Bad Habits.

Once again I’m going to write about Chibi, because just before my 24th birthday I’ve turned into an old spinster whose life revolves around blogging about his cat.  Really, expect to see my likeness on “Old Blogger who talks about his cat too much” action figures soon.  In my heart of hearts, I wish it wasn’t true, but this is the internet, where everything is true and everything on Wikipedia is a verifiable fact. (Need proof? See here.)

So, I thought I solved the problem of Chibi’s razor-sharp talons with the wonderful, stylish nail covers for cats.  Little did I know that Chibi is a hydra.  When you slice off one monstrous head, two grow back in its place, and both more vicious and enraged, because who isn’t upset when they have their head sliced off?

That being the case, Chibi discovered that she has teeth.  Small teeth for sure, but sharp teeth.  Teeth that could take the very flesh off your bones, if you were very small, like a hobbit, or if she had a long time to tear that flesh off.  Those options being the case, this is more of an annoyance.  She doesn’t bite to kill, and her mouth isn’t big enough to clutch onto the vast majority of my body parts.

Her other bad habit involves her new nails though.  In the tiny sheet of directions, they warn you to keep a close eye on your cat as she might pick at her new, glamorous nails.  It was no surprise those first few days when she’d lick at her nails or try and bite them.  I was prepared!  The directions told me this would happen!  Silly kitten, I finally beat you!

I was wrong.  WRONG. WRONG. WRONG.

She continues to bite at them.  Slowly gnawing at them every chance she starts grooming herself.  One moment she’ll be covering her fur with a healthy coat of saliva, another she’ll have her paw in your mouth, carefully sucking and gnawing away at the plastic covers that keep my arms and legs healthy and cut free.

So what have I learned?  That not only has Chibi learned to bite, but she’s also learned to bite her nails.  And who taught her all this?  Foolish, foolish me.  If there is one thing that defines me as a bad parent, it’s not her getting up on the counters, or letter her run around the house, or even letting her get away with physically hurting me and other members of my house.  I’m a failure because I’ve raised a nail-biter.

Intimacy, or how I spend too much time with my cat (as if you didn’t know that already)

After my last post, where people begged me to see pictures of Chibi’s plastic claw covers, you think I’d post more pictures with my writing.  I could take the time to get to know my audience and cater this blog a bit more too them, but then I wouldn’t be true to myself, and leave you all begging for more.  And some of these images may not be suitable for anyone, anywhere.

But anyways, back to the feline.

It’s the time of year where it gets chilly here in North Carolina.  The cold is nothing compared to the more Northern parts of the country covered in ice and snow, but if you wander around the house naked with only a coat of your own fur, you might just want to find some source of external heating.  With that in mind, Chibi decided my crotch is the best source of heat in the winter.

It started when she was a tiny furball whose skull was bigger than the rest of her body.  At the time I was in my first college apartment, and we kept the heating low to save money on the bills.  I slept under some heavy duty blankets, and being as tiny as she was, Chibi usually slept on the side of the pillow I wasn’t inhabiting.  But then, one night, it got too cold apparently, and she burrowed under the covers and made her way between my legs.

(Some of you may be wondering what perversion this sleeping arrangement makes, but I can assure you, I typically always sleep wearing sweatpants.  Mostly because I’m always freezing, but also because I don’t want to be attacked by the ferocious kitten.)

When I woke up and realized the arrangement, I laughed it off as a one time occurrence.  Surely figuring out how to get beneath the blankets would keep her warm enough, right?

No.

This has gone on for FOUR winters now.  She starts by sleeping next to me underneath the covers.  This is a nice arrangement, I can move around enough, and don’t have to worry about crushing her with any movement I might make.  But eventually she decides that between my legs is the best place to sleep, and stakes a claim there each night.  Now that her body has caught up with her head, this arrangement is uncomfortable, as I need to split my legs into a wide “V” to accommodate her.

And moving out of that arrangement is not an option.  If I do, Chibi will move to the other side of the bed.  While this is more comfortable, it’s emotionally devasting.  Its her way of saying, “You don’t love me, because you don’t contort yourself unnaturally for my comfort and amusement.”  AND HOW CAN I SAY NO TO THAT?

Talons, or why I put a defenseless kitten in Lee Press-Ons.

What most people don’t understand is that at 23, I’m already a parent.  Chibi is possibly the most horrific 3 year old cat to ever grace the planet.  She whines.  She claws.  She bites.  She doesn’t understand basic concepts like how to go around something.  She even has moments of hyperactive PMS, which are about the closest thing to the horror of having her go through heat, which, by the grace of surgery, will never, ever, thank God, happen again.  If anyone ever writhes on my floor like the slutty harlot she was, so help me I will kill you never talk to you again.

Being a parent to a malicious, adorable cat means a lot of things.  Like being easily deceived often and usually quite painfully.  Those huge green marbles that make up her eyes just make we want to pet her, and then she’ll take a bite out of my hand like McGruff takes a bite out of crime.

A part of me has grown used to this and just ignores it, knowing that it’s all some desperate attempt to get attention and love and a taste of blood.  I’ve grown used to the tiny scars on my arms and hands.  I’ve adapted to the idea of never having nice furniture because someone was going to shred it apart.  But I have not grown accustomed to the idea of being a cyclops.

Last night, Chibi was doing her new thing where she becomes protective of some random object on the floor.  A clothespin, a newspaper, one of her toys.  Whatever it is, you don’t touch it or she’ll attack you violently.  I attribute this to her growing up in a Target parking lot.  Sure, she didn’t have much, but whatever tidbits could be found she fought for and clung to religiously, just as she clung to the flesh of my left forearm a few weeks ago.

Little did I know that last night she had chosen the TV remote, which had fallen to the floor, as her latest claim.  Bending over to pick it up, I made the fatal mistake of lowering my face, leaving my beautiful countenance defenseless.  She sprang like a ninja, darting across the room in a flutter of patterns before scratching at my eye in a flurry of paw swipes that left a nice long mark right under my right eye.

It was then I considered getting another surgery to remove those terrible claws, because if modern veterinary medicine has taught us anything, it’s that surgery can fix anything.

Fortunately for Chibi, I started to do research online and came across this.  And this.  And this.

And after all that, being the loving parent I am, I couldn’t fathom getting rid of a portion of her paws just to satiate my blood lust.  While she may be a rambunctious 3 year old child to me, in her mind, and according to my vet, she’s a full grown adult.  I believe this is the equivalent of being 14, where you think you’re an adult, but really you’re just a teenager brooding away in your kitty cubby listening to the Cure all day.

Then I came across Soft Paws, which seemed an even more inhumane embarrassing solution.  Not only would it stop her claws from hurting me and the furniture, but I could also pick them out in a horrifying neon color suiting my fancy.  Luckily for her, they were only available at our pet store in clear.  Don’t worry though, soon enough she’ll be getting a set of pink and purple ones so she can look like she was attacked by a rogue beautician with the last set of Lee Press-Ons.  And once she looks like that, I think my lust for revenge will finally satiate.

Priorities

• Jay: *Showing a photo of Chibi* Kate, do you know who this is?
• Kate: That's Chibi!
• Jay: Yup! Chibi says she misses you.
• Kate: OK. I miss my trumpet!

Memoirs of the World Heavy Weight Champion

• Jack: Why are you out of breath?
• Jay: I just carried Chibi up the stairs, and it's like wrestling a baby with claws.