I get lazy sometimes. Okay, often. All the time, actually.
That’s why all you get today is a lazy cat post, which isn’t at all like this post about a literal cat post.
What’s a lazy cat post? It’s a post where I let cute cat pictures do all the talking for me. The Internet has been using this same trick since its inception, so why reinvent the wheel? Right?
Right! Here are some pictures of my cats:
Let’s get this out of the way: I’m not a cat killer. In case anyone was wondering.
I don’t have anything against cats. I’m not a cat-ist. Some of my best friends are cats.
In fact, I have two cats at home. I buy stuff for my cats. I’m a pretty good cat…haver…person.
However, I recently realized that the way I talk to my cats could be…misconstrued. You see, I love the little bastards. How could I not? Just look at them:
Idiots!
But my language doesn’t always reflect this love. No sir. Every once in a while, I tend to issue elaborate threats that I have no intention of carrying out.
For example, I regularly tell Django that I’ll chop off his legs and make a snake out of him. True story. I literally say that. I threaten to de-limb my cat.
Occasionally, while Django’s lying down, I even grab his shoulders and push him forward in a zigzagging motion so as to simulate snake movements. My wife usually finds this amusing, so we’re basically both going to Hell.
Other times, I tell the cats I’ll play Tetris with parts of their body. I’m basically Saw‘s Jigsaw, but with cats. I also vaguely recall once informing Pebbles that she’d be hanged by the tail from a lamp post outside.
A few days ago, my wife went to the built-in shed on our balcony and left the door open behind her. Django started to slowly creep toward the open door, knowing full well that he wasn’t allowed to do so.
I yelled something innocent at him, like “I’ll kiiiiill you!” or something along those lines. My wife came back and informed me that my voice carried well and was probably heard by multiple people outside.
That got me wondering what our neighbors must think of me. I’m pretty sure they’ve heard at least some of my raging outbursts and threats of bodily harm. Do they think I’m a lunatic? Or some guy who’s having traumatic flashbacks? What if they think I have kids and am yelling at them? Would that be better or worse than the actual explanation? I just don’t know.
So just for the record, neighbors: I don’t murder cats. Most of the days, we’re a pretty regular family with perfectly alive cats. Here’s proof:
Do what we say, or the kitties get it!
See? The cats look very happy and not at all reluctant or sad in that picture!
Oh God…what happens when we become parents?!
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. According to my calculations, that means a 10-second video is equivalent to a 240,000-word novel. Right? RIGHT?
I sure hope so, because then I’m about to drop a multiple-volume epic saga on your heads. Words are good, but sometimes me no want word much, so me do video instead.
That’s a lot of words to basically say one thing: I’m feeling lazy, so you’re getting some videos for your eyeballs in place of a blog post.
First, here is a video of Django’s failed balancing act:
Second, we have these IKEA shelves at home:
I know. Perfectly neat and entirely ordinary shelves. Now here’s what happens when two married people are bored at home on a Saturday night and have access to a camera. No, it’s not at all what you were thinking, but I see why you’d go there. (And yes, I am painfully aware of the fact that most normal people are out in town getting drunk, dancing to techno, and having naked ice bucket fights or whatever.)
What can I say? We’re as creative as we are desperately in need of a social life.
I am a proud owner of not one, not two, but…no wait, “two” was correct…two cats.
As a cat owner you quickly discover what a huge hassle it is to find out whether your cat is purring. Sure, it seems like all you need is a pair of functioning ears, but reality isn’t always that simple. What if your cat is a quiet purrer? What if you’re listening to Britney’s new album in your headphones? How will you know if your cat is purring then?
Also, you can typically tell if the cat’s purring by touching it. The problem with that is you have to, you know, touch it. Yuck. I didn’t buy two cats to make physical contact with them. They’re here to be trained in the deadly art of cat-Jitsu and to memorize the faces of my sworn enemies. There’s no place for cuddling in their lives.
So what does a busy cat-warrior-trainer need in order to identify those rare purring moments? Look no further than the “Purr Detector” collar:
With a simple and nifty electrical device that you strap directly onto your cat’s neck, you can tell when it’s purring by simply staring at the flashing lights. As a bonus, this collar doubles as a mobile Christmas decoration for your house. As a bonus-bonus, your cat will either get gradually used to bright lights shining in its face or get driven hopelessly mad by the incessant light show. Either way, you’ll have a more dangerous cat-warrior at your disposal.
Is the above product a hoax? Possibly. Do I care? Not one bit. If I don’t get my hands on a purr-detection collar one way or another, my life will never be complete. I’m also sad that it didn’t make my original list of crazy cat gadgets, but better late than never, I guess.
I’m nursing a cold and a headache (although I really should get someone else to do it, I’m not qualified to nurse anyone).
That’s why today I’m taking the easy way out and just throwing a bunch of outdated, yet funny videos at your eyeballs. With minimal commentary. They all involve jumping fails, mostly well deserved and karmic.
Enjoy:
You “fuck ze fucking world”, the world fucks you back, guy!
Well played, chair, well played.
I am in too much pain-by-proxy to make fun of this.
***
Bonus video, because everything is better with cats:
Side note: Django did exactly the same thing as cat number four. We have a three-step staircase just like that.
Have you ever had your tail pinched in a door?
If you haven’t, there’s a good chance you’re not a cat. If you have, then you know how Django felt around one week ago.
Our cats, seeing as they’re cats, still haven’t grasped such concepts as “don’t scratch that”, “don’t play with that” and “don’t go there”. Anything with a “don’t” in it, basically.
This also applies to their repeated attempts at following us onto the balcony. Ever since Django and Pebbles became permanent residents in our apartment I find myself spending increasingly more time on the balcony. Occasionally I’m there to clean out their cat litter, but mostly I’m there to sob uncontrollably over the fact that it’s the only place left in the house where I can be alone and in peace.
After one of the regular cat litter cleaning sessions I was going back into the apartment and had to shoo Django away from the balcony door. What I failed to notice was that, while I was turning around with the litter box in my hands, Django ninjaed his way back to the door and placed his tail ever so carefully between the door and the wall, where the hinges are.
What happened when I closed the door cost me several years of my life and about 17 million nerve cells. Django let out a blood-curdling noise that is best described as “ten baby seals being bludgeoned to death by a shrieking opera singer”.
Here’s a picture of Pebbles looking cute to take your mind off that mental image
I frantically scrambled to open the door again. Django bolted into another room where he proceeded to hide behind the couch and send evil stares my way. Thankfully his tail was intact and he quickly recovered from the shock. We’re back to being friends, although I can’t rule out that he’s plotting to murder me in my sleep one day.
The next day we took both kittens to the vet to get sterilised and neutered, which is a mandatory requirement of the shelter where we got them. So, in addition to pinching Django’s tail in the door I am indirectly responsible for him losing his testicles. I really should start sleeping with both eyes open.
Both surgeries went fine. In the evening we were treated to a few solid hours of Django and Pebbles wobbling around the house and unsuccessfully attempting to jump onto furniture while still recovering from anaesthesia. They even attempted such extreme feats as eating in this semi-drugged state…with predictable results:
Nom-nom time AND nap time at once. Win-win!
Other than that they’re just kittens being kittens. Their play time is usually around 5AM, which you will notice is when the rest of us tend to sleep. How two little kittens manage to generate the noise-equivalent of a rampaging elephant herd will forever remain a mystery. A loud, sleep-shattering mystery.
To wrap up, here are Django and Pebbles in a rare moment of calm and tranquility (warning, the video you’re about to watch has an unusually high adorableness factor):
We’ve now had Django and Pebbles at home for almost two weeks. They’re everything you’d expect kittens to be: cute, cuddly, playful, too-curious-for-own-good. The lot.
However, I’ve been noticing some patterns in their behaviour. Patterns that hint at things not being quite right with these little cats. Yes, I’m afraid our two kittens are a bit…confused. I was going to say “stupid”, but I hear that cats can steal your breath, so I won’t be taking any risks.
Prior to their arrival we have purchased a bucket-load of different toys and other cat items. Some of these are used as prescribed, but the vast majority aren’t. It appears that Django and Pebbles are struggling to figure out the purpose for most of their stuff. Or maybe they’re just messing with our heads. It’s probably the latter.
What’s that? You want examples and you want them right now? Why yes, imaginary voice in my head, I can indeed provide you with the examples you seek.
We’ve built two little tents for Django and Pebbles to sleep in. We found two pillows that fit neatly inside the tents. We placed these tents in comfortable, out of the way locations, so that kittens could sleep in privacy. Here’s how these tents looked to begin with:
Did any sleep occur inside these tents? None. Instead they’ve been used for everything from ambush spots to hide-and-seek locations. At some stage a tent played the role of an advanced roller coaster – Django sat inside as it was being rolled down a small flight of stairs by Pebbles.
If you stay very very quiet, they can’t see you.
After a few days one of the tents was showing signs of wear-and-tear and had to be patched up by generous application of duct tape. This proved entirely pointless. This is how the “tent” looked earlier today:
Surrender now, humans! Repairs are futile!
Katka has also been lovingly growing some special cat grass for the kittens. She checked up on its growth daily, eagerly awaiting the day it could finally be given to the cats. The day finally arrived and Katka proudly placed the grass in front of Django. Django interpreted the grass’ demeanour as threatening and proceeded to defend himself. With fists. Or, more accurately, paws. Fawsts? Nevermind, here:
We also have a so-called “Scratching Wave”. Whoever manufactured this thing naively assumed that it would be used for scratching, as the laughably incorrect product shot demonstrates:
That cat is either glued in place or is made of papier-mâché.
I can confidently announce that neither Django nor Pebbles have scratched any parts of this product at any point time. They’ve already used the tent for that purpose. They do love sleeping on and under the “Scratching Wave”, though, so there’s that.
In short, our cats insist on using things for anything other than their intended purposes. Occasionally this works to our advantage, like when we had to weigh Django a few days ago. We figured we could use our kitchen scale to do so, if only we could somehow get him to stay inside a bowl while we placed it on the scale. We brought Django over to the bowl and carefully lowered him inside, ready to grab him should he try to escape. Apparently the bowl offered unprecedented comfort, because Django stayed inside of it for the next half hour:
It’s a vary naice. I like! High fiiiiive!
I don’t think I’ll ever understand these cats, but as long as they don’t start building sand castles out of their kitty litter we’ll be just fine.
I’ve just realised that this post inadvertently turned into Django tribute, with very little mention of Pebbles and absolutely no photos of her. Here’s one to compensate (with a bonus Django appearance):
Pebbles is the one looking cute and surprised.
If I know my audience, which I don’t, then I’m certain you all were missing my infamous kittens posts and losing sleep over it. I am here to remedy this imaginary problem right away.
We finally picked up Django and Pebbles on Thursday evening. During their short stay at our place they’ve already taught me some valuable lessons. Here come these lessons, which none of you really wanted to hear.
Until three days ago I considered eight hours of sleep to be an indispensable part of a healthy existence, like breathing or hating Justin Bieber. Turns out that’s bullshit. You only need a few hours of sleep a night, tops.
The first night our new kittens were too stressed about being separated from their mom. That was only fair. How would you feel about two strangers showing up at your house, kidnapping you right in front of your mother, stuffing you in a shoulder-bag and carrying you through the city while you meowed? OK, that analogy got away from me.
Yet think of all the flight ticket savings…
Anyways, Django and Pebbles woke us up a couple of times during the first night with their meows and we stayed with them until they calmed down. It was exactly like being parents. I say this with all the authority of a man that doesn’t have children and that held maybe two and a half babies during his whole life. Don’t ask about the half, it’s a long story.
The second night I got up to use the toilet at around 4AM and ended up filming the kittens play in the dark for half an hour. And no, this wasn’t creepy in any way whatsoever, thanks for asking.
Yesterday night I woke up multiple times just thinking about kitten related stuff like “why aren’t they meowing?” and “should I go film them in the dark for half an hour?”.
I’m running on far less sleep than I’m used to…and I’m perfectly fine. Why, just a few minutes ago I passed out at my laptop, drooled on the keyboard and short-circuited the Western Copenhagen area. Throughout all of this I barely noticed anything was out of order. So yeah, perfectly fine!
Wake the hell up, man! Sleep is for losers!
You wouldn’t gather this from their deceptively cute looks and purry demeanour, but kittens possess some real-life superpowers. Django’s consist mainly of escaping unscathed from high altitude falls that sound like they’d shattered every bone in his body and caused earthquakes in mainland China.
Pebbles…is a whole different story.
On Friday I worked from home to be there for the kittens and help them adjust to their new living arrangements. Both kittens were in the room with me the whole time…or so I thought. When I tried to locate Pebbles I realised she wasn’t there. I looked under the couch where she’d been before. I even looked behind the couch, because I’m not easily deterred. I looked everywhere in the room. Then everywhere around the apartment.
It was official: I’d lost a kitten in less than 24 hours. In my own apartment. I was the shittiest kitten sitter in the world, not counting the cat-juggling guy who lives outside our house and whom I’ve just invented for the purpose of this narrative.
You leave those ball-shaped kittens the hell alone, guy!
I was just in the middle of writing a heartfelt letter to my fiancee, explaining why I chose to permanently leave the country and sever all ties with her and my friends, when Pebbles…I shit you not…magically materialised from within the very same couch I’d inspected earlier. She acted as if teleporting through solid objects was the most ordinary thing you could imagine.
Rational people among you will try to explain this phenomenon away with nonsense like “she just hid in a crevice within the couch that you didn’t see”, but I know what truly happened.
Ladies and gentlemen – Pebbles is the T-1000:
On the first day we moved some of our plants into a closed-off room. Some plants were considered toxic to cats, some we just wanted to save from an onslaught of claws and teeth. When I entered the room some hours later it had acquired a very distinct aroma. I think we can all agree that “distinct aroma” is a much classier phrase than “cat piss”, which is what the room actually smelled like.
This was puzzling, seeing how the kittens have not accessed this room since their arrival. How did they manage to transfer their smell into a closed room? Was their pee also capable of teleportation? While I was busy pondering these important questions my fiancee came up with the silly notion that the basil plant was responsible for the smell. How very silly of her! I had to Google it just to show her how silly she was bei…
Mind = blown
Holy shit! Holy pee, even. Turns out that supermarket basil often smells like cat pee. That’s a horrible thing for an edible herb to smell of. Shame on you, basil. I’m so disappointed.
Did I say “face”? I meant “heart”. Kittens will melt your goddamn heart.
We only had them for three short days and I already can’t imagine how we ever did without them. I hope I manage to avoid losing them inside the apartment again. That would be worse than eating basil after the tidbit I’ve shared above.
I’m also happy to announce that The Shreddinator 3000 is a huge success:
Wait a second, here’s a close up. May it melt your face too:
In a shocking turn of events that nobody could have foreseen, today’s post is…again about cats.
More specifically, it’s about our cat preparations. While some cat gadgets are undeniably insane, many are useful and even necessary.
Scratching posts are just such necessities. If you don’t provide your cat with some alternative scratching options, rest assured that your sofa will do just fine. We quite like our sofa, so we decided to get the upcoming cats a few good scratching posts. Our friend that’s fostering the cats was kind enough to get us a simple scratching post from the shelter. However, we wanted our cats to scratch in style, so we’ve done research and made a shortlist of a few cool scratching environments…
…only to make an impulse purchase today, while shopping for groceries. Turns out they had a very nice scratching post at the supermarket. It has now been dragged home, carefully assembled, and is awaiting the imminent cat invasion.
Allow me to proudly present to you…The Shreddinator 3000:
That’s right, it even has a rooftop terrace!
To be honest…I think it’s way too nice for the cats to scratch. I’m currently looking for ways to shrink myself so that I can move into this palace. I’ll let you know if I’m successful.
Alright, I promise to tone down the cat post overkill. I’m just excited about the whole cat thing, in case you couldn’t tell. Could you tell?
In my last post, I gave you all a warning: I said you could expect me to talk about cats incessantly from now on. You probably laughed it off and were all like “Yeah, good use of hyperbole, dude.” Well, here comes a post about cats. Who’s laughing now?!
We’ve been doing research while waiting for our cats. Basic stuff like how to prevent cats from scratching furniture, how to train them, which plants in our house are likely to dissolve their stomachs out of existence.
In my search for cat toys and equipment I have come across some…curious items. I decided to combine a cat post with my established and proud tradition of making fun of ridiculous stuff I find online. Without further ado, allow me to introduce some items that were clearly designed by people who think we’re at war with the feline species.
Upon first glance, this looks like an innocent little toy for your cat. It’s clearly designed to stimulate the cat, giving it an array of entertainment options: catching a ball or punching a mouse right in the face. It’s nothing but all kinds of awesome, right?
Wrong! So wrong.
You see, this toy is designed in such a way that the ball inside can never, ever be taken out. No matter which side the cat reaches out from, how many times it paws at the ball in furious desperation and chases it in maddening circles, the ball will stay forever trapped inside its plastic, yellow-red container. That’s not a toy, that’s the first real step on the path to kitty insanity. This work of the devil teaches cats that life has no meaning and that all efforts to achieve something, no matter how clever and dedicated, are futile.
The mouse is just the cherry on top (and it’s also on top, so I’m sure there’s a clever and hilarious pun in there somewhere). While the cat is engaged in a senseless game of “chase the ball round and round and round ad infinitum,” this insufferable little bastard is just sitting there the whole time, looking down on the ordeal and laughing. Laughing! Just look at him!
The name of the “toy” is quite accurate, albeit incomplete. It should’ve been called “Crazy First Circle Of Hell.”
Yes, I am aware that it’s a dog in the chair. Thank you. If you had followed the link instead of offering “spot that animal” lessons, you’d know that the chair is designed for cats and dogs alike.
Whoever invented this chair tried to answer one simple question: “How can we let our pets share meals with us while simultaneously preventing them from walking into our soup?”
Horrifyingly, the only answer they came up with was: “Suspend them several feet in the air in a claustrophobic box they are strapped to against their will.”
In case you want to question the “against their will” part, here’s a helpful excerpt from the product description itself: “Two tethers on the chair protect your dinner guests against any lapses in etiquette“. That’s just an unnecessarily convoluted way of saying “strap your fucking cat to the goddamn chair.”
It doesn’t help that the dog in the picture is either paralyzed with fear into motionless insanity or has been dead for years.
“What the fuck is that?!” is the question on both yours and that cat’s minds. You are lucky, because I can simply provide you with a written answer. The cat, however, will have to get that answer the hard way, by being zapped with static electricity as it attempts to explore this curious new object. Hurt and puzzled, it may attempt to return to this mat to understand what had happened. ZZZZZZAP!
That’s right, you too can teach your cat to never be inquisitive by electrocuting it repeatedly. Made for people who want to discourage cats from going on their sofa but are too lazy to bother personally training it. I’m looking forward to the baby edition. That way we can cease all verbal interaction and just let invisible electric pads raise our pets and children. Until we get robots to do that for us, that is.
Have an indoor cat but want to take it out for a walk? Want to let your cat experience the joys of the outside world but too afraid it might get lost? Looking for the easiest way to show your friends and neighbors that you’re a sadistic psychopath? Then this product is for you!
This “stroller” lets you bond with your cat by forcing it to accompany you on errands while confined inside a little cage. Because nothing says “fun” like being carted around town in a tiny iron jail that’s barely large enough for you to fit into. I think the looks on the dog’s and cat’s faces say more than I ever could.
Take special note of how zero effort has been put into designing this contraption to look like anything other than a depressing prison on wheels. Why not just throw a metal cage onto a wheelbarrow and be done with it?!
Until today I was blissfully unaware of this product’s existence. On a related note, until today I held on to the remote hope that a merciful God was out there somewhere.
This may be the most depressing sight I’ve ever witnessed, and I’ve had the misfortune of seeing trailers for Jersey Shore and Here Comes Honey Boo Boo.
Here’s a fun challenge for you all: Go to that website and try to find one single photo of a cat in a wig that doesn’t look like it either wants to die or murder all humans.
While you’re doing that, I’ll just go curl up in a corner and cry quietly while rocking back and forth.
Nest Expressed 