when Stew sent me the picture above for the bake sale. I’d emailed him the original asking: “Can you put some chef hats on these fools?” And that’s what I got back. So funny.

Notice how Ralph is a hefty 10 pounds heavier by now? She was post-partum (and post-surgery) depressed in that picture…

Now she's fat, happy and eats at the table

Don’t worry, Weaz gets her share of food, too…

Izzat... broccoree??

Weaz’s favorite food is definitely bread. My roommate Lindsay and I used to find wee little baby Weaz tooth punctures in our bread bags if we left them on the counter.

And just in case anyone thinks I’m a little too crazy about cats, a person who did this exists:

(Plural)

Someone loves their cats so much they felt it necessary to add an “S” to the image of a single cat to make it plural. I hope someone in Charlotte knows whose van this is because I would like to meet this person.

PS – Have you seen the Fancy Feast Engagement Commercial? It takes crazy to a whole new level…

Heeeeere's Waldo

Weaznugget

Happy Caturday to all and to all a good morning. I started my day bright dark and early at 3 freaking AM. I was awakened by the sound of one cat (who shall not remain nameless WEAZ) yacking up a hairball next to my bed. Thank you for that, Weaz. My sleep pattern tends to be: once I’m up, I’m up. So… I was up.

I busied myself with Internet things and before I knew it it was time for superflow. How very convenient. Since Ralph and Weaz like to be alllll up in my shit every second, they supervised my teeth brushing.

Very good. Small circular motions.

Molars. Brush the molars.

The cats have been going about their normal cat lives while poor Waldo is jumping through hoops to impress them:

I can do this?

So can a bookshelf.

Keep your distance, dragon beast!

Don’t worry about Waldo, though. He gets puh-lenty of attention from Stew.

Exhibit A

Exhibit B

Ridiculous.

ALSO ridiculous… Weasel. Just in general. Behold:

Why?

Why??

WHYYY

I’m off to go see what crevices Weaz is stuck in today. And then, God willing, I will take a nap.

It's window season

The cats are too busy sitting in open windows to have their pictures taken, so this week’s Caturday is brought to you by Waldo:

Waldooo

He's embarrassed by all the attention

Embarrassed who?

This is how he spends 90% of his days.

Just kidding. Like I’d post a Caturday without cat pictures. I know what you’re here for:

Weeeeaz

Ralphito

I refer to all of the animals by their “term of endearment” Spanish names: Waldito, Weazita, Ralphito. I realize Ralph’s should be an A because she is, in fact, a girl. But I like the way Ralphito sounds better. Also, in my cat voice it sounds more like Roofito. It’s fine.

With love, Weaz

Happy Almost-Valentine’s-Day Caturday! Valentine’s Day is actually one of my favorite holidays despite a rather dramatic display of immaturity on twitter last week:

Not true

I was just grumpy. Forgive me, Valentine’s Day, for you are among my most favorite days all year. I don’t know why I like it so much, but since childhood it’s been right up there with Halloween. Probably because my mom is really good at holidays and also because I like the mandatory universal kindness instated in elementary school classrooms where every single child gets the same number of valentines in their doily- and heart-adorned shoeboxes-turned-mailboxes. Was decorating your Valentine shoebox not the greatest class period of the year? (Second only to the Halloween party, obviously, which I’m told they no longer do in public schools.)

All this to say, I do like this holiday. And I can tell the cats do, too, because they’re behaving strangely.

Making progress

Ralph got this close to Waldo earlier in the week. Progress! Last night someone asked me if I like having a dog and I said yes BUT it stresses me out that I’m stressing the cats out. Can’t we all just get along?

Nope.

Weaz isn’t so good at Valentine’s day. She’s greedy and wants all the cards for herself…

Be MINE.

She does keep asking me to be her Valentine, though…

How 'bout now?

And tried to deliver herself as a gift.

I'm yours?

Sorry, Weaz. I’m taken. Maybe Waldo will be your Valentine?

Hey, behbeh.

Love meeeee

Oh sorry, it would appear Waldo is taken, too.

Not staged.

My mom has this awesome tradition of giving us clothes on Valentine’s Day. It’s just far enough away from Christmas to warrant some new things and close enough to spring to make those things cute and un-wintery.

H&M tanktop and skirt

H&M dress, Kohl's belt

Ralph, Weaz, Katie, Stew and Waldo

Weaz is giving me the stink eye

Oh woe is me. I got drunk as a skunk last night and I don’t even get to wake up to a cat at my feet.

You did WHAT

I was surprised too, Ralph. I can safely say that I haven’t been that drunk in… years. Years. It’s also the only time some poor fool has picked up our $160 tab. Aaaahaha.

Disapproving Ralph.

I used to have respect for you.

This weekend was an excellent idea, but it is definitely lacking some animals. (Although we did see a FRIGGING BEAR last night.) Good thing I had a photo shoot with our zoo before leaving.

Ralph looks amazing like this

Weaz can't touch my lint-rolled coat

Waldooooo

Speaking of Waldo, he’s our dog now. Stew’s dog, I guess. Our dog, yes.

Old man Waldo

I hesitate to call him mine because two things that are mine don’t quite approve…

Plotting

So I have to choose my words wisely. Because Ralph and Weaz read this. Obviously. And how could I betray this little face?

Awwww

We’re off to do nothiiiiiing. I’m not even hungover! Best.night.ever.

It's litter box time

You know when you’ve known someone long enough that it suddenly becomes ok to talk about poop? Yeah, me neither. But I do feel like I’ve known you all long enough to talk about Ralph and Weaz’s poop(s). I know a picture of La Weaz in her litter box may not be the most appetizing addition to the front page of a food blog, but I put that “Etc.” at the end of my tagline for precisely this reason: so I am free to talk about cat poop if I want to.

Here’s the thing… I share a bathroom with Ralph and Weaz. You might think this to not be such a punishment for me, especially if you are forced to keep your litter box out in open space, like the living room. (I used to have two–count ‘em, TWO–behind my COUCH. I feel for you. I do.) But I promise you it is terrible.

I love my cats. Don’t get me wrong.

See?

We match.

But because of these two, when I’m in the bathroom, the one place I’m supposed to feel clean, I really just feel like I’m covered in a light film of litterbox dust. Mmmm. And the smell? These tiny creatures drop BOMBS.

Who me?

YES YOU WEASEL.

And Ralph. Sweet LORD, Ralph can clear a room. Kill off plant life. Knock a grown man to his knees (his name is Stew). It’s awful.

So the point of this whole poopy story is that I spent like two hours last weekend researching the Cat Genie--God’s gift to the cat owners everywhere. Or so I thought.

Cat Genie

This self-cleaning, poop-flushing wonder box sounds like a dream come true, but in reading about a billion reviews, I found that the people who like it just like it but the people who don’t like it HATE it. Maybe the haters are just more vocal, but that’s a red flag to me.

So here’s my question: Do you have  a Cat Genie and was it the best purchase of your whole life? Alternatively, do you have a Cat Genie and have you had to clean out the clogged tubes yet, thus making it the WORST purchase of your life?

I must know. I know that even with this $300 investment I’d still be sharing a bathroom with cats, but their poops would now be handled by a robotic arm that sweeps through after the motion sensor goes off, tosses it into a side bin that is then flushed with water and deposited into your own sewage system by way of intricate tube design. The box itself is then filled and drained three times with water and finally a sanitizing solution and then dried and ready to accept another bomb. Sounds pretty good to me.

In dog news (yes, still dog news): Waldo is still here.

Here I am

He’s kind of like that house guest who’s like: “Oh hey yeah, can I crash on the couch for  couple nights?” And you’re like: “Yes, of course.” And he’s like: “Perfect.” And then he never leaves? And makes no effort to find another home? Or a job? Or a food that isn’t Doritos to eat? I made this hypothetical character up. But you know what I’m saying.

At any rate, Waldo is still here.

Yep.

Dogwatch

You know your life has taken a sharp turn into Lamesville when you spend your Friday nights pre-posting Caturday so that your Ralph and Weaz’s doting fans don’t have to wait until you get back from yoga to catch up on their weekly shenanigans. Also so your mom won’t text and ask if you’re still alive because Caturday isn’t up at 8am sharp.

So here I am… on a Friday night… in bed… with two cats… reading Snooki’s book. I know there’s something painfully wrong with one who writes (and would like to write a book at some point in her life) reading (and enjoying) a book “written” by a feisty little meatball. Stop judging me. Everyone knows she didn’t write it.

I judge you very much.

Ralph is one judge-y mother… Weaz, however, can’t say anything about my love of Snooks because she loves someone else eeeeeven more:

Mmmm his hair smells like puberty

[Bieber Fever brought to you courtesy of Adam, who bought me that doll for Christmas.]

Oh, I almost forgot… Waldo is still here.

Yes

But he leaves this week.

No

At least we will always have this picture of him etched in our memories…

Aaaaahahaha

Something is amiss...

All is not well this week at Caturday headquarters. An impostor is among us:

Not a cat!

Though Waldo is doing everything in his doggy power to fit in here with a raging cat lady and her two (starter) cats, I know at least two of us are not fooled:

Keep your distance, dragon beast.

Ralph and Weaz are spending their days as high up as they can get so they can keep an eye on the dragon below.

Hello

Oh. Hey.

I don’t know why they think he’s a dragon. And to explain how I know it’s clearly me saying it but that it’s in the voices, language and personalities (completely separate from my own) that I created for them would lead far too many to conclude that I suffer not only from catladyosis, but from dissociative identity disorder, as well. I know I’m not the only one who has a voice for my pets, but I am probably the only one who speaks in it 90% of the time and makes it damn convincing. We had an exchange this week that went something like this:

Stew (to Ralph): Hey Ralph, how was your day?

Me (as Ralph): Ohhh you know.

Stew: [Affirmative nod]

Silence

Stew: Sometimes when you answer as Ralph, I really think it’s Ralph.

It is, fool! [I also made this video that won't convince ANYONE I'm sane... Cats in Snow]

I’ve been impressed with the cats’ reaction to Waldo so far. They’re by no means cordial hostesses, but they haven’t been overly aggressive or overly timid. Weaz is VERY intrigued by the new dragon in the house, but not enough to really get close to him. She likes to sit about three feet away and stare a hole through his soul. Ralph just keeps her distance.

Both have gotten outrageously clingy whenever I come around.

We saved you a seat.

But mostly they’ve just been sleeping it out… kind of like waiting it out but with sleeping instead of waiting.

Oh Ralph

Viva la Weaz

When we wake up, he’ll be gone.

Except maybe he won’t. Because we totally love him. Waldo truly breaks my heart and is as strong a case as I’ve ever seen against euthanizing shelter animals. I teared up tonight just looking at him.

This poor, sweet creature has had a terrible life. His face, throat, chest and legs are covered in scars. His big, dangly Basset-esque ears are jagged at the ends from being hacked (or bitten?) off. He can barely see, barely hear and walks with a limp. He’s horrendously overweight and his teeth are rotted away. And whoever treated him so poorly decided to put him through it for a miserable 10 years before abandoning him at a shelter where he would obviously be killed.

The world has not been kind to old Waldo, and yet… His tail still wags. His eyes still shine. And he is as trusting of and loyal to two strangers who met him 48 hours ago as he probably would be to the dickwad that abused him for so long. That’s probably the saddest thing to me: That despite a life of mistreatment, Waldo still has faith in humans at all.

He doesn’t owe anyone that kind of enduring loyalty, and yet, he has held on to some shred of hope that someone will return the favor one of these days.

Woe is Weasel

Happy Caturday! The cats were devastated to hear that I’ll be returning to my regularly scheduled ridiculous life of classes and work (minus one job) on Monday and we’ll no longer be able to spend day after day lazing around in the bed.

Ralph swimming through blankets

At first I was stressed out by my lack of things to do with all this time off (I’m not good at “relaxing”), but after about two weeks of driving myself crazy trying to come up with productive things to do, I settled on a life of reading in bed and watching TV… with cats.

I dus yuv zis show.

When we weren’t being utterly worthless, we were eating.

Pass me some a dat.

And drinking…

What uh zis sing?

You’re welcome for the cat voice captions. The written word simply does not do it justice, but only a select few are allowed to hear it. Sorry.

We discovered lots of glorious things in our reading/TV-watching adventures. We read Plenty, On a Dollar a Day and Heaven is for Real, all of which are good, quick reads that’ll make you think whether you want to or not. Our TV selection is not so noble. If you are not familiar with the Hanukkah Fever, perhaps you should watch this and then just TRY to tell me that Ralph doesn’t look like the angry newscaster at 1:11…

Angry Ralph

Angry newscaster

Something tells me they’ll carry on this life of TV and sleeping without even noticing I’m gone.

Yes

Absolutely.

Barney

New year, new cats!

Lies. If I have my way there won’t be a year without Ralph and Weaz until I’m at least 40. But this post may lack their presence since I’ve been using my phone to document their every hilarious move, and it is broken and won’t email the files to me. So here’s hoping my brother is actually feeding them while I’m away this weekend. I need them around for next week… and the rest of my life.

As promised, here’s a rundown of the cats out at Sandwich’s place:

The Cracker Barrel Cat

Gigi

We found Gigi in a Cracker Barrel parking lot on our way back from who knows where, perhaps during a college spring or fall break. Unable to leave the little nugget there to die and/or eat Cracker Barrel (one in the same), we drove her back to campus and I smuggled her into our NO PETS ALLOWED dorm room.

Because the pet fines had just been raised significantly and because the little nugget would NOT stop meowing, I felt like I had no choice but to take her to the humane society. Not five minutes after I got back from dropping her off, I got word from Sandwich that her parents were willing to adopt the cat. She and another one of our friends had to lie, cheat and steal their way through the humane society to get the cat back without paying.

Success!

The first morning here, Gigi decided to bolt outside when I was coming in from taking pictures. I sprinted after her in a dramatic display of sheer PANIC and tackled her behind the house. When I relayed the heart-stopping tale to Sandwich an hour later, she looked at me, looked down at the cat and then let her out. She’s indoor-outdoor. Very good. Of course.

The Twin Cats

Juno and Barney

Sandwich’s mom found Barney as a wee little rat of a kitten and actually thought he was a rat. He is named after the place he was found, the barn. His mom, Juno, looks just like him but… doesn’t have balls. They live outside (and I actually know that) so I haven’t had any dramatic chases with them yet.

The One-Eyed Cat (AKA My Favorite)

Hermione

I will absolutely not pick a favorite out my own cats. But when presented with a collection of other people’s cats, one of them handicapped, I think you know who will pull ahead of the pack and melt my “special”-cat-loving heart.

Yaaaaaaar

Hermione was found with her eyeball dangling out of the socket after a run in with a creature we can only assume to be pure evil. Luckily, Sandwich’s mom found her, took her to vet, fixed her up and now she’s good as new better.

In addition to lacking one eyeball, she also has a bit of a harelip and I think her hearing is not so good. I will steal her when I leave.

Finally, because my pictures of Ralph and Weaz have STILL not come through, I present Steff’s cats doing things Ralph and Weaz would never do:

Jenga and Ella

Being friends.

And since even now there’s STILL no sign of my Ralph and Weaz pictures, here’s a little cat I found when I was 19 that looks like Weaz:

Furman rose garden cat

Also this because we can’t start the year without them:

Hooray!

Merry Cat-mas! From Ralph and Weaz, with love

Merry Christmas Caturday from the frigid north! Our yard looks a little something like this right now:

SNOW

Don’t worry. Ralph and Weaz are toasty warm down in South Carolina. Though I hear they’re about to get hit with about 4 inches sometime today… Of course we finally get snow after we leave.

My Christmas Grinch heart grows three sizes and then shatters into a million pieces every year when I have to leave the cats alone for the week. Well, not alone. Who do you think I am? Jen and Brittney are holding down the fort as the resident cat ladies, which I appreciate sooo much more than they know. Leaving pets is the worst.

They tried to convince me to bring them.

I is a present?

BUT I LOOK CUTE

And SOMEBODY even stowed away, but I found her.

Nuffing to see here.

But I don’t think they mind having me out of the house.

We don't.

Nah.

Because, after all, Christmas is kind of a busy time for them.

Santa Weaz

Santa Ralph

Shhh. Don’t tell them I told their secret. And do NOT tell your cats the truth about Santa. They’ll be crushed.

Merry Christmas!

Beautiful Ralph

Hello and happy caturday to all and to all a good… morning. As you may know, I am in the midst of a 25 Days of Yoga fundraiser for The Water Project. A mere $20 from my fundraising goal today, I turned to the real stars of this blog…

Ralph and Weaz in:

Generosity Thrilled the Cat(s)

There once were two cats who lived a nauseatingly comfortable life filled with cozy, womb-like sleeping quarters and toys galore.

Sleepy Weaz

TOYS

In between gazing lazily out the window for the 14th hour yesterday and watching the toilet flush (where does it go??), it hit them:

In a world of suffering, why should we be so blessed?

[Brett Dennen lyric shout out, heeeeeeey.]

So they decided they could make a difference.

We CAN make a difference

And enlisted the help of their friend Oscar to raise money for The Water Project so that people everywhere could enjoy watching the toilet flush (but mostly so they could have fresh drinking water).

But as it turns out, raising money is hard for a cat…

No money in here, guys!

Nope! Still nothin'!

Nothing up here either! This is hard!

And then it hit them…

According to this, humans have 100% more money than cats.

That’s it! they realized. And Weaz set out to do what she does best: Annoy people until they cave.

Sorry, no puffy vest until you donate.

No donation, no sleep.

I'm watching you.

And what do humans love more than anything in the world? If Weasel has learned one thing in her life, it’s that coming between a human and a computer is the only way to make a breakthrough…

No computer until you donate.

Yeah! Just try to move me.

And if you do manage to wrestle it away from them, they will not let up…

Have you donated today?

Excuse me? Hello... Donation??

And if all else fails, brutal cuteness usually does the trick…

Can't you pwease help us?

So if you’d like to help Ralph and Weaz raise the remaining $20 for The Water Project, head on over to my fundraising page. (If you have to enter an email address and are concerned about junk mail or future solicitations, please feel free to enter sweettaterblog@gmail.com.)

Thanks to the cats for letting me exploit them and especially to our guest star:

Oscar

Want you cat on Caturday? Email pictures to sweettaterblog@gmail.com, subject: CATURDAY.

Good work, Ralph.

Happy Caturday! Did you notice today is 12/11/10? I only did because I typed 10/11/10 into the title and thought, ” Aw maaaan, I missed 10/10/10.” But then I realized it’s not October. I’d like to start by saying that this week I was made aware that this exists: Cat Workout. That is all.

Aaaaalso, sometimes I get the feeling La Weaz gets all the attention on Caturday, so here’s a tribute to all the hard work Ralph puts in each day as a cat.

Like Tim Gunn, she critiques all of my outfits… even Halloween costumes.

Make it work.

She guards the house…

Mostly I just want dinner.

And she warms the bed…

I'm just sleeping. Do not disturb.

What about me?

Look what I tan do!

I tan wead. What zis say?

So you see? Cats aren’t just animals that walk around your house. They do things all the time…

Look at Katy’s Samson using his body to make sure the back of the couch is level.

Exactly.

And making his rounds on Christmas Eve.

All in a night's work

Samantha’s cat folds laundry…

And keeps it toasty warm.

Hannah’s Jack and Charlie are just awesome.

This

NEVER

happened!

THIS NEVER HAPPENED

In closing, Stew’s grandpa sent me this delightful cat vs. bird video and Ralph is going nuts trying to figure out where the chirping bird is…

I am special!

Happy frigid Caturday! I don’t know about your house, but catsicle season is well under way here at Caturday headquarters. (Yes, my cats drink out of a glass next to the TV. Don’t hate.)

Weaz looks like this when it gets cold:

Catsicle

But this post isn’t about the cats being cold. This post is about their drug habit.

Let's go to Taco Bell

Earlier this week they broke out their stash (two tiny catnip toys that have to be almost two years old at this point) and got high as kites.

CATNIP CATNIP CATNIP

CATNIIIIIIIIIIIIIIP

I guess catnip never goes bad. [Unlike McDonald's, which I was informed a billion times of yesterday when I shared a photo of it not rotting.] And I guess you’re surprised to see that Ralph and Weaz aren’t the standup citizens you see portrayed here on Caturday. This is just what happens when cats reach internet stardom at a young age. Things go downhill by age two. Hugs not drugs, y’all. Hugs not drugs.

My name is Ralphie and I disapprove of this message.

While Ralph and Weaz were out getting blitzed (do you say that about drugs?) their new internet friends were out doing respectable cat things:

Molly’s Gracie-Lou (best name ever) volunteered to mentor (torment-or?) at-risk youth dogs…

Bad dog

Turned good dog. Success. (Gracie-Lou and Liberty)

Lily’s Link is a devoted environmentalist who does volunteer water safety checks and teaches us how to conserve water…

ALL CLEAR

No water for you

Amelia’s Jerry wraps presents for homeless shelter kittens and fosters orphaned stuffed animals…

Every kitten should have a toy on Christmas

So much love to give

He also put his good looks toward a good cause by modeling for a calendar and donating the funds to charity.

Lookin good, Jer!

Thanks to those who shared photos! You can send yours along to sweettaterblog@gmail.com, subject: CATURDAY to be featured.

Caturday Fever!

Hello and happy post-Black-Friday Caturday! Did you survive yesterday’s shopping? We did not partake, but we did go see “Unstoppable,” which (in case you hadn’t guessed) is pretty unbearable.

Katie sent me a picture of her cat enjoying Caturday a few weeks ago. This brought me great joy so I decided to extend an offer:

CALL FOR CATS

Is your cat hilarious?

Do you have a camera?

Do you want your cat featured on Caturday?

Send a photo to sweettaterblog@gmail.com with CATURDAY in the subject

Include your cat’s name and a link to your blog if you’ve got one

I’ll feature a few in Caturday each week

Weasel is ready to review your submissions

Speaking of La Weaz, this little rodent knows she’s not supposed to get on the counters, but since unlike Stew I have a functioning heart and simply cannot spray her idiotic little face with water when she does it (this is our method of training), she just never learns.

What she has learned, however, is that what I don’t like are her little litter box paws touching the counter/table.

So this is fine then?

How about this?

This little game of hers has led her to sit on top of the cabinets, which has led her to getting stuck up there and crying.

I REGRET MY DECISION

All the while Ralph is moseying around on the floor where she can patrol for penguins…

This isn't over, penguin.

After all, penguins can’t fly and Ralphies can’t jump.

I am perfectly agile.

(She’s not.)

In other news, last night Stew and I watched Milo and Otis (because this is what all 20-somethings do on Friday nights, right?)

Milo and Otis

I bet I probably watched this movie at least once a week when I was growing up–this and Ol’ Yeller, of course. But last night it didn’t bring me nearly as much joy because it seemed to me that many of the scenes were straight up abusive to the animals. Having a pug fight a bear in water? Throwing a kitten off a cliff? Trust me, this was before CGI….

Sure enough, a little Wikipedia investigation reveals that the movie’s release was followed by a number of alleged animal cruelty charges. The film was endorsed by the American Humane Society (though they had no officers on site when it was created) and a number of Japanese Humane Societies support it as well (it’s a Japanese movie). But I’m not buying it. Milo and Otis has lost its childhood innocence. Maybe I should watch Ol’ Yeller again and cry myself to sleep…

Homeless Weaz

Happy week-of-Thanksgiving Caturday! This week the cats are thankful for their home (but most of the time they’re just thankful for food).

Once upon a time, Ralph lived on the street.

It was a hard knock life

It was 2008 and the housing market had plummeted into a bottomless pit of despair. Homes were foreclosing like crazy, but as a recent college grad and renter I felt relatively unmoved by the situation. So long as I waitressed and paid my rent, the real estate crash wouldn’t touch my life.

Little did I know that a persistent little black cat with the rotund belly of a donkey would come wandering into my life and that she would be a product of that housing disaster.

Word.

You see, one part of the housing crisis that got little news coverage (and I’m not saying it should’ve gotten more considering the focus was on the families and children that suddenly found themselves homeless, hungry, etc.) were the stories of countless pets abandoned by their families when their homes foreclosed. Think about it. You just lost your home. Do you have money for pet food? Vet bills? Even food for yourself?

I’m not saying it’s ok, but I’m saying I understand why so many people did it. In fact, before Ralph wandered up with her frayed yellow collar and belly full of babies, I had also taken in a pregnant dog. The security guard at the teen pregnancy center across the street had been feeding her and told me a family down the street left her when they lost their home.

Marley!

I named her Marley and quickly found her a forever home with my neighbor.

When Ralph came around later in the summer, that security guard gave me the same story–house gone, family destitute, pet abandoned.

My little sister was living with me at the time and was adamant that I should keep the cat. I wasn’t so sure since my rental didn’t allow pets and my mom always said wait to get a pet until you’re ready for the commitment. You see, my family treats animals like children. Unless I was ready for a child, I was not ready for Ralph.

But Ralph was ready for me and she wasn’t going to let it go. She weaseled her way into my yard, onto my back porch, into the house and eventually into my life forever because she was persistent.

We fed her chicken nuggets (my sister’s, obviously) and took off her yellow collar. If she had a home and was just visiting us during the day, they’d notice her collar fell off and put a new one on. No collar appeared.

And then we realized she wasn’t just fat… she was pregnant. Great. What am i supposed to do with a pregnant cat that’s not mine?

I found this out the hard way on a weekday afternoon when I had convinced my sister to drive down to Atlanta to audition to be a bachelorette on The Bachelor. (This was pre-Stew.) Yes. I am embarrassed.

Leaving the house decked out in our little black dresses, we found Ralph sprawled out on the driveway writhing in pain. She was in labor.

“It’s not my cat,” I thought. “She’ll be fine. Street cats have babies all the time.”

I got in the car. I put it in reverse. I looked at Ralph. I put it in reverse. I looked at Ralph. I put it in park again. This went on for a brief minute and before I knew it I was out of the car, scooping Ralph into a laundry basket and calling the nearest vet begging them not to close before 5pm.

We got Ralph to the vet. They were annoyed to stay open past close. They gave her a hormone shot to speed up the labor process and sent me on my way. I couldn’t take her home because my landlord was showing the house and pets weren’t allowed. We drove to my friends’ apartment. She had one baby in my lap. Still in my little black bachelorette dress.

“Ohhhh my Jesus,” I’m thinking.

The rest is history. We got to my friends’ place where she had three more babies. When we thought it was all over we went back home and settled in to watch TV. When I went to check on Ralph and the four babies… there were five.

Weasel reporting for duty

I’m taking some liberties with the story here. I don’t know if Weasel really was the final surprise baby. But she was definitely the runt of the litter.

Baby Weaz

I will own your soul

I found homes for the babies with four of my coworkers. (Stew was just a coworker then and even took one – she lives with his parents now.) I already knew I was keeping Ralph. We’d been through too much. When something gives birth in your lap, it’s pretty much over. You are connected for life.

But whenever someone showed interest in Weaz, I told them I might be keeping her while simultaneously screaming in my head, “What are you thinking??”

Thinking you're about to be a cat lady, that's what

So that’s the story of how Ralph and Weaz went from homeless street cats to…

Eating at the table and...

Sleeping on expensive pillows

So this Thanksgiving when you’re thinking about all the things you’re grateful for, don’t forget about your pets. They’ve probably enriched your lives exponentially, yes, but you have no idea (especially if you rescued them) just how much you’ve improved theirs.

If you’re in the Charlotte area and in the market for a pet, check out this group’s mission to rescue dogs from high-kill shelters. Or locate your local humane society and rescue one yourself.

Weazita y los Banditos

Waking up at 4:55am on a Saturday because your nagging to-do list penetrated three levels of dreamery straight through your subconscious and into your waking awareness is totally normal. I hate my job. You know what else is normal? Speaking to your cats en espanol.

My four years (eight if you count high school) of Spanish study have never been more pertinent than they are today, as I’ve shifted towards a perfectly unstable bilingual dialogue with… las gatas. Good thing they’ve also decided to start a mariachi band: Weazita y los Banditos. Los Banditos currently consist of… Ralph. But she’s confident she can recruit her friend John Kerry (which is the real name of a real cat that lived next door in our first apartment) to play guitar.

Weaz on vocals... LA LA LAAAAA

Some say Ralph and Weaz don’t have what it takes to make it in the Spanish-language music market.

Si se pueden!

But Weaz is hopeful. In fact, both cats have become rather demanding and lazy in light of their impending stardom.

Ay, las drogas.

Dame los crujientes! Yo soy una estrella.

See you on the Billboard charts.

Catsitter

Since I can’t trust my brother to adequately care for the cats as I would, I left them with this penguin to hold down the fort.

Who are you?

Ralph is furious.

I can take care of myself!

Weaz has no idea what’s happening. Ever.

Mmmeh?

Also, Stew would like to point out that this is what I look like when I’m on the computer…

Death to all things.

And this is what I look like writing Caturday…

ohmygod CATS

Happy Caturdayoween!

Happy Caturdayoween!

I EAT HALLOWEEN FOR BREAKFAST

SUH-LURP

That’s cool, Ralph. I ate a chocolate pumpkin smoothie.

Because it's festive

See?

But you want cats and cats you shall receive…

NNNYEEEAROW SUPER RALPH

Does Ralph or does Ralph not look exactly like Toothless from How to Train Your Dragon?

Does.

How about now?

Because I know you’re all curious… the cats will not be dressing up this year. Or any year, really. My desire is as strong as yours to see Weaz dress as…

a terrorist

Or Ralph dressed as…

her idol Hello Kitty

But I break out in hives at the thought of trying to get them into these get ups. The whole pet-in-costume thing is far more stressful for me than it is the animals. Therefore, my pets do not partake.

I did manage to get both of them into a little jersey two years ago. This lasted about 10 seconds each because I was hyperventilating.

Put me in coach

I'm ready to pray

I know you don’t believe that that’s Ralph but believe it. Keep in mind she was a street cat when I took her in and we didn’t know right away that her gut was only dragging the ground because it was full of five babies and not because she was a little chunk. After she had the babies she was very emaciated. Rest assured she’s now fat, happy and much fuzzier. I don’t know where the hell all the hair came from. On her initial vet visit we classified her as a short hair. You know what she looks like now. No explanation.

What about me?

What about Weaz indeed. She can have Halloween fun without a costume…

I'm a cow. Duh.

Toothless the Night Fury

So we’re off to trick-or-treat.

Give us sumfing good to EET!

I be brogging.

Happy Almost-Halloween-Caturday! It’s the most wonderful time of the year. But you know what’s sad? I still don’t have a costume OR any good ideas for one. In exchange for your help, I can offer pictures of cats. Seriously, send me your ideas. Thanks in advance… CATS

Do be tweeteeng. Forrow me.

Ralph and Weaz were very excited for The Lady to arrive this week. Truly. I can’t tell if they could tell I was excited (waiting on the doorstep could have given them this impression), but they totally knew something was up and were waiting anxiously .

Is she here??

She can't wait to pet me.

I stayed up late-ish last night working on a freelance piece. People say cats don’t have schedules, but they haven’t met THESE cats. They go to bed with me every night (and wake me up daily), but if I’m not ready for bed they don’t wait around for me.

Early cat gets the bed

Yes, that's a giant peacock back there.

And this is how they feel when I wake them up:

DEATH.

With Weasel being particularly offended:

Tonight... you die.

Not sure when to disturb a cat? This how to pet a cat guide Brittney sent me will give you an idea…

Hey guys.

Happy coooold Caturday! I have zero intention of turning the heat on any time soon because it’ll just be 85 degrees the next day. This is how things appear to be going this season. I don’t even like Christmas (I know, blasphemy), but these cold mornings make me want a fireplace for this:

Yesss

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s not even Halloween yet. Plus, you don’t care about that picture because there are no cats in it.

Herro.

Weaz is thinking about dressing up as Stew for Halloween. Ralph will be me.

Nope.

Yep

Weaz would be a good Stew, but she’d be a better bag of groceries…

Stuff on my Weaz

All this costume talk is making her tired.

Sleepyyyyy

So we don’t know what they’ll be yet. I don’t even know what I’m going to be yet. I’m thinking about being a potato.

You best figure it out.

[That's Ralph and Weaz at Halloween circa 2008. So tiny.]

Ralph loves me

Happy Caturday! No time for words… just CATS.

Awww

Squinty Weaz

Ready for school

Pay attention to me.

I love pants.

Get that camera out my face.

Namaste.

This is how I sit. Lifting my arm would be TOO much.

This is definitely not my cat.

Awwwwwww

Best.moment.ever.

Obviously.

I had THE most amazing time with my friends last night. My face hurts. My tummy hurts. My head hurts… My heart feels good. Glorious post on the way… uh, sometime. For now, I’m off to my OLD YOGA STUDIO EEEEEE, and then we’re driving to a wedding in Charleston. So many things.

Artsy Weaz

Happy Caturday! If you’re a little surprised to see just three more months remaining in the year 2010, so are the cats.

Weasel had big plans to become a spokescat this year, so she’s been practicing her modeling…

Weaz can sell pianos

Weaz can sell canned beans

Weaz can throw a model-esque fit:

BRING ME MY LOUIS VUITTON LITTER BOX

Ralphie is having none of it. She enjoys the simple things… like open windows.

I notice it's 54 degrees.

Open this window!

Windoooooow

If you’re interested in hiring Weasel, please contact her agent… Ralphie. You might consider talking to her through an open window.

Do kill, Mr. Sweaty.

It’s a lovely Caturday morning over here at Sweet Tater Central. I’ve been organizing the kitchen (my sauces are now in alphabetical order) and watching these idiots chase each other around:

Who idiot?

Yer zeh idiot.

Here’s a delightful cat fact: In the absurd voice/language I have created for Ralph and Weaz, they refer to Stew as Mr. Sweaty BECAUSE… I was trying to text him one time (from the cats, obviously) and my auto-correct changed Mr. Stewart to Mr. Sweaty. Other characters: I am The Girl. My sister is The Little Girl. My mom is The Lady. My dad is That Man. And my brother is That Boy. Truth.

Now let’s play a game… Where’s Weasel?

Hmmm...

OH ok. Here.

I’ve heard that lots of cats like shoes, but Ralphie, like, loves shoes.

Ohmygawd SHOOOOOOOZ

As a black cat, Ralphie is particularly thrilled for the Halloween season…

Why's it gotta be about black?

I dressed up as Ralph AND as Weaz last year. It’ll be hard to top that this year, but I’m thinking about being Jessica because “I can do anything good.” Don’t EVEN steal my idea.

I think I'll be Jessica because I can do anything better.

I can leap through the air and break this picture good.

Thanks, cats.

Weasel sits like a lady

Happy Caturday! We’re off to Atlanta to see Aziz Ansari, but the cats are here for your viewing pleasure…

Will zis be on zeh inernets?

I saw some Spot Stew on sale at Earth Fare so I decided to let the cats have a rare taste of wet food. (We switched them over to dry crunchies when Ralphie’s poop got out.of.con.trol.)

Spot Stew!

With much zeal, they dove headfirst into the little glob of sweet potatoes, peas… and beef liver.

Beef liver!

But four minutes later looked like they wanted to die…

I die.

Ralphie has food guilt

Weasel has a thing about ice cubes. The other day she was sleeping… until I went to the freezer and this happened:

Sleepy Weaz

I notice you are activating the ice maker...

Don't do it, Weaz.

I will do it.

She did it.

And that’s when Weasel shoots across the floor darting at ice cubes that hit the ground and batting them around like a hockey player. Never fails.

Weeeeeaz

I feel like I’ve lived one billion lives since the last Caturday. In the past week I’ve been in (or through) South Carolina, Georgia, Florida aaaaand Mexico. I’m still working and schooling full-time+ and I truly feel like I have lost all track of time and space. I just move through my day trying not to drop any of the billion balls I have in the air.

The cats are sick of my excuses.

Excuse THIS

They want my attention and they want it NOW, which is why you can usually find them about this far away from me…

My life

You can't pet this book. Love me.

It’s true that I can’t pet that book. It’s also true that I’ve been neglecting the cats… and Stew… and my family… my friends… my social life… my yoga. The list goes on and on. I want to find balance but I have yet to find a minute of down time when I could do that. More excuses.

I need a little assistance from….

SUPERCAT

Who bears a striking resemblance to Ralph, wouldn’t you say? Hmmmm, curious.

It seems silly, I know, to rant on about the woes of my wonderfully busy life on a day like today when so many hearts ache for the 2,996 lives that ceased to exist nine years ago today. So I’ll stop and simply say that I know nothing will ever make it better, that I’m sorry it won’t ever go away and that I hope they find peace in remembrance today.

Why you leave us?

If you thought being in Mexico would keep me from posting Caturday, you underestimated my dedication to these cats. Never underestimate my dedication to these cats.

By now I’m probably knee deep in midnight chocolate bar (cruises are insane) and tequila. So don’t expect any coherent posts… if I even find Internet access… on the ocean. [There is wireless on the boat... for $0.65 a MINUTE. No dice.]

Shout out to Brittney for taking care of these little rats. I know they’re in good hands.

Right!

I warned her about Ralphie’s swift escapist ways.

Catch me if you can

But I trust both cats have been on their very best behavior.

Weasel disagrees

I predict Weasel is most angry about the fact that I’m not in my proper spot in the bed.

Where you go?

Where she stands (lays?) ready to serve and protect…

... and ninja chop danger in the FACE

Feed me.

Happy last Caturday in August! We’re ready for sweaters and bonfires and scarves and boots over here. Weasel has already let her summer bikini bod go…

Buddha

No, it is absolutely not normal for a cat to sit like that.

Ralphie demonstrates proper form

I’m getting a little stressed out because we’re leaving the cats once again for a cruise to Mexico next weekend. I realize people seem to have this understanding that cats are independent and self-sufficient, but people who think that have not met these cats. They’re clingy and needy and they own my soul.

They eat dinner with us.

Ralph's seat

Weasel's seat

They sleep in the bed. They greet me at the door. They cry when we’re gone. They follow me from room to room. And Weasel watches me from the window every morning when I leave.

I do not know how people have children and if they do how they manage to ever have a stable moment of sanity where they don’t think the child (or cat) is licking an electrical outlet, running out the door, falling out a window, choking on a packing peanut, eating Q-tips or getting trapped in a crevice somewhere. I think these things daily.

I ate the Q tips. Not sorry.

She did. And she’s not.

I know I’m a lunatic and I know they’ll be fine. I also know my first child will move about life packed in bubble wrap and a helmet. It’s fine.

Hey Ralph

Happy back-to-work-week Caturday! Caturday comes early this week because I’m going to be otherwise occupied most of tomorrow. I trust the cats miss me terribly while I’m away…

We don't.

But they have Stew to keep them company.

We like him better.

They really do like him better. He said today they both slept under the bed in his office for like 8 hours straight, which would look something like this:

Sleepy Weaz

We finally got our dresser delivered today. Ralphie handled the inspection…

I will poop in here.

Weasel is on curtain duty…

This looks good here

They can pretend like they like Stew, furniture and home decor more than me, but when it comes time for bed, I find them waiting for me like this:

Can you tuck us in?

Yes.

Sneaky Weaz

Happy Caturday from HLS! Because I’ve been away for, like, two weeks, my cat photos are seriously lacking.

Because you don't love us

So here are some old photos you’ve never seen aaaand some awesome cat-related Sky Mall products.

Ralph loves to relax

Baby Weaz after her surgery

Ralph still loves to relax

Please feel free to send us the following products:

I actually almost bought this last year. Two, in fact.

WANT. Flushes cat poop down the toilet.

Hahahaha

I miss my cats very much but that doesn’t make them hate me any less this week. I’m carrying my “I Love Cats” bag at the summit, but I don’t think that will win over their love either.

Oh Ralphie

So I understand that today is actually Saturday. Very good. When I thought yesterday was Saturday, the cats didn’t say a word. I think they wanted an extra Caturday.

The furniture delivery that ruined my life yesterday got the Ralphie and Weasel seal of approval.

Cat approved

Ralphie looked on while the delivery guys put it together.

Scratch that wall and I'll scratch your FACE

And Weasel gave it the biscuit test. Everyone refers to it as “making biscuits” when a cat massages a soft surface, right? No? Just our crazy family? All right then.

Dese will be nice biskeets

Now that they’ve been on the new bed, no other bed will suffice.

I hate you. Buy me a bed.

What am I doing ON THE FLOOR?

In other news, Weasel wanted to let everyone know that they are beautiful inside and out. [Operation Beautiful]

Weasel thinks you're beautiful

From Ralphie, with love

Happy last Caturday of July! Wait… is this happy? Where did the summer go? I agree that it’s time for some cooler weather but considering we won’t be graced with its presence in South Carolina until October, I say extend my lazy time off until then. Anyway, Ralphie bought Meg and Alex a wedding gift. (Ralphie not included.)

I have so many glorious pictures of the cats this week because I’ve forgotten to share some of them in past weeks. Behold this glorious picture of Weasel:

Heeehehe

Also:

This.

How about the time Ralphie was attacking the laundry closet because she thought Weasel was in there… Please note where Weasel is actually located in the photo.

Good try, Ralph

And don’t miss Ralphie’s night vision skills…

I watch you sleep

And begging skills…

Gimme dat.

Weasel is a seasoned mountain climber.

Anything for Jameson

But sometimes things don’t go exactly as planned…

Ohmygod. I'm slipping.

HAAAAAALP

The picture that almost lost Ralph

You can nominate me for Worst Mom Award now. Last night while watching Next Food Network Star (about time Serena got the boot, right?), we heard a frantic scratching at the front door. When I got closer I heard whimpering and assumed it was the neighbor’s dog that had come to visit once before. But when I opened the door, there was Ralphie!

Let me elaborate by saying that my cats do NOT go outside without me hovering over them. How did she get out? And why didn’t we know it?

Answer: After making peanut butter chocolate banana soft serve for dessert, I stepped out on the front porch to try and catch some natural light. I have a paranoia about my cats escaping. In fact, last week my power went out so I went to sleep at my brother’s house only to return with a flashlight at 1am because I had this sinking feeling that Weasel had followed me out. She hadn’t.

I also have a superstition that I have to see both cats before I walk out the door. Part of this stems from my fear of them walking out the door with me and part of it stems from a fear that if I can’t see them, they must be dead somewhere. Crazy much? What will I do when I have kids?

Well, it’ll only get worse from here on. Last night when I took my ice cream photo, I had that familiar uneasy feeling that I should probably check for a cat. But I didn’t. And Ralph was out there.

She was out for about two hours and must’ve never left the front porch. I just feel terrible because I took her in as an abandoned stray and don’t ever want her to feel like she’s lost again. She still had on her frayed yellow collar and bell when I found her so I know she had a home. A security guard from the building across the street told me a pregnant dog had been left behind when a neighbor’s house foreclosed and Ralph may have had the same fate. 2007-2008 was a bad time for pets. When the housing market crashed, people couldn’t justify spending money to support a pet when they couldn’t support themselves.

After she came inside, thunder and lightning rolled through and I felt terrible. What if she hadn’t come back? I’m just so happy she did.

Me too. Now I own your soul... even more.

Flying Ralph to the rescue!

Happy Caturday! Ralphie and Weasel have been out of damn control this week because I let them go outside one time (all the while hovering no more than 6 inches from them for fear they might bolt) and I’ve been going out to sit on the patio more frequently and they’re jealous. Ralphie literally throws her body against the window until I let her out. I’ve created monsters.

But cute monsters…

Fancy Weaz

Long legs, tiny head

Hi Weaz

While on the floor taking pictures of Weasel, my attention whore Ralphie crawled under me and started attacking my necklace.

I'll take THAT.

Uhhh, NUFFING TO SEE HERE

Soon I realized Ralphie was being quite hilarious herself.

What you saying?

RAAAAAR

Dus kidding.

Ralphie sees all

Happy (late) Caturday! I went to yoga first thing this morning and then met Stew’s parents for lunch and THEN went shopping with Jessie. Don’t worry, the cats got plenty of my attention from 3am-4:30am this lovely Caturday. Why?

Well… I passed out on the couch at 10pm watching Say Yes to the Dress (how else would a 25-year-old spend a Friday night?) only to wake up at 3am with enough energy to convince the cats that it was in fact time to welcome the day.

During a sad, hour-long attempt at forcing myself back to sleep, the cats took it upon themselves to BE ANNOYING. Weaz decided she had to get inside the dresser and would not rest until I opened a drawer for her.

That's right you did

The thing about Weasel is… we think she’s retarded. Like, really a little bit slow. She was the runt and so it makes sense that she may have missed out on some crucial brain development. She also likes to be in things, which we assume dates back to her time in the womb buried under larger siblings.

Ralphie has a toy ferret named Federico and she brings him to us as a peace offering when she’s feeling love-y. This is cute at 4pm but not at 4am when she’s whipping him across the room. (She has to kill him first, of course.)

Ralph and Federico

So that’s how my night went. One cat in my dresser, the other killing a toy ferret. Before we went to bed, Weasel made a friend…

A friend for Weaz

WTF IS THAT?!

Weasel's fort

Happy Birthday Weekend Caturday! The cats are home alone while we gallivant about Charlotte. They are no doubt furious.

Weasel has gotten into building forts around the house. The one above is made out of Stew’s records. She also likes hiding in the pantry.

Where's Weasel?

Answer:

Found her

And camouflaging herself on the keyboard.

Almost, Weaz

Awww

In the meantime, Ralph is busy deepening her yoga practice.

Yogacat

She’s advanced to some pretty intense balance moves but prefers not to show off for the camera.

Oh, hello. Didn't see you there. Come in...

Happy Caturday and almost 4th of July! Ralphie would like to remind everyone to drink PBR to celebrate our nation’s birthday. And doesn’t she look persuasive relaxing on her armchair?

"Drink it, ya asshole." (video jooooke. watch it.)

“It’s not smooth. It’s not drinkable. But that’s what it’s good about it. When you drink it down your throat it gives you a good feeling like George Washington is actually going down your throat to fight the Brits and the Red Coats and the Indians.” God bless America, right?

Right!

Where else are cats free to sleep in purses? And sit on the counter?

It's my right as an American citizen.

Oh that just happens at my house? Got it.

Weasel preps for a job interview

Last week I had an interview for a Graduate Associateship on campus. Weasel helped me prep by critiquing my resume (and outfit) and giving me mock interview questions. I got the job. It will cover a significant portion of my tuition, which is a significant deal since Financial Aid continues to ignore me. Entirely.

This should be higher

Ralph helped me unpack and decorate the house. She would’ve been a lot more helpful if she had opposable thumbs and didn’t weight less than most of the things I was lifting. Thanks anyway, Ralph. We ended up with this:

Tah dah

The general consensus from my friends on Facebook is that the candles on either side of the TV don’t work.

I LIKE THEM

Yeah, Weasel likes them. Actually, she’s yelling at me from behind the organ. She likes to sleep back there but doesn’t like to be disturbed while she’s doing it.

This is a much better place to sleep, Weaz:

Awww

Or kick back atop the soothing, comfy desk and relax like Ralph. (I write and edit hotel website content and read sentences like this all day, sans Ralph, of course.)

Book your reservation today!

DO EET

Weaz is ready

Happy Caturday – Moving Special. Yesterday was, simply put, ridiculous.

Since I was already in town, I started the moving process around 7am, carting over three carloads worth of life belongings I had accumulated at my brother’s house for temporary storage. Then around lunchtime I picked up this monster and drove home to meet up with Stew and pack up the big furniture. I was convinced this would take approximately 1 hour of loading time. This is most hilarious when you hear how long it actually took.

Clear the roads

Driving that truck was horrible and terrifying and I almost killed someone the second I merged onto I-77, which, by the way, I wasn’t even supposed to be on, but I had missed my exit. (My mom is cringing.)

I got home around 1pm. The process would not be complete until 1am. Did you catch the math on that? 12 HOURS OF MOVING. Haaa, it’s hilarious now.

What happened in between? Well, I inhaled a tempeh sandwich from Mellow Mushroom, bitched and complained about how heavy everything was, and talked for hours in cat voice.

Ralphie was a huge help

Weaz too

Then the real fun began. I only have one cat carrier and Ralphie alone fills it to the brim. I felt guilty imprisoning one cat while the other roamed free. So I decided it would be a brilliant idea to let them both just sit in the front seat.

OOOOOOK, Katie. Here comes the best part…

Aside from a little freaking out (on their part and mine), the first 40 minutes of the drive were pretty smooth. Ralphie sat in my lap and Weaz settled in in the litter box (because yes, of course I brought the litter box just in case). Weasel’s love of sitting in the litter box is gross, yes, but if that’s where she’s comfortable and quiet, so be it.

Stew was driving the big truck and had planned to stop at a Starbucks along the way. I almost didn’t stop because things were going so well and I didn’t want the cats to freak out. But Ralph started hyperventilating and I needed to get her water. If you’ve ever seen a cat pant, you know doom is imminent.

Oh, and was it ever. As it turns out, Ralphie wasn’t hyperventilating because she was thirsty. She was having a panic attack because she had to poop. Yes. She went into the back seat and proceeded to take a poop in the food dish I had so thoughtfully packed in case they wanted a snack.

WHY RALPHIE??

Luckily, I had a blanket down too so I balled up that and the whole food dish and chucked it all in the Starbucks dumpster. Sorry, Starbucks.

They were both perfect for the remaining hour of the drive. Weasel slept in my lap most of the way. Ralphie was embarrassed and hid in the litter box for a while but then came to sit on the console after I assured her I was not mad.

Now we’re here and sort of settled and they love it.

OH MY GOD I LOVE IT

I HOPE THIS ISN'T THE ONE I POOPED IN

Ready

After a week away from the cats (I’m spending weekdays at my brother’s house so I can go to class and weekends back here at home), I came home to find Ralphie ready to move. I’ll spend one more painful week away and then pack up my life (and cats… and litter boxes) and move next Friday. I can’t wait.

Let's ride

Ralph is ready but Weasel hasn’t a clue what is happening.

Who wake me up??

One the the best cat-related things I’ve seen in a long time was this quote from one of the toddlers on TLC’s shitshow “Toddlers and Tiaras.”

Me too

If you can’t read it, she says, “When I grow up, I want to be a kitty cat that’s pretty.” And yes, they had to subtitle her because she can barely speak… and also because the words she was speaking were a bit hard to grasp.

Now, let’s just marvel at how cute my cats are:

Sleepy Weaz

Awww Ralph

And this picture may be terrible, but Ralph still looks cute. This is how you’ll find her most hours of the day.

Good job, Ralph

Imposters

Stew has been gone for a week and he brought back a mini-Ralph to accompany my mini-Weaz. Now I look like a straight up lunatic, right?

Right

My classes start on Monday but we still don’t have a place so I’ll be living with my brother during the week and coming back here on the weekends. While I’m commuting it seems logical to start taking our non-essential items over there. So I started packing… Ralph and Weaz were very helpful.

DON’T FORGET THE CATS.

Ralphie... check

Weasel... check

I got my boxes from liquor stores so our new neighbors are going to think we’re alcoholics.

We are.

The cats are going to HATE moving, but I’ll probably be way more of a disaster.

MOVING WHERE?

But I need them to come with me so Weasel can help me fix my bike.

Yeah, uh, you've got a loose gear over here.

Aw, Ralph

Happy Caturday! We finally caved and turned the air conditioning on yesterday. It still wasn’t all that hot in the house, but it was time. The cats moved from hovering around the only window I’ll open (because it doesn’t have spiders in it) to hovering over the AC vents.