Anatomy of Training a Moron Cat

About two years ago, I was subjected to getting a cat.  My daughter wanted a kitten.  She cajoled, pleaded, agreed to do all the dirty work, and voila, a kitten was obtained after Christmas of 2012.  Incidentally, HIM, the man to whom I'm married and the instigator of the kitten incident, is the one who actually cleans up the litter box.


He wasn't really laughing at me.
I caught him mid-yawn, which
makes for good caption fodder.

The kid named the cat Megaroy, a fact I still don't comprehend the reasons why.  I consequently determined that the cat, which is some kind of Maine Coon mix, is stupid.  I've blogged about my reasoning and I won't repeat them.  See My Daughter's Cat is a Moron and My Daughter's Moron Cat.  (I actually had to write more than one blog about the cat, so go figure.)

Once we moved, the cat determined that he loves the enclosed porch and wants to go out there all the time.  Winter, summer, spring, fall.  (Not so much when it's raining.  It might get his dainty, wootsie footsies wet and that's icky poo.)  Being pushovers we leave the door cracked.


Looking out the cat door at the
cat lying on the porch.
This is pretty much his
every waking moment position,
except when he's pooping.
I try not to watch that part.

Then this winter, HIM has decided that it shall be no more.  HIM went to Petsmart, forked over some moolah, and purchased a pet door, replete with flaps.  HIM installed the door, not on the door itself, but in the wall in between the inside and outside.  He only had to cut part of a stud and engage in some bright new colorful language to get the job done.  There.  The pet door is there.

Here you can see where HIM had to cut
part of a stud.  Oh what fun, knowing
that a stud has been cut to allow
the poop-for-brains cat to go and
come as is his want from the porch.
You can pretty much deduce what
the cat is thinking at this moment.
"I can still get the humans to
open the door."

Before he bought the pet door I said, "The cat is too stupid to learn how to use it."

After the door was installed, I said, "See."

HIM decided to get determined.  He put food on the opposite side of the door.  Nothing.

HIM shoved the cat through.  Nada.

HIM pleaded with the cat.  No how.

Finally HIM took the flaps off the door.  The cat had a little, itty-bitty-itsy light bulb appear over his moronic head.  *PING!*  I can goz through to the porch!

Wait until HIM puts the flaps back on.

Okay I had to slam the poor skater girl with the wretched luck
to have a camera guy right in her face when she made
this face.

Went OVER 100 K!

Yep.  Right there.  Sometime in the middle of the night.  I wasn't sitting at the computer to watch it.  Maybe I should have been.

I say always stick a picture of Hannibal Lecter in
your blog whenever you can.  He is watching you.
Not my counter, but you and maybe Jodie
Foster, too.

What does it really mean?  There's a philosophical argument lurking here.  It means approximately 100,000 clicks on the website.  I know some people are clicking on it once or twice a day, eagerly waiting for a new blog.  (T-shirt idea: "I went to Fat Woman's Blog and all I got was a lousy t-shirt.")  My sister said to me, "How does it feel to know that 100,000 (she might have said 1,000,000 at the time because I was under the mistaken interpretation that I was about to top a million because basically I couldn't count) people have looked at your blog?"  I believe my response was: "Meh." because it wasn't really a million, or even 100,000.  It's probably like 30 people who've looked at my blog 3,333.3333 times.

So I was looking for funny eyes watching pictures
and I found this one, which reminds me of watching
The Golden Voyage of Sinbad in the 70s.
For those of you of a certain age, who actually
saw this stinker (the Ray Harryhausen special
effects were worth the whole movie), there
was a girl in there with a tattoo of an eye
on her palm.  What does this have to do
with anything?  Well, I always wanted a tattoo
of an eye on my palm so I could
hook up with Sinbad.  (I was like ten years
old.)  (The Kali statue gave me nightmares.)

Ah, the momentous occasion of 100,000 visitors.  I'm not sure if I thought I would get there.  I like to blog.  (I like to hear myself talk, or rant as the case may be.  Did I tell you about the water heater dying and the propane gas people forgetting to turn off the bleeder valve?  No?  Let's say it involved me, the BBB, the fire department, certified mail, and a lawsuit in the making.  I get carried away sometimes.  And the blog is my relief valve.)  I do like to blog.  I get to talk about whatever.  It's usually funny shizz or stuff that's happening in my life that's funny.  (Mostly it isn't funny until I blog about it and then it's funny, because that's the way my mind works.)

Haha.  Cross-eyed Siamese cat.  We had two
of these for years.  The lesson learned: I will
never again own a Siamese cat.  Loud,
bitchy cats who are high maintenance.
The moron cat, while he's learned how to
garner attention by using his claws on my butt while
I'm sitting in the office chair, is much less
maintenance.  (Although claws in the butt certainly
doesn't make it sound that way.)

And I suppose I should just put a standard warning at the top, saying I will meander.  Sometimes I probably won't make sense.  Occasionally I'll take a rabid detour of epic proportion.  (Kind of like I did just now.  And before.  And before.)

So now I'm onto the Police.
I have this cassette tape someplace.

Anyhoo, I think what I should really do, is thank all the people who read the blog, occasionally comment, and generally keep coming back for more, no matter how silly I get.

Thank you!  I really appreciate your support and am always glad to hear from you.  Thank you!