zwinky

I'm a Zwinky:

I made this during my break - notice that Jack is even pictured. If only my boobs were actually that big.

elder

It is August. Sometimes I feel like it has taken forever to get here, other times it seems like the months have flown by. I've come to a conclusion regarding the 25 year milestone that I celebrate this month. I am not going to remind people that my birthday is fast approaching this year. If someone (aka: the man) wants to do something nice for me on my birthday, he'll have to remember it on his own. I usually remind people of my birthday, not for gifting purposes, but because I get so excited about the event.

FYI, I love birthdays. It doesn't matter whose birthday it is, I love them all. It seems to me that making it another year is cause for celebration, no matter what your age. I do realize that I may be setting myself up for disappointment by neglecting to mention my birthdate, but I've experienced this before. In true Sixteen Candles fashion, my family forgot my birthday when I was in my teens - I got an apology, but no bushy-eyebrowed athlete swept me off my feet. Let's see if the current bushy-eyebrowed man in my life remembers my birthday this year.

frequency

I had a great weekend with my friend Kristen. It was a much needed escape from the stresses of work and life, which have been piling up over the past month. It was fun to be able to do things with my friends (note that I do not really count the man among my "friends" because I have a tendency to think of all of my friends as being asexual and thinking of the man in those terms would be more-than-problematic to the relationship).

The man's mother is in town for the week, hence the lack of posts lately. I like her a lot - it is interesting to see where the man came from and where he got some of his idiosyncrasies and mannerisms. She really likes Jack, despite the little ditch-cat hissing at her and refusing to calm down when she holds him. Luckily, she like a cat with "attitude" and is not even joking when she says that he seems to be part bobcat. The man and I joke about it, but his mom is somewhat of a pet expert and this freaks me out a lot. FYI: I do not want a 35 lb. cat terrorizing the household, he does enough damage at 5 lbs.

I realize that the frequency of my posts is decreasing while their actual content interest is also on the decline. I'll work on that.

bon voyage!

These are the beings I come home to everyday.

BUT not tomorrow...my friend Kristen is coming to WI this weekend and I'm going to be visiting her at her parents'. Thus, the pets are going to be left under the man's supervision until I return on Sunday.

The man's mother is going to be staying with us for a week starting on Sunday as well. I've only met her twice as she lives in Oklahoma and doesn't make it back to WI very often. I know that she likes me (at least in comparison to the man's previous significant others) but I can't help but be a little nervous. I am thinking it will be a good, but busy week.

origin of the species

Here is a photo of the offending animal, which the man and I now believe to be a fossa. For those of you who are unaware, a fossa (pronounced foo-sa) is a mammal that looks very much like a cross between a dog and a cat - or, a cross between, perhaps, a dingo and a bobcat (such as our Jack).

Since we found Jack in a ditch, it is difficult to know his exact origins.

I take Jack to the vet on Friday for his second distemper shot. Perhaps now that he is older it will be more apparent that we are harboring a creature once thought to only inhabit Madagascar.

grievance

The neighbors have a sign in their front yard that reads "FREE KITTENS" in 3-foot tall lettering. The man and I, upon seeing this sign, have contemplated sneaking Jack into their litter of kittens and walking away (though I am sure he is three times the size and 5.3 billion times more havoc-wreaking). I love Jack, I really do, but he is being naughtier than usual lately and the man and I have not been getting proper sleep as a result.

I have suggested selling Jack on the black market, thinking that a bobcat/dingo hybrid would fetch a pretty penny, but have the sneaking suspicion that I am far too attached to him already. Because I can't bear to be rid of the little beast I am writing a complaint letter to his creator.


Dear Heavenly Father,

I am writing in regards to the good Samaritan act of kindness that the man and I performed by rescuing a stray kitten from a roadside ditch Sunday, May 14, 2006. As you are aware, having placed "Cat Named Jack" on that roadside with gunked-shut eyes, teetering dangerously close to the flow of traffic, this creature has some markedly obvious behavioral problems likely resulting from improper manufacturing practices. "Cat Named Jack" worked properly for approximately two weeks before signs of faulty construction became apparent. Below is a detailed list of the deficiencies of "Cat Named Jack":

• Inability to remain still for more than 2.6 seconds.
• Propensity to scratch and/or climb any vertical or semi-vertical object within or out of reach.
• Acute sense of right and wrong with inability to adhere to "right" behaviors.
• Hypersensitivity to movement and subsequent need to attack said moving object.
• Teeth are too sharp.
• Claws are too sharp.
• Does not land on feet.
• Broken food gauge = goes through one bag of kitten chow in less than two weeks.
• Sleep mode is faulty = wakes up after minimal down time.
• Reacts to the man's testosterone levels and, subsequently, is overly hyperactive in the man's presence.
• Male features are still intact - will need to be removed. Has already required servicing amounting to $125 and is due for additional maintenance in the form of distemper and rabies vaccinations.
• Overly cute. His cuteness may be hazardous to humans.

If you do nothing, I fear that "Cat Named Jack" will continue to show signs of disfunctionality. This is not an acceptable solution. In my opinion, your overall Godliness has a good reputation, and I trust that you will want to keep a customer happy. I see two options:

1. Reprogram "Cat Named Jack," at no charge to me.
2. Pay for behavioral training. If this resolves the problem without causing us any additional undue pain and suffering, the man and I will be satisfied.

If I haven't witnessed any change in behavior by Monday, I'll write again to follow up or may take up the matter with the Son or the Holy Spirit.

Sincerely,

The Dish

P.S. If I have misdirected this letter and it should be going to your Southern counterpart, please forward.

shanghaied

I went to visit my parents in the Northwoods of Wisconsin this past weekend. I had a really good time, but my visit was a whirlwind adventure of events.

I attended Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest with my folks on Friday night. There is one movie theater with one screen within 30 miles of my parents' house. We attended the movie on the night it opened = first mistake. The movie was late to start (45 minutes) because the makeshift ushers (aka pimply high school kids) had to ask people to rearrange themselves so that each and every seat was filled in the theater. When the movie finally began, they decided to turn on the air conditioning (prior to this we were left to breathe in stifling, stagnant air of 300 people). The sound was awful, adding to the whole awful ambience. My dad was a few rows ahead of me and my mom (we were lucky enough to get two seats together). Then came intermission half-way through. For those of you lucky enough to frequent theaters with a timetable, you have probably never experienced intermission. Intermission is a break in the flick where people can go to the refreshment stand/bathroom/get a smoke while not missing the movie. Usually, this only lasts ten minutes. On this occasion, it lasted 20. Needless to say, no one was too happy when they left the theater.

My parents neglected to inform me of a family reunion, more than likely the omission was purposeful. I was shanghaied into attending (more or less, my father guilted me into going because my mother would not attend). I have nothing against that part of the family, I just barely know any of them and really don't have a lot to say to anyone as a result. But, to make Dad happy, I attended (plus, my grandma was tickled pink that she could usher me around to meet everyone and their brothers, cousins, offspring, etc.).

I went to an old friend's wedding that night (which was not the purpose of the trip, but rather a happy coincidence). I ran into a lot of people that I actually wanted to see and very few whom I didn't want to see. Mainly, I was able to see much of my family whom I haven't seen since February. I love my family for many reasons, but one of the biggies is that we can sit and criticize others in humorous ways for many hours at a time (this was evidenced by our conversations regarding the bubble gum pink, ill-fitting bridesmaids' dresses at the wedding). Oh, how wonderful it is to have partners in mockery.

I had a good weekend, but feel as though I haven't actually been able to relax. The drive is four hours one way and without air conditioning in 90 degree heat is almost unbearable. But, it was worth it to be able to see the family and to move some additional stuff down to my house.
The man missed me terribly (which still flatters me and makes me feel all a-flutter inside), as did the dog. Jack, on the other hand, seemed to have no feelings regarding my absence. This makes me sad (but I am happy that he was happy while I was gone). I actually heard a story from my cousin regarding the "missing" topic and it goes as follows:

Cousin to her 5 year-old son who spent the week with grandparents: I missed you this week.
Boy: I didn't really miss you, Mama.
Cousin: You didn't? That kind of makes me sad.
Boy: It's okay, Mama. Everybody doesn't need to miss everybody all of the time.

argument

The man and I had a miscommunication yesterday which spoiled our plans for the evening. Note that I said plans because we had discussed doing something. He had thought that I would be working late (instead of having yoga class) and proceeded to not come home from his friend's house until 9 p.m. I understand that miscommunications happen, but I was not pleased to find out that he had still realized that he was late, even on his altered timeframe.

I am traveling north to spend the weekend with my parents and thought it might be nice to spend some time together before I leave. I was not pleased to have spent three hours waiting for the man to get home (I got a lot of things accomplished, but was more-than-perturbed the whole time). When the man got home he tried his hardest to get me to stop being angry with him - I'll give him credit for his originality, but won't go into details in this post. Below is a snippet of our conversation upon his return home:


Trish (from balcony as man exits his vehicle): Looks like you had to work late today.
Man: Umm...no...I was at Roger's helping him move a trunk. Did you just get home?
Trish: Yeah, three hours ago.
Man: I thought you had to work late.
Trish: No. I work late next Monday and Tuesday. I had yoga tonight.
Man (sheepishly): Do you want to go get some dinner? I thought we were going to hang out tonight.
Trish: So did I. Dinner is in the fridge, I ate two hours ago.
Man: You said you were going to be late.
Trish: Since when do I work until 9:30 at night?
Man: I only thought I was an hour late.
Trish: Why don't you strap a dick to your head so everyone else can see what I see right now.


All is well now (though he still owes me). I may even miss him over the weekend. I just hope he takes care of the cat while I'm gone and doesn't turn him from Jack into a jackal.

independent?

The man and I have been together for quite some time now (over a year, perhaps as long as a year and a half - I don't really know when a couple can legitimately be classified as a couple). In this amount of time we have gone from living in different states to living in the same state to living in the same house (this actually happened over about one month's time). I love living with the man. It seems, however, that I have gone from complete independence to whatever it is I'm doing now.

I didn't move here because of the man - he was definitely a part of it, but I have always planned on living here. Unfortunately, the man is the only person I had a connection to in the city. My best friend from high school (actually, the only person whom I've stayed in touch with) lives in a nearby city but her work schedule keeps us from seeing one another very often. In other words, I am rather limited in my scope of friends to do things with outside of work.

It seems to be impossible to make friends these days without seeming like you are trying to get in someone's pants. Men seem to assume friendliness and/or conversation is an invitation to bump naughties. Women seem to think you are trying to wrangle up their men and are often wary of other women. I can understand this and I am not judging, but it does make it hard to meet people.

My lack of friends in the general vicinity has indebted me to the man and his schedule. Before I left grad school I had an abundance of friends and was never left with the feeling of wearing out my welcome with any one of them; if nothing else I felt as though there wasn't enough time to maintain all the relationships. After college, it seems that I have an inability to meet people outside of the man's friend basket. Every woman in the man's friend basket is either an ex (I don't want to go there), married to a close friend of the man (meaning, much older than I), or has absolutely nothing in common with me. Even if there were some viable candidates, I do not want to get attached to anyone in the man's circle in case things go sour with the man and I'm left to give up the friends in the settlement.

I have tried taking classes (yoga, pottery, etc.) to no avail. I have tried hanging out in bookstores and coffee shops (this only led to men assuming that I was romantically available). None of this has worked. I have never had to work so hard at making friends in my life. I am hoping that the "pretend it's a dress" philosophy that I've adopted works. "Pretend it's a dress" = if you are looking for something (aka the perfect dress), you will not find it; if you are not looking for something, it will find you.

So, come on world - drop me a friend in the same county, I've stopped looking.

aunthood

My brother and his wife are expecting their first child (sometime in November). While I can't imagine my brother being a parent or being responsible for another living, breathing creature, I am happy that they have decided to go the route of the breeders. I do not want to have children, neither does the man. I don't dislike children, per se, but I do feel awkward around the especially tiny ones and the ones where you have to monitor their bodily functions (aka what goes in and what comes out). I have never changed a diaper and would be perfectly happy if I made it through life without ever having to do so. It isn't that I think I would be incapable of parenthood, I just don't carry the desire to procreate. Personally, I believe that I have had to raise enough "children" in my 24 years of life - I have had many friends whom I had to take care of, clean up after and make sure they didn't burn the house down.

Breeders keep telling me that it's different when the kids are yours - they are less annoying and it is a pleasure to take care of them. I don't doubt that the bond creates a different experience, but I do believe that I could establish a bond with someone else's kid and then send it home when the fun wears off. Perhaps I am selfish, but I don't see a need for everyone to have kids. I know a number of DINCs who are happy and content with their lives (DINC = dual income, no children). The man and I have pets and I feel that they are close enough to offspring.

Taking care of pets (aka Jack) has also shown me that I am not cut out for reproduction. I love Jack and wouldn't trade him in for anything. He is a fast learner and will soon be able to take care of himself, for the most part. At ten weeks of age he is in control of his bodily functions and I only have to supply him with a food source, attention and litter box maintenance. In return he idolizes me and hisses at the roommates, which makes me happy. A human child would take much more effort and I wouldn't be able to spray it with a water bottle if it were naughty. Plus, I don't think children land on their feet if they fall from high places.

In other words, I would much prefer to be the cool aunt who spoils the hell out of her neices/nephews and then hands their sugar-laden, sticky selves back over to their parents.

bipeds vs. quadrapeds

Orpheus (my beta fish) is the only pet in the household right now whom I don't have ill feelings toward. I love Orpheus and he has been a good fish (though it was heatbreaking to lose his predecessor, Homer, I have grown to love Orpheus as well).

The two quadrapeds are a different story. Jammer has found and rolled in something that smells like putrid rotten fish and Jack is hell-bent on destruction. Jammer stinks, but at least that can be easily remedied by a bath (which will be administered tonight). Jack, however, is losing his kitten teeth and as each one falls out he is also losing all sense of right and wrong. We have a spray bottle to keep his behavior in check, but lately it hasn't been working and he just ends up dripping wet.

Things Jack likes to climb:

• legs (of tables, chairs and humans)
• Jammer
• the back of the sofa (and the side, and the front)
• curtains
• surround sound speakers
• trim (the trim around the door/window - oh yes, he can climb thin pieces of wood nailed against the wall)
• the edges of the bed
• any vertical or semi-vertical object

Things Jack likes to bite:

• hands
• feet
• arms
• legs
• ankles
• dogs
• himself
• blankets
• furniture
• clothing
• books
• anything he can fit into his mouth

Things Jack likes to scratch:

...see above lists...

Jack no longer sleeps. He eats and grows and bites and scratches and runs and runs and, oh, did I say he runs?

If this isn't a phase I will have to quit my job to keep a close eye on him and open a creepy sideshow where wild creatures are kept as "pets." I will be forced to make a living by standing in the street and peddling the show by calling "Step right up ladies and gentlemen...come see the ferocious, man-eating dingo/bobcat...but don't get too close, my friends, he has been known to rip off limbs faster than you could bat an eyelash and once he gets a taste for blood, we will all be doomed! Oh yeah, we have a stinky-ass dog, too."

If this is a phase I'm sure I will look back at it and try to remember what it had been like when I still had all my fingers and toes.

musings on bon jovi

The man and I watched Bon Jovi on Oprah the other day (before we took the baby to the vet). We do not normally watch Oprah, but since the man used to be a big Bon Jovi fan, we watched the show.

Some history on my early years and Bon Jovi: As a child, I thought Bon Jovi (the whole band) looked like girls; granted, I was in elementary school and long hair on men wasn't in fashion. I did like the music though and had a lavender-colored portable tape player and listened to Bon Jovi's Slippery When Wet album religiously.

My current life as influenced by Bon Jovi: The man has a pair of ripped jeans that he refers to as his "Bon Jovi pants" and he often uses the phrase "Hell yeah, Bon Jovi!" at such random times that I don't quite know the reason for the utterance. The man was in high school during Bon Jovi's heyday and sported long locks of his own (which, apparently, was the fashion), the pictures of which are the cause for much mockery in our household.

Okay, getting back to what I thought of Bon Jovi's Oprah appearance. I was somewhat surprised by how much I like Bon Jovi as a person based on the interview. Gone is the bad hair (it's not great now, but it is much better than I remember). Gone are the spandex accoutrements. All-in-all, Bon Jovi is a good man - he and his band donated $1 million to Oprah's charity and he has been married to his high school sweetheart for 16 years despite the hoards of panty-throwers that would love to play Gina to his Tommy. The new single is being released sans music video with the money that would have been spent on production going to a Habitat for Humanity-type organization. He helps homeless kids in Philly. Like I said, he's a good guy.

Bon Jovi is what I think all rockers should strive for - using his wealth and celebrity to help others while remaining a values-driven human being with a real family that doesn't consist of a trophy-wife/stripper and a nanny. Hell yeah, Bon Jovi!

scars

The man and I have decided that we either look like we are involved in some sort of scandalous abuse or in kinky pleasure-time activities due to Jack's latest hand-mangling binge. The man looks as though he has defensive marks from attacking someone and I have similarly scratched and scabbed appendages. When we went to the local convenience store to pick up the staples (Diet Pepsi and candy), the cashier did a double-take when the man handed over payment with hands that look like he indeed could be the BTK killer. Then, when I reached for my lemonade off the counter, the poor cashier looked similarly alarmed at the horrifying shredded mess that used to be my hands. Oh yes - the man and I are victims of abuse at the paws of a 9 week-old bobcat/dingo hybrid.

procrastination

I'm working on tying up loose ends, such as finishing my master's thesis. I took a hiatus (longer than expected) from writing what is currently more of a thesisn't than a thesis. I just need to buckle down and get back to it - I have a feeling that it will go much faster than I had previously anticipated as I have always been quite prolific when held to a deadline.

Also, I'm getting in touch with some people to whom I haven't spoken in a while. Notice that I said "some" and not "all." There are some people who can be classified as "toxic friends" and will not be added back into the friend basket.

This weekend will be spent writing - either letters or the thesis. Now, I just need to find a good location from which to begin my assault on the little thesis that wasn't.

parenthood

The man and I took Jack to the vet yesterday evening. I took the day off, partially to prepare for the vet but mostly because I had to take a personal day before the end of the fiscal year and this was the only day I didn't have meetings. Either way, much of the morning was spent watching the cat to see if he was going to crap in his litter box so that I could scoop it up and bag it for the vet. At the last veterinary visit the doc asked that when I return I bring a fecal sample (from the cat).

The shit collection process was distressing to both me and Jack. When he had finally done his business and finished the subsequent "burial of all evidence" ritual, I scooped out the poo and placed it on a dustpan so I could ready myself with the ziploc baggy. Jack then frantically tried to cover the crap with anything found on the floor, any miniscule amount of dust that his little kitty paws could kick onto the dustpan. He looked at me with an expression that said "What the hell are you doing? Someone will see this: I just buried this crap! How dare you place it out in the open?" as if he were trying to dispose of a dead body and I had just invited the feds over for coffee. After bagging the evidence I put it in a nondescript brown paper bag with the not-so-nondescript label of "'Jack': fecal sample." With that out of the way I was able to go about the rest of the day.

The day was good...Then we went to the vet. They (the vet staff) all love Jack because he is on his best behavior when we go to their office. He also pulls out all the stops in magnifying his cuteness so that it has the power to outshine the sun. When it came time to take a blood sample, the vet's assistant held down my baby while the vet STUCK A NEEDLE THE SIZE OF A PENCIL IN HIS LEG! Okay, I was calm, but couldn't look at the horrors before me - I let the man look on to make sure no real harm would befall our baby. Then, THEY MISSED THE VEIN AND HAD TO DO IT AGAIN! Jack was a champ though: he didn't move or cry or try to bite their faces off as he sometimes does when we are so much as existing in his presence.

I'm not a wuss. I have experience dealing with doctors and needles and scalpels. I voluntarily give blood regularly. But, I was distraught by the vet people holding down my cat and pulling out his blood. If the man hadn't been there, I would've dealt with it and been fine, but I'm glad he was there to stand guard as they did their work so I didn't have to witness it. If this is what it is like to be a parent, then I am glad that I don't have any inclination toward breeding. I'll stick to mothering cats, dogs and fish.

The good news is that his blood came back clear of disease and his feces was clean of parasites. It'll be at least three months before they remove his manhood. It will be good to have the balance swing back in favor of the teste-less in our bedroom habitat. Oh, by the way. Jack has tripled in weight from 1 lb. to over 3 lbs. in less than five weeks. This further evidences our belief that Jack is part dingo, part bobcat.

evaluation 3 - spikes

I'm working on the idea that I am not meant to be a consistently ambitious individual. I go through phases where I think it would be a good idea if I cooked more, or cleaned more, or ate healthier foods, or was nicer. Then, I wake up one morning and think "enough of that" and go back to my normal standards. I think of this instability as the line on a heart monitor - I'm happy with the norm for a given amount of time then, on a whim, decide to drastically alter my life only to return to the lull of normalcy once again.

Don't get me wrong, these spikes are good - I finished a multitude of yard projects over the past two weekends when I was on a landscaping upswing. That stint has now been replaced with the healthy eating kick (which includes not eating my favorite meals of nachos and/or cheeseburgers five times per week).

My spikes are an addiction. The only constant thing in the spikes is that I am constantly on one in one area of my life, fleeting as each spike may be. I go on music spikes (currently I am ingesting the Death Cab for Cutie "Plans" cd at a rotation of five times per work day). I go on food spikes (Fresca and cheese popcorn - this spike lasted four months and got me to a point where those two products were the only sustenance I wanted). I go on writing spikes (I wrote 23 handwritten letters/cards last month - not to mention multidunious e-mails).

Instead of being happy with the humdrum quotidian life I lead, I must snazz it up with some sort of "look at me, I do this, I am interesting and amazing" mentality - even if it only lasts a few weeks. I believe I will work on cutting down the frequencey of the spikes, knowing all well that my attempt at ridding myself of spike addiction is in effect its own spike.

june 7, 2006: evaluation 2 - livin' on the edge...

My consolidation loan has come through so I can cut my monthly student loan payments by half. On top of this my raise takes effect July 1. YAY! I am thismuchcloser to financial independence (not dependence from the bank, but from having to fall back on familial funding - which I haven't had to do since my employment). This "stability" makes me ponder the reasoning behind roommates.

I am happy where we live, but sometimes the man and I feel like we have three adult children who are in constant need of picking up after and are inconsiderate and unappreciative. With my newfound feline companion being an actual living, breathing creature under my care and supervision (in addition to the doggess) I have become less patient with the inadequacies of the roommates.

My course of action is going to remain steady - I am going to take pride in where I live and do my best not to fall down the slippery slope of passive aggression. I will make the place look and feel like home as much as I can and if I happen to piss off the roommates along the way so be it. It is not as though I am growing illegal drugs or subjecting them to any kind of injustice - a few potted flowers and a clean, tidy yard are beneficial to everyone. I leave the injustices to them.

june 6, 2006: evaluation 1 - i suffer from HRP

I have had to send a letter to an ex-boyfriend explaining that I don't want him to pursue any kind of friendship with me. This was all made abundantly clear when we were still together two years ago - when we broke up, we wouldn't be friends. Apparently, like many of the other things I ever said to him, this also went in one ear and out the other. That brought up a bunch of issues with my current relationship. The man and I are happy, happier than I can ever remember being as a result of a significant other - not that there have been all that many. Now comes the shitty part: I have developed a case of HRP. This is not a disease, not transmittable, not contagious (though I think many people suffer from it without having diagnosed the malady). HRP = Happy Relationship Paranoia. When things are so good, it is a definite failing to think "Oh my god, things could be so much worse than this - what if they get worse - then what?" Oh yes, I am suffering from this now...thank you ex-boyfriend.

The course of action that I will take in regard to ridding myself of HRP is to attempt to avoid overanalysis. I am a constant worrier and I am going to try to chill out. I will learn to let well enough alone and not pass my paranoia on to the man by way of neediness. Although, it would be nice if there were some sort of trend to the acknowledgement of my amazingness...

june 5, 2006: evaluation series

I am taking some time to reevaluate my life this week. Not any kind of deep soul searching, just a broad questioning of why I do what I do when I do it. This is number one of a series of blog posts entertaining this questioning and subsequent rationalization. There has been a handful of events (nothing major) lately that have made me rethink why it is that I have chosen to prioritize some things over others. I am writing a series of evaluations in the upcoming days.

...wait for it...

may 24, 2006: kitty commands

Names that the cat answers to:

• Jack (rarely)

The cat's various names (which may explain why he has trouble learning his name - also see earlier post highlighting eccentric need to nickname animals):

• The Cat Named Jack
• Attack Jack
• Monster
• Crazy
• Scratches McGee
• Scratchy McScratchesalot
• Little Jack
• Baby Jack
• Kitty
• Turd
• Stinkitty
• Black Jack
• Jack be Nimble
• Jack be Quick
• Jack Bauer (okay, we watch too much 24)

Commands/words/phrases the cat understands:

...Oh, yeah, he doesn't know any

Commands/words/phrases the cat doesn't understand, but should:

• Stop eating my foot/hand/arm/leg.
• Stop eating the dog's body parts.
• The dog is not a scratching post.
• I don't have nipples on my neck, so stop looking for them.
• Stop attacking every moving and inanimate object.
• Stop licking my face while I sleep.
• Don't poo so stinkily.
• Stop scratching my foot/hand/arm/leg.
• Stop growing so fast.
• Hold still...hold still...please, please, please hold still.
• Make the dog stop breathing on me.
• Be a lover, not a fighter.