I have decided that this year will be the year I tackle everything.
Oh no… she’s gonna say it… AGAIN.
I’m going to start blogging more!
LIES! Your last 17 posts are about you restarting! WTF?
Look, I know you feel lied to and that’s okay. Why? Because I say it is! That’s why!
…
Yeah, that’s right shut up! No wait, don’t leave! Let me tell you a story about a cat named Waffles. Admiral Waffles.
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Last year sometime I noticed a cat running around our neighborhood. I pointed at him and declared his name to be Admiral Waffles. Naming the strays makes me feel better for some reason. Also, if I have to tell Hoppie about one of the cats I saw while on my run I don’t want to just say, “The calico one” or “The yellow one”. No, I want them to have identifiers. This may be slight more insane than I originally thought but I don’t care.
Admiral Waffles would happy bounce around the block and seemed to survive last winter with no problem. Clearly, he was just someone’s indoor/outdoor cat. It is my personal opinion that he belonged to the older lady who lived two houses down from us. Why do I think this? Because she passed away in July.
On my way home from a run I passed her house and he was on her porch crying at the door. I, like any crazy cat lady would do, called him over to our house and fed him. Just once. HAHAHAH. Yeah right. Just once meant he showed up on our porch every night at 7pm. It was amazing. Then as the weather started to turn, he would be there in the morning. One day I realized he was living under the bush next to the house.
I explained to Hoppie that I was worried he would freeze in the winter, it was slated to be a cold one. Before I left for Austin to visit my bff Brown (in early October), I told Hoppie that when I returned I planned on making him a little cat house that would go on the porch. When I returned, that house was already built by resident Husband of the Year, Hoppie. Admiral Waffles loved that box and slept in it every night.
Fast forward to a week or so ago when the polar vortex from hell swept our great nation. Monday was the worst of it. Hoppie had put a heating pad in Waffles’ box to assure that he would stay warm. All would have been fine if that asshole cat wouldn’t have run off the porch early Monday morning and never return.
I spent all of Monday searching for him. Every few hours I would throw on 3 layers of clothing and wander the neighborhood shouting, “WAFFLES! WAAAAFFLES!” (I assume no one will be stopping by our house for Halloween this year in fear of the insane person living on the corner with a craving for waffles.) He didn’t appear.
By 9:00 Monday night I was convinced of the worst. In a last futile effort I went to the garage to see if he was there. I called twice and then I heard him! He was out on the porch! I ran to him and he was pressed against the door, shaking like a leaf on a tree. I scooped him up and brought him inside. I declared, through tears, that Waffles now lived inside and Hoppie just sort of agreed. I think he was just happy I wasn’t clutching a dead cat, which is what I’m sure he thought was happening initially.
Since then Admiral Waffles has been sleeping at the top of the basement steps and sleeping a lot. He was already declawed and neutered. No fleas or kitty leukemia. Frankly he’s the greatest stray cat anyone has ever seen. The vet said he thinks Waffles is 4 years old but based on how much he plays and is kind of a ding dong, I doubt he’s older than 2. He’s just a little guy, too. Only weighs 7.4 pounds.
So now I have a house with three cats and a husband. (New working title for my biography). The other two cats aren’t sure what to make of Waffles but they aren’t attacking him which is a great start. Hopefully they will all be chasing each other around like morons soon.
So, there you ingrates! A blog. About a cat. You’re welcome, Internet!