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This Week: How To Enjoy Feeling Smug With Your Cat

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I have a confession to make. My name is Vickie and I am a Crazy-Cat-Lady.

I respond to my cat’s random meows with full sentences. I’ve given up even trying to wear black. And I strongly believe that it is normal – healthy even – to pop a pink lead on my cat and take him to Starbucks for a cappuccino.

Yes, I admit it. When it comes to Cat-Lady-Craziness, I’m a few lines short of the full sonnet.

The object of my crazy affections? Dave the Cat, an astonishingly handsome marmalade tabby with the heart of a lion and a penchant for belly rubs.

And my Crazy-Cat-Lady issue this week? Guilty Pleasures.

As a Crazy-Cat-Lady I am guilty of several strange habits. Well, not habits exactly; I prefer to think of them as guilty pleasures. So I must confess that there are certain situations that I take advantage of in order to feed my need for Dave-Love.

Yes, I snuggle into him before he has a chance to wake up properly. This allows for a seriously superior quality of snuggle before he’s fully awake and his independent streak kicks in. Yes, I occasionally indulge in some gentle paw-poking. I know he’s not too keen, but I can’t resist; they are just so ridiculously soft and squidgy. And yes, I sometimes hold and kiss the fluffy tip of his tail when he would quite clearly prefer the freedom to swish it back and forth like a manic windscreen wiper. It’s a nice tail and I, dear readers, am only human.

With these few small but highly effective guilty pleasures, I do – ever-so-gently – tease and torment my feline overlord. I can’t help it though. He shouldn’t be so frickin’ cute.

I irritate him because I love him.

But I’m glad to report that Dave the Cat and I now have a mutually-enjoyable guilty pleasure to indulge in. One that doesn’t involve slow persistent paw-prodding. Something that we can both enjoy: Something that we can both feel really, really smug about.

We’ve discovered My Cat From Hell.

In case you don’t know, My Cat From Hell is an Animal Planet show that follows cat behaviourist Jackson Galaxy as he helps cat owners find the source of conflict that is causing their furry friends to behave as mad as Ozzy Osbourne at a bat convention.

Galaxy is something of a dude; a music-playing Crazy-Cat-Gentleman extraordinaire with a guitar case full of cat toys. Think The Dog Whisperer, only a bit more rock and roll. And with no dopey dogs running around and embarrassing themselves.

On a serious note, Galaxy is pretty amazing. He’s some sort of cat-guru who can get into the mind of a feline, find out what’s bothering it, and advise its human what he or she can do in order to make their kitty’s life better. His commendable goal? To keep cats out of the shelters.

On a lighter note though, man, there are some naughty, naughty cats on that show. And that is exactly why Dave the Cat and I get so much guilty pleasure out of it.

The hairy four-pawed terrors poo in bathtubs, growl menacingly in kitchen cupboards, claw at dopey dog’s noses and scrap with unsuspecting mailmen.

Ooooh, they are bad... And the show is so good...

These cats are as mad as a bucket of fish; brooding, violent psycho kitties on a mission. They remind me a little of Robert De Niro in Taxi Driver.

As all manner of feline havoc unravels on screen, Dave the Cat and I sit there smugly, congratulating ourselves on how great we are. Compared to these clawing horrors and their hapless humans, Dave the Cat and I have it all sorted. We work. There is no poo in the bathtub, no growling from kitchen cupboards, no bleeding dog’s noses and no maimed mailmen.

And it works both ways. Although I may occasionally indulge in a paw-prodding session, I generally respect Dave the Cat’s space. I never lose sight of the fact that he is indeed a cat, and as such, he has cat opinions and cat needs. Territory is paramount to Dave the Cat, and I am careful not to step on the toes of his fabulous, territorial feline-ness.

He’s a great cat. I’m a great cat-moma. Together we are great. And yes, we’re smug too.

I just hope that he doesn’t get any big ideas.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to check my bathtub.

 

 

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