Warning: Just as I have little desire to read blog updates about the “funny” or “cute” things human or canine children do, I realize that some readers may feel the same about feline children. If you do not find the idea of an audible cat fart hilarious and/or amazing, read no further.
Do cats fart?
Stinky Pants, Poofy Face, and I spent a week back in the basement as mom recovers from another biopsy. Mom is doing great–despite my best intentions, she and I are still playing our usual roles, mom as caregiving dinner cooker, and me as wimpy couch dweller–and she was immediately back at work. She’s negative for the big ‘C’ and we are continually knocking on wood. Hurrah!
My mom’s animal menagerie includes two cats, grouchy old man Jasper and squirrel assassin Alice, and a perpetually morose, children-with-special-needs-therapy dog Stella.
Jasper immediately went into murderous ninja mode, chasing my girls back into the basement whenever they dared show their adorable whiskers above subterranean level. One night, Jasper waited until Stinky Pants and I had fallen asleep in our usual spooning position to creep down to the basement and bitch slap my baby kitty. She awoke with a yowl and dug her nails into my right hand where her face had been nestled into my palm. J-asshole. (Too much?)
Despite Jasper torturing them, Stinky Pants and Poofy Face are having a great time sneaking upstairs from the basement to peek out the animal door that leads to the backyard.
Poofy Face follows canine Stella, hoping for a chance to sniff her backside. Poofy Face loves butts.
Alice sneaks downstairs to watch Stinky Pants and Poofy Face eat. Weirdo.
While mom went out of town visiting grandma over the weekend, Stella (dog) languished. Every time she and I made eye contact, she sighed audibly and looked toward the window, as if to say, “When you come to her house, my mommy leaves. Please roll over and die or take me to the park.” Perhaps, you begin to understand my preference for cats.
Apparently, the stress has given the Stinky Pants a touch of indigestion. Last night, as we settled into our usual sleep positions, Stinky Pants in my encircling arms and Cricket curled at my feet in her cat bed with her blankey, Stinky Pants just couldn’t relax. Then I heard (and felt) something I didn’t know existed: a cat fart. Stinky Pants has earned her moniker, letting one rip. Well done, Stinkatron.
Alas, our trip to gramma/mom’s house had to come to an end. Per usual, during the car ride from the suburbs to the city, Stinky Pants projectile vomited in the shared cat carrier while Poofy Face pressed herself against the screen in disgust. Pobre, Stinky Pants.
I assume Stella, Jasper, and Alice rejoice.
In other news, Paul insists we hang out with humans this weekend.