Critter Chronicles Summer 2016

My husband's cat may have a cool name, but Orwell is evil.That malicious cat has torn up everything in this house.  Our last living room sofa is shredded.  The brand new 100% genuine leather recliner?  Ruined.  All 10 leather bar stools for our kitchen and porch and the two very nice bucket set leather chair in the music room are all scratched.  Every single carpeted door jam or carpet edging is pulled up and severed from the mat underneath.  Thousands of dollars worth of area rugs for the new house are ruined. I'm scared to look at the new sectional upstairs or at any of the window treatments.  The stairs are also ruined.  Fur balls everywhere are so minor and can be cleaned up, but when I consider how much time I spent buying those items...searching all over the world via the internet...agonizing over what to buy - taking somethings back...hauling that stuff into the house only to have a wild stray cat destroy it.  He even scratched up the new windows in our brand new over the top long dreamed for porch.

I suggested declawing or  tendon snipping more than once, but my husband would not hear of it.  Whenever the subject comes up, Orwell hides his claws from me as if he knows what I'm saying.

I found the cat another home, but the kids were not having it.  We've spend hundreds, maybe thousands on cat trees, sprays, tape, oils, horns, every gizmo under the sun.

When we replaced the sofa in the living room, we wrapped the sticky tape stuff around it and put a shock mat behind it.  That seemed to work until the battery died.

 

We recently bought soft claws for him, and this was the look on his face following the application of his false nail tips.

 

My husband sang for dignitaries around the world for 4 years with the USNA Glee Club. He sang to me when we dated, at our wedding, and for years after. He sang with the praise team at church for 14 years. All that was just a warm-up or prelude for his new gig which involves cradling, rocking, and singing "Rock-a-bye, Baby" to his sinister kitty every night.

Our daughter coddles his lazy, entitled, spoiled rotten, good-for-nothing self, too.

Muffin has resumed her title as athletic trainer.  She sprawls out in the fitness room when I'm working out, staring at me directly or through the mirror with a look that says, "Work harder, you wimp!" all the while sporting her double chin and fat/fluffy body.  Today, she hopped on my back while I was doing push-ups as if to add weight and make me push harder.

Muffin also taught me the following lesson:
If a phone is left on the floor of the workout room while Muffin is getting exercise, she will hop on the redial button. Sorry to our doctor's receptionist for all the prank calls.

Muffin has been a cute companion during my Bible study times as well.

Orwell, on the other hand, does not help me at all during Bible study.

 

At least the silly cat has some really funny sleeping positions to keep me amused.  I have captured a few below, but sleeping curled up in any of the kids' sinks is one of the cutest.  No pictures, though.

Under the dishwasher?