Proof Of More Cats

It's sometimes hard to tell with this weblog if we have more than one cat or not, because I go on and on about Onion all the time, but we really do have more than one cat. In fact, we have THREE cats.

That's what happens when two people who love each other very much but don't want to make human babies and are minus a uterus still want to love little things. They adopt strays and steal kittens from bums.

This is our third and final kitty, Lula:



Part of the reason I write so much about Onion to the exclusion of all the others is that he is simply more photogenic than either Oskar or Lula. The other two are black, and they end up looking like miniature black holes in the middle of the floor or whatever piece of furniture is behind them.

Also, as you can tell by the blur, Lula never stops moving around.



This little photo shoot was extra fun, because she's in a bit of a heat right now, and so she was busy alternating between showing me her butt and keeping her eyes peeled for opportunities to slut it up with Onion.

Our Onion might be fixed, but he gives the girl a good going over when she needs it. It's like his post-testicles super power.



Our Lula: cute! slutty! vocal!

Emo Cat Saddened By The Sunrise, Sighs Deeply

This cat's a real dick.



But you can probably tell that from the photo.

Oskar harumphs. He sighs. He whines when he can see the blue plastic bowl through his cat food. He might starve. We might forget about him, he's so invisible.



He also wants us all to be aware that he is bereft of all affection. And? He's trying to be vigilant about keeping track of all the exits and entrances, but he's only one cat, you know.

Plus, Schmutzie's feet must be bitten to stop the chaos of her moving them around in the kitchen. Fucking feet. Bite bite bite.



Oh, and mornings are very sad. They are the saddest of all, what with their yellow sunlight and birds birding and the like. How is he to weather the onslaught of so many things that only serve as a measure against his inner torment?



I'm just glad that he hasn't mastered written language. His emo poetry about lost love, futility, and all the little people who lack his immeasurable capacity for feeling and deep thought would result in a lot of sprained eyeballs around these parts.

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Now with bonus alarm clock cat!

Onion, Thou Art Stalwart

Back in March, Onion was pushing his Wake Up and Love Me campaign, which involved scratching at our bedroom door during the night and early morning hours to get us to please touch him for the love of all things right and good. We pushed back with our We Shoot you In the Face With Water Bottles rebuttal, because we're heartless monsters who take joy in hosing down lovemuffins.

What have we all learned?



We have learned that Onion always wins.



Whether we exit the bedroom at 6 a.m. or at noon, Onion sees it as a direct result of his Wake Up and Love Me campaign.

"Oh, good! I got you up!" he thinks.



If the last six months have taught us anything, it is that Onion is nothing if not infuriatingly stupid persistent.



He is stalwart, even, in the face of our brutal neglect.



Jerk.