Name That Cat; A Scratchy Old Record


So. I’m flummoxed with the news that Osama bin Laden is dead. Or that Usama bin Ladin is dead. However the hell you spell it, that lousy fucker is dead. I’m glad, no doubt about it, but I’m perplexed at how I feel about it.

I’m too busy to think about it, so let’s talk about other stuff. First, a check on my Twitter account finds me back down to 24 Followers. That’s would mean that over the last week six new people have signed up to follow me, and seven have pushed the “Un-follow” button. I remain dazed and confused, and these actions add to both.

I’m Following 65 Twitter accounts. Most are literary in nature, part of my efforts to learn more about publishing. Since punching the Follow button on the lit people almost a year ago, I have only added a handful of accounts, and all of the new ones are fellow bloggers I chose to follow.

Nobody ever Tweets about me so I’m unsure why I’m even on Twitter. Maybe things will happen there after my book is out.

Second, I have a cat in my life, and for the first time in my life. Having never been around a cat for anything other than brief periods of time, I have found myself totally unprepared for cat fatherhood. OK, since this is to be Dr. Sam I. Am-Johnson’s cat, I’m actually more like a step father-in-law. But the good doctor won’t accept the fucking cat, as full payment of our agreement for Squirt to be my actual puppy, until I train said fucking cat.

Have you ever tried to train a cat? Have you ever tried to train a fucking cat who spent its first nine months living with a crazy cat lady in Cat Lady Prison? Prison life is not good socialization training.

There is one bright spot from my cat training endeavors. I called the Research Department over to If You Can’t Smoke It, Wear It and asked Billy to start thinking about making a hemp cloth that is cat scratch resistant. Eighty-three has shredded a half-dozen shirts, two pairs of shorts and Gram’s fire engine red thong bikini in her short stay. She’ll be hiding in the closet with my gay pig and his ostrich lover if she get hold of more of Gram’s prized outfits.

Speaking of Rush Limbaugh and Rick Perry, said pig and ostrich, I want to say, “Fuck Texas Governor Rick ‘Education Is A Terrible Thing To Learn’ Perry.” The idiocies that are Rick Perry are a terrible burden on my state.

Third, or maybe this should be second-and-a-half, we have got to rename the cat. I’ve never named a cat and it has turned out to be a difficult task. My first idea was to name her Stinky, which is what she was when we first got adopted by her. But now she smells pretty good, and thank God she likes to take a shower.

She showers with the Squirt and me each morning as a part of her training. I use the time under the water spray to bond with her and as part of teaching her to pee in the sink. In less than a week I’ve got her peeing in the shower, Squirt providing the instructions. Squirt pees almost like a male dog, raising one back leg as she urinates. But she raises it forward, not the hike backward that a boy dog does.

Squirt is a seriously cute little shit.

“Squat when you pee, Squirt, like a regular girl dog,” I tried to tell her. “I read where cats squat, and she needs to know she’s a cat.”

“Hey, big boy, I don’t tell you how to pee,” Squirt said, “so leave me to this training.”

Of course, she’s right, I do muddle in the business of others. And now Eighty-three pees like a male dog, except she lifts her back leg forwards.

I’ve only tried to get her to pee in the sink the one time. Disaster. Everything was fine– she was squatting at the edge of the sink and ready to roll. I had the bright idea to hold a hand mirror to her backside so she could see what was up. That would be the specific moment that the fifth shirt was shredded. The first time a cat looks in a mirror should not be looking at its own ass draped over the edge of a sink.

But I need help with this name dealie. I’ve got no frame of reference, no understanding of cats. I thought to name her Carta Blanca, but she told Squirt that she’s a Siamese, not a Mexican. Since what was Siam is now Thailand, I thought that maybe Pad Thai would fit.

“How about we call you Pad Thai?” I suggested. Stupid fucking cat spit at me and shredded my shirt. I guess food and drink names are not her plate of tacos, or her cup of tea.

She’s got many ill-humored bad habits that set my teeth on edge. But she makes up for it when she purrs. Melts my heart when she does that kneading thingie and purrs. She sits on my chest beside the Squirt, massaging my chest with her front paws, purring like a machine. Very calming.

Maybe we can do a contest here to the bloggie. Name the cat and get a free autographed copy of my soon-to-be-published book, Full Rising Mooner.

Which reminds me. I will be out of touch from this Saturday until next Saturday. Heading down to Florida to visit family. I hate fucking Florida, but I love my family. Manana, y’all.

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6 Responses to “Name That Cat; A Scratchy Old Record”

  1. For shame, Mooner! Thou shalt not hate Florida! I wish I could move back to Florida – not so much for the people, but I love the climate and palm trees and ocean breeze. Enjoy Florida – and have fun with the family!

    Now, about the cat – if you want to stop the “shredding” issue – trim her nails. I trim my kitteh’s nails and she just can’t claw anything (but I also do not let her outside because then she couldn’t kick some other cat’s ass since she has no sharpie claws). As for her name – I am a big fan of Thai food. I think you had the right idea with Pad Thai…but, that’s a seriously gay name for a cat, so I say you pass on that. How about something like “Panang” (like the curry – which happens to be my favorite curry!). I doubt #83 knows anything about Siam or about Thai food…so she won’t even know “Panang” is a reference to a curry. Besides – sounds like she’s a bit on the spicy side, so only fitting that you name her something underscoring that.

    Oh, and lastly – Twitter really does drive me nuts. It’s for twits. Really. I don’t get people’s need to “tweet” the goings on in their lives every other minute, in 140 characters or less. I’m only only there because it gives linkies to my blog posts. I don’t “tweet” too much. You might want to make a Mooner Farcebook page. Then you and Squat can REALLY get under folks’ skin with the political shit! I fell prey to that last night – I got roped into making some comments on some other people’s really ignorant posts, to point out the inaccuracy of their statements. I felt just like my big bro Squat! LOL

    Have fun in Florida!!!

  2. Squatlo says:

    Mooner: Happy to be home, glad to be back on the bloggie surfin’ parade!

    Naming a cat is dangerous bidness, sir. You name one something cutesy (like “Muffy”) and end up with a cold blooded fang bearing scratch-attack cat and you look like an idiot. Name one something fierce (like “Venom”) and then end up with a puddy tat that purrs on your lap and you look like the nerd who buys the specialty vanity plate that reads “TRMN8R” for his Volvo.

    Steve Martin once named a cat “Dr. Forbes”. I liked that a lot, don’t know why. I knew a stoner who managed a Pizza Hut who had cats named “Chronic” and “Spazz”… and both LOVED to climb into an army duffle bag for all of the shotgunned exhales whenever he was hosting a smoking party after work. They would wrestle around for a front row seat near the intake hole, snarf down as much smoke as their little lungs could handle, then spend the next couple of hours climbing his curtains and ripping around like weasels on crack. Hey, in those days, you either watched stoned cats play or tuned in to see what Reverend Ernest Angley was doing at that time of night. The cats were a safer bet for entertainment.

    I’d name the cat something slightly Thai in origin, even if you have to use Broadway to find the name. “The King and I” was based in Siam, right? Wasn’t the female lead’s name “Anna”? Come up with some variation on the name “Anna” that reflects a combo of cat, Thailand, and the madness that is Mooner’s World, and you’ve got yourself a hell of a lot better moniker than “83”.
    Although I like the hell out of “83” personally…
    I’m a fan of “13” on “House”… think she’s hot as hell, has Siamese Cat eyes, and could make me leave Mrs. Squatlo in a heartbeat, even though that would result in a fatal beating at the hands of the most dangerous woman in Rutherford County, Tn.

    Good luck on the feline project. You’ll be a changed man in two or three weeks. The cat will have you pooping in a litter box and your sink will smell of toothpaste and pot pourri instead of Carta Blanca urine by then.

    Shit, Mooner… A cat? Somehow this just doesn’t fit your profile.
    Fuck Rick Perry, is right…

  3. admin says:

    Reck. Your Florida thingie might become an issue. Can’t go there and avoid the cracker jacks. I run out of patience on the third day when I explain, for the fiftieth fucking time, “My name is Mooner because I flash my ass.”

    I like Panang for the cat, but she just shook her head at it. “Not enough musicality in the word.” WTF does that mean? Dr. Sam I. Am has neighbors from Thailand and when they speak their native tongue, it all sound sing-songy to me.

    Gram suggested “Larb” because that’s Gram’s favorite dish. Stupid cat spit and growled at Gram, and I got another shirt sleeve shredded. I’ll try the nail trimming dealie.

    Facebook, huh?

  4. RMealer says:

    Don’t feel estranged. I got a black male cat who is 13 yrs old. He has bladder problems ( pees everywhere all the time, and HE squats). He also has Alzheimers, because I can feed him in the morning and an hour later he forgets he’s already ate and whines for more. Oh, he’s coal black named “RAVEN” and was a stone cold rabbit killer back in the day. BTW, cats don’t give a fuck what you name them. Food and a sleeping spot that is warm are the primary needs.

  5. RMealer says:

    Shit, forgot about Florida. I was born in Key West, lived in Miami 72 to 78. Have relatives in Panama City/ Destin area. The further south you go in Florida, the weirder people get. Until you get to Key West and say ” This is HOME!” if you like to drink and fk 18 hours a day. (Gotta sleep sometime)

  6. admin says:

    RMealer. Your Raven reminds me of Gram. All of this cat business is taxing my nerves. I have to become a cat expert to train someone else’s cat.

    Ugh. Sometimes it’s difficult to honor your word.

    BTW- thanks for stopping by and leaving your scent.

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