I’m not a crazy cat lady.

I’m not.

Now that we’re past that, it’s time for me to tell you about my cats. I think it’s important to tell you about them so that you understand a little bit about my home life, and that when I say my house feels crowded sometimes, you know all of the personalities in the house.

I have two cats.
Taylor and Lillith.

I’ve mentioned them before, but I never went into detail.

First off, I didn’t name them. They came with the name. Somewhere in San Francisco lives their former owner. His name is David. I’ve lost his e-mail address, so I cannot tell him that his kitties are doing just fine. But if he happens to read this…

Let’s start with Lillith…

Lillith: AKA Rose Petal, Spice Girl, Wiwl-wiff.
Age: 5 years.

Lillith is a grey cat. Often when people come into the house, they comment that my cat looks like the cat in Pet Sematary. That’s because she has these sharp green eyes, and she always looks like she’s slightly pissed at you. Lillith is a lap cat. She likes to be in your lap at all times. If she is not in your lap, she looks at you like you are being incredibly rude to her.

Sometimes when I wake up in the middle of the night, she’s sitting over my head, staring straight at me. That’s kinda spooky.

She’s the beta cat, and let’s Taylor pretty much rule the roost.

She likes men more than women. Specifically, she likes my boyfriend more than she likes me.

Lillith wants to be the next Spice Girl. She’s British. She is more elegant than anyone else in the house.

Lillith likes to rub the fur off her chin on anything hard. She has no fur on her chin.

Lillith does resemble in personality the Lillith of “Cheers” fame.

Lillith drinks out of the toilet bowl, which goes against all of her proper breeding and drives me insane.

She has a very skinny tail.

She has $100 worth of toys, but she prefers to chase the shadows on the floor.

When I exercise at home, she likes to bite me on the neck to get me to stop moving around.

Lillith is very good at looking innocent. I recently learned that it is her that goes into the trash can at night, but she puts the evidence over next to the sleeping Taylor, so in the morning he is framed. She’s a smartie.

She has herpes in her right eye. I’m not kidding. Her eye weeps whenever the house gets particularly smoky. My boyfriend will tell you that I gave the cat herpes. He thinks that’s really funny. Since I don’t have herpes (human or feline) this is impossible. She picked it up before she belonged to me. Do not listen to by boyfriend’s opinion on this subject. We have this oil that we can put in her eye when it gets particularly goopy, but it grosses me out to no end, since it’s like an ointment that you have to put straight onto her eye and then rub in. Eww…

Taylor.
AKA: Taylor Dejardan, Taylor-tot, Squishy, “The Cat
With the Fur on His Face”

Taylor is a big tabby cat. Big. People think he’s fat, but like Cartman, he’s just big boned. Taylor’s face is big and squished in. Taylor is a French Canadian Hockey Player. He cannot believe that the Pittsburgh Penguins did not do better this year. He really likes Doug Gilmour, but he is more like Felix Potvin (Felix the Cat).

Taylor is very strong. He can take a slice of pizza down from your hand into his mouth. When he swats you it makes a great “smack” noise. Taylor rarely scratches, but he can bite pretty hard.

Taylor is not a lap cat. He’s not even a “sit-near-you” cat. He likes to sit under the futon and watch our feet. He lays on his back with his legs spread.

Taylor likes catnip a lot. A whole lot.

He thinks that he can become invisible.

Taylor has an eating disorder. He binge eats. He waits until he thinks you’ve gone to bed and then eats everything in his bowl. You can’t stop him.

He’ll eat anything. The cat will sometimes eat chips, fruit, cheese, bread (he loves bread)— especially french rolls.

Taylor eats the carpet. I cannot get him to stop. He loves to sit and munch on the rug. I don’t know why.

Taylor likes to sit on folded clothes.

You can pet his head and neck, but that’s it.

He likes to sit on whatever you’re reading, or whatever he thinks you may read in the future.

Taylor often pretends that he’s my boyfriend. He sits where my boyfriend does on the couch and sits really tall like he wants me to bring him a slice of pizza and some beer.

Taylor will chase bugs and get lost. He hates wind. Wind freaks him out. He keeps looking around to see who just walked by, but he doesn’t see anyone.

Taylor rarely makes a sound, except to say hello, and “feed me.”

They are both good at saying my name. “Paaaam!”

They once packed me a lunch. I make pork chops, which is their absolute favorite, and one day when I got to work, I opened my bag and there was a chewed up pork chop inside. Somehow they got into my bag, dropped off the chop, and closed the bag. They care about my well-being.

Taylor chases Lillith, but Lillith never chases Taylor.

Taylor cannot stand Pearl Jam.
Lillith likes Radiohead.

Taylor doesn’t like me to sing to him.
Lillith does.

Taylor will knock glasses over to drink out of them.
Lillith gets her head stuck in the glass.

They both jump into the empty bathtub and get lost.

They are afraid of cockroaches, but they like to eat crickets.

When the litter box gets full and I forget to change it, they leave little crumbs of kitty litter on the rim of the toilet.

Go on, tell me I’m crazy, but these cats are just as much roommates as anyone else. Except they won’t get a damn job.

I suddenly get this feeling like you’re going, “Oh, and I used to like her so much. She just did a cat page.” So I’ll tell you the truth. I’m still a little sad (see yesterday, and I’m a little drunk off Vodka. I wanted something to cheer me up, and I also wanted you to know where Squishy came from. I just need a damn hug. Damn. I’m gonna go smoke.