She’s Runnin’ This Bitch

I have a confession to make…

I have caved in to the demands… of less-than-10-pounds of cat.

Here’s what happened:  I had not put sheets on my bed in several weeks, mostly because I’m lazy like that but partly because I’d been having trouble sleeping so I had been sleeping on the couch to try to trick myself.  So why waste clean sheets on a bed I’m not in?  Also, the damn weather is giving my knees fits, so sometimes I’ve been sleeping on the floor with my legs propped up on the furniture (sexy, no?) — and therein lies the problem.

Turns out, Calpurnia Jean does NOT approve of floor-sleeping for any reason whatsoever.  So every night, I would have just drifted off when she would emerge from her daytime resting place on Chuckweasel’s pillow and saunter up to me.  She would then put her entire nose in one of my nostrils — which wakes one right the hell up, let me tell you!  I would pat the blanket beside me in an attempt to get her to lie down, and she would sit there and stare at me for a good few minutes before giving this big huff of a sigh and literally FLINGING herself down next to me in disgust.  She would repeat the nostril-staring-huffing process several times a night… and she finally broke me, y’all.

So yesterday evening I washed the sheets and made the bed… while Callie Jean slept on the couch.  Seems the couch is okay under certain conditions, but the living room floor is verboten!  Maybe because it’s too close to Mouseschwitz?  You’d think she’d appreciate having a night guard!

PS — No nougat-stacking on Chuckweasel as he steadfastly refused to fall asleep yesterday, but I did learn an interesting bit of Chuckweasel Trivia:  He will not eat “assorted chocolates.”  I guess it’s the Forrest Gump Principle (you nevah know whutchoo gonna get), but I find it slightly upsetting.  So I made him taste one.  And it was butter cream, and he spit it out.  And I ate it, ’cause I don’t waste candy, yo.  And ’cause I like butter cream.



Filed under Calpurnia Jean, La Vida Loca, My Secret Shame(s), Twu Wuuv

16 responses to “She’s Runnin’ This Bitch

  1. My cat is always confused when I get down on her level.

    Chuckweasel doesn’t do assorted chocolates? But most of them come with maps now so you do know what you’re going to get.

    Not wasting the buttercream was the right thing to do.


  2. Dear Sweet Mama

    I’m with Chuckweasel on this one – unless I can tell it is caramel or fudge I ain’t eating it. Not fond of buttercream and NO JELLY! Your crazy aunt N used to poke holes in the bottom of everything. That cat is the boss of you.


  3. What’s up with the cats lately?! Dolly Gee Squeakers (formerly of the Humane Society Squeakers) crammed her nose into my ear yesterday. 🙂 I have to admit it made me laugh.


  4. I hate coming to a party late, who or what is a Chuckweasel . I’m serious I cannot make visual spitting out and eating after ii/him/her without it.


    • I see that Chuckweasel has already identified himself — he is the holder of the tile of “Significant Other” in the HoodyHoo Household, and is a recurring character in this blog… as for the visual — have you ever tried to feed a dog a grape?


  5. Oliver forces his whole face, wet nose leading the way, into my mouth when he is trying to annoy me enough to get up and feed him breakfast. It is gross. And effective.

    The Boy has been accepted as family. He got the wet nose in the mouth treatment for the first time this week.


  6. Chuckweasel

    Chuckweasel, ie, me is a boyfriend species type. 🙂


  7. I’m been owned for years by an 8 pound ball of fur with legs. Like you, I have trouble sleeping sometimes and opt for the couch. Checkers, the cat who owns me, does not approve of sleeping there after roughly midnight. She will wake me from my sound sleep, sleep that I’ve longed for, to “yell” at me until I go to the bed. Lately I’ve refused, and she also huffs and flops down next to me in a small protest. Totally cute, though. Gotsta love the little hairballs.


  8. The secret is to smash ’em first, the chocolates, not the cat, and if it’s one of the shitty fruit or yellow cream yucky ones you pitch ’em and move on. As far as the cat goes, it’s probably part of her master plan to smother you in your sleep ON THE BED. So yeah, you changing your pattern fucked up her strategy. Murderous Cat Science.


    • I am more of a biter than a smasher or a poker (still talking about candy here, you pervy bitches!) — but that does make it unpleasant for anyone else to open up my box of chocolates and find all my nibbled-on rejects! And Callie Jean is now sleeping in the bed with me, but she switches sides of me about every hour, so she’s still plotting something!


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