The Trouble With Cats

For some reason, even though all our living pets have joined our family after we've been married, three out of the four cats are mine according to DH.

Back when we lived in the apartment, DH walked in the door one afternoon and said I found this under the car.

It was a scrawny looking black furball. Off to quarantine in the bedroom she went. One week later, still no owners found, we were stuck with her. How did we live in a third floor apartment and still manage to end up with strays?

She's still a scrawny looking furball almost two years later. The rabbit weighs more than her.

The rabbit is also less trouble than her.

She has claws that belong on a cat 20 pounds heavier than her. Because she's so small, she ends up in the strangest places. And apparently she never got the memo that she's spayed, because she does the heat yodel way too often for my taste. Did I mention for being scrawny, there's nothing wrong with her lungs? The neighbors can hear her yowl.

With the windows closed.

It never fails, at least once a month, she manages to dash out when the Pudgy Princess is going outside.

I've had it with her sneaking out, and I refuse to chase her around to get her back in the house. (well, unless it's below freezing, I'm not that cruel)

She did it again this morning, and I just stuck my head back in the doorway and yelled at the top of my lungs, BABE! YOUR ROTTEN CAT SNUCK OUT AGAIN!

Yes, the neighbors love me. *snort*

The poor guy comes out the door dripping wet in warm up pants. I guess he was in the shower. Oops, my bad.

You want entertainment? There's nothing like a half dressed, dripping wet guy calling here kitty kitty, chasing around a 4 pound cat who's running around the edge of the yard because she's not quite smart enough to figure out how to jump the darn fence.

Yes, she's a few fries short of a happy meal.

Yes, I just about peed myself laughing.

Never a dull day around here.