The Mysteries of a Moron Cat

Today's blog is dedicated to my daughter's moron cat, Megaroy.  Previous readers of my blog know that the cat is, indeed, stupider than a box of hair and a noteworthy subject of my intermittent sarcasm.  (Intermittent, shmitermittent.  Oh, hell, all the time.)


Does that look like a cat with a brain?
If you look closely you can see the light
coming out of his ear on the opposite side
of the window.

The moron is a Maine Coon Cat.  HIM, the man to whom I'm married, took him to the vet, and the receptionist took one look and said, "I thought you were bringing a kitten."  HIM said, "He is a kitten.  He's only eight months old."  This means not only is he a bubba cat, but he's a big bubba cat and he eats a lot.

What does this have to do with the mysteries of
the moron cat?  I do not know, but that's
what the picture looks like to me.  The
moron stoner.

There should have been a size and poop warning on this cat at the place we rescued him.  WARNING: This cat will grow until he is 3 - 5 years old.  Yes, he weighs 10 pounds now and no, it isn't fat.  Just wait and also invest in kitty kibble.  Consequently, he poops a lot, too.  You might buy some shares of Fresh Step.  Just sayin'.

This is what I found when I started looking for images of a cat's anatomy:

This is the one they show to kids.  Haha.  I cannot leave this be.  This image
is SCREAMING at me to do something.  Stop me before it's too late.
Whoops.  Too late.

However, I was forced to revamp that image and do my own:

This is how my daughter talks to the cat.  She didn't get it from me.

This would be the simplistic version.  There is a simpler version:

I walked into the house the other day and I wished I had never been born.  It was like a great green cloud of hazard materials waste billowed outward, not unlike a hurricane spinning toward a trailer park.  I honestly don't understand why a special team hadn't been called and the neighbors evacuated to a safe distance.

I mean, OMFG, what was the cat eating?  Why I knew what he was eating.  I get to buy the stuff for him once a week.  He's eating Friskies.  Their website says it's frickiticious!  There's even a Friskies game that you can play if you friend them on Facebook.  (I friended them to play the game and it wouldn't load so I unfriended them.  That will teach the corporate weenies something.)  Wowsers.  Now I'm going to going to take a detour just to make fun of them.  Here's the pic of their product:

It's a Feline Festival of Fun!
Get your beach bunny on!

These are the crunchy treats that our daughter, Cressy, gets to feed the big numpty.  See how the cat on the cover is all like, "Yo bitches, give me the kibble before I whack you all upside yo head!  I know where you sleep!  Also, I'll barf in your favorite shoes!"  Does Friskies The Corporation really think that people look at the cover with the cat having a beachside party with kibble and say, "Oh my goodness gracious, that cat looks like he's having a beachside party with kibble!  He's so happy!  I must buy this product so my cat can have a fun beachside party with kibble!  He'll be surfing the big kahuna waves in no time with Beachside Crunch Party Mix!"?  (I see the umbrellas and the sun, so where's the surf boards, Corporation Dudes?)

I don't think so.  (This might explain why the big companies never ask me for my consumer opinion.)  But hey I bought it because the stupid cat likes crunchy food and I've been buying Friskies for decades.

Anyway, so that's part of what the cat is eating.  But it turns out he's been supplementing his diet, which might explain the humongous smell emanating from the litter box in a great, gaseous cloud of death-smoke.

It's 10 PM and the cat is sitting in the bathroom on counter.  This is not a typical position for the moron cat.  He's usually on the deck or on his kitty castle or staring me into playing with him.  (He knows that if he keeps looking at me, something will happen.  Usually with string or other feline fanciful delights.)  But he's sitting in the bathroom.  So I go in the bathroom and there's a huge cockroach on the wall looking at the cat looking at the cockroach.  (They were totally looking at each other.  It was right out of a Sergio Leone movie, I swear.  Try to picture slow motion looking at each other with a Clint Eastwood grimace on their faces.)  I don't know how the cockroach got all the way up the wall.  I would imagine it was fleeing for its ever-loving, insecty life from the ferocious megabeast with the Friskies Beachside Crunch Party Mix breath.  I would imagine but that's just me.

Let's just say neither the cat nor the insect were happy with the outcome of that particular event.