Finger update: I caved and went to the doctor when I realized my finger no longer needed a joint to bend. It's broken. Splint 2.0 is way sexier.
My weekend has been filled with friends, auditions, and cat wrangling. It has not been filled with the room-cleaning and laundry-doing I promise myself I will accomplish every weekend. The laundry thing might happen today though, because yesterday I made Ann smell my clothes to see if they were too rank to wear to an audition. True story.
The cat wrangling primarily has to do with these fools.
Early September I adopted the little lady on the left (Stella) to be a sister for my gingercat Sir Kirbington Ginger Sacksy of Sandy Desert Pyle. Kirby. They complement each other perfectly. He is very clever but very cranky, and she is frighteningly stupid but adorably loving. Something about her sweet, dumb little face wormed its way into Kirby's heart and brought out a kind, gentle side I'd never seen in him. It's adorbable.
However, Stella, aside from being cute and stupid, is also surprisingly an utter tyrant, and Kirby, for some unfathomable reason, has decided to go along with this. When they eat, she growl-chews, and Kirby sits back patiently until she lets him eat. As a result, he's wasting away while she's turning into a bit of a chunkster.* She also has deemed it necessary to assert her dominance by peeing on everything I own.
Seriously. Everything. The wood floors in the corner by the kitchen table are stained black. My hand-me-down rugs all have little yellow stains. The new scratching post I got them for Christmas was immediately pissed on. And the other day I put on a sweater only to find it was stiff with dry urine. (This could have been avoided if I didn't pick up dirty clothes off the floor to re-wear. See above section on my lack of laundry-doing and room-cleaning). Yesterday she peed in her litter box, meowing to herself the entire time (both my cats are extremely chatty), then promptly skipped around the apartment in plain sight of Ann and myself, squatting until we sprayed her full on in the face with the spray bottle and screamed obscenities at her.
And that's the other thing - unlike Kirby, whose days of youthful disobedience were marked by a clear "I don't give a fuck about you or your feelings" attitude, Stella clearly wants our love and hates when we're angry at her. She just doesn't seem to have made the connection that jumping on the table/running out of the apartment/waking me up at 6 every morning by shredding the fabric of my box spring/peeing on everything is precisely what makes us loathe her. And she does all of these things EVERY FIVE MINUTES. And is shocked every time when she gets sprayed in the face, or yelled at, or locked out of my room.
So my weekend included a lot of that. More specifically, Ann's weekend included a lot of that. Stella apparently went on a pee-rampage for about an hour after I left for an audition, and Ann was left to desperately defend our belongings/security deposit. Thanks, boo.
Stella's delightful, snuggly ways mostly make up for the horror that is her young, kittenish self. I'm pretty sure she'll outgrow this in a year or so. In the meantime, we'll just keep making our neighbors wonder who Stella is, and why we threaten loudly to skin her all the time.
*Kirby's not really wasting away. What kind of cat mom do you think I am? He's just fashionably slender.