Scraping in just before midnight here… Woot, first day of NaBloPoMo, and I nearly miss it, what with the internets being on the fritz here at home. Luckily I got it working with enough time left to post this gem…


Ok, so maybe you knew already, and maybe you didn’t but I am a crazy cat lady. I tried not to be. First, I wanted a puppy. But my work and life schedules did not converge in such a way that made getting a puppy conducive. So I decided to get a cat instead, because cats can take themselves to the potty and can be trusted not to gulp down a week’s worth of food in 10 minutes. But still, I would not be a crazy cat lady. I would not refer to myself as my cat’s “mom” as so many do. I would not sing songs or make up ridiculous nicknames for him. I would not take a million pictures of him. I would not have long conversations at work about him.

Well, my dad started referring to Sake as “his grandcat” right off the bat, which was a little disturbing, but also made it almost obligatory to refer to myself as Sake’s mommy. And while I still don’t sing* to him (like K over at She Walks wrote about in this recent post), I make up a ton of ridiculous nicknames for him. I realize this is common, now, after reading the comments section of K’s post. Seriously, it’s just like verbal diahrrea. So for your enjoyment, a (by no means definitive) list of the nicknames for my cat, Sake:

Sake-bomb (of course)
Sweet Pea
Punkin Pie
Meazy Peezy
Meazy Peezy Puddin and Pie
and (when he poops where he isn’t supposed** to) Shitty Kitty

Yeah, I am a total loser. Sigh.

*Out loud. I did realize the other night that I was singing a song in my head to the tune of “Psycho Killer” by the Talking Heads. It goes like this: “Psycho Kitty, Qu’est-ce que c’est? Fa fa fa fa fa fa…”

**Like in the laundry basket full of clean clothes. Or right in front of his litter box. Literally 3 inches from the opening to his box. WTF is up with that, really?