Today I will tell you about the four cats that I live with. As I feel that it is the most fair and efficient way of going about it, I shall rank them in order, from least favorite to favorite.
a qualitative ranking, by TJ
TIED FOR LAST: Spaz, Love and Sylvia
Spaz: Spaz is a goddamned thug. She’s like a gigantic barn cat, only seventeen times more crafty. She is fat, and she is heavy, and she is always darting out the backdoor to eat grass. Speed isn’t her strong point, though. No, no. It’s stealth. STEALTH. LIKE A ROGUE. HENCE MY HATE. When someone walks towards the backdoor, Spaz circles around past them, behind the cabinet next to the television, and positions herself between the cabinet and the TV. LIKE I CAN’T SEE YOU THERE, CAT. Then, as I slide the glass door open, out she darts. Right between my damn feet, like being outsmarted by a cat wasn’t humiliating enough. Then I have to hope she hasn’t stuffed herself under the grill and give myself a hernia picking her up to pitch her back in the house, hoping the whole while another cat doesn’t make a break for it, since I”ve had to leave the sliding door open, because supporting a Spaz with one hand is so not happening. How can a cat be smart enough to turn herself into dead weight? I DON’T KNOW, INTERNET.
Love: I’m surprised Love even comes near me anymore. She’s the one that Spaz sends into our room at 4 in the morning when the cats have no food (yes, Spaz sends her. Don’t ask how I know. I just know). She gets up on the bed and she meows. And she meows. And she meows. Then, when that doesn’t work, if I have yet to sleepily attempt to pitch her through a wall (hey, don’t sneak up on someone when they’re dead asleep, ok?), she sits right next to my face and reaches out to pat it with juuuuust the very tip of one claw extended. If she’s poked me enough, and violently shoving her away hasn’t worked, she forces me to lay there and say “Caaaat…. Caaaaaaaaaaat…. CAAAAT!!!” until Phil gets up and removes her from the room. And she walks all over the dog’s face. And, while she doesn’t do it as often as Spaz, she also gets outside and GOOD LUCK trying to put that one back in the house. She has claws and they are not for scratching, they are for ADHERING. Which she demonstrates so well when she decides to send my office chair violently flying backwards by leaping onto the back of it. Sometimes it takes the both of us to get her off, not that she stays off for more than 37 seconds.
Sylvia: Oh, this cat. Apparently, she’s named after Sylvester the Cat, as she is black and white, but I am convinced she’s actually sitting around channeling Sylvia Plath. This is the cat I find sitting silently directly outside the door when Phil and I are exiting the bedroom. This is the cat that I find staring up at me when I’ve just dropped my towel after a shower. This is the cat that stares at me through the tiniest cracks in the doors LIKE SHE IS RIGHT NOW OH MY GOD GO AWAY YOU CREEPY LITTLE THING!
FIRST PLACE: Randy
Randy: Randy is the only boy. Randy does not harass anyone for food. Randy does not jump on the back of my office chair while I am trying to work and refuse to get down. Randy does not harass the dog. Randy does not enter where he is not wanted. Randy does not stare at me when I’m naked. Even when he does stare, Randy stares politely, not creepily. Randy does not try to run outside. Randy is beautiful and fluffy. If Randy could will himself to not shed, I bet he’d do it, because he’s that nice. I think Randy could probably cure cancer. I only like Randy.