Pyschotikitty

 Doesn't Psychotikitty look sweet while he's asleep? 

Big Daddy *hates* cats.  I don't mean he's not a cat person.  I mean he can't stand them.   I've often joked about getting one, and he has always assured me that the as soon as he is dead, I can.

 I grew up with a couple of cats:   Dusty, who tried to vocalize back to you when you spoke to him, and Whiskers a black cat, my sister was positive she was going to marry.   See?? I'm not the only crazy one in my family. ( Those of you who know are trying to figure out which sister it is, aren't you? I can't tell  you;   I would never out Carrie that way.... she would hate me forever if I told you it was her!)

When  a  too-new-to-be-away-from-his-momma-feral-kitten wandered up to our house back in November of last year,   I was surprised, nay shocked, that Big Daddy  spent hours sitting outside on the ground trying to get the flea-ridden, pitiful creature to come eat out of his hand.  Little did Big Daddy know, that not only was he offering the kitten food, he was offerring Psychotikitty his heart.

Now, this psychotic kitty (or Psychotikitty for short) has worked his way into all of our hearts.  I don't know why we thought he would be normal when no one else in our family is.

I think that perhaps because he thinks he is a dog more than a cat, we loved him even more quickly.    He is affectionate and loving.  He doesn't attack you or hiss. He snuggles up on the bed at night.   He does love to attack hands if they mistakenly hang off the side of the bed at night, but that's the extent of him biting or being mean, and even then he attacks with claws tucked in.   Despite his sweet disposition, he does have some definite "quirks."

Psychotikitty LOVES to  play fetch with stolen ponytail holders.    He has a kitty cache of them.   He loves to have you throw them and then he will fetch for hours or until your arm gives out and your interest wanes, whichever comes first.  

He'll play fetch  at two in the afternoon or two in the morning.  He doesn't care.   When he brings you the ponytail holder and RAWRs, you toss it and wait for sound of buffalo as he crashes back through the house to you.   Often, we wake up in the morning with four or five ponytail holders sprinkled throughout our bed, because we have somehow slept through his entreaties to play.

Psychotikitty also loves to drown his toy mice in the dog's water  bowl and then bring them to you dripping, for you to play fetch with.    NOTHING in the world is as awesome as waking up to having a wet mouse dropped on your face for you to throw, because Psychotikitty wants to play.    Definitely not  conducive to good sleep as I have  mentioned before.

Psychotikitty is truly a cat burglar.    If you leave dollar bills out, they won't be there for long.  I don't know how much money has gone missing while The Kid was counting out her piggy bank.   I'm not sure, either, what Psychotikitty is saving up for.  Catnip, perhaps?

Psychotikitty also likes to play tag with The Kid.    The Kid will chase him, screaming and running through the house, until she gets close enough to touch him on his tail or back.  Psychotikitty will bound up on his back feet and then stand there for a second looking at The Kid, as if he's shocked she dared to touch him.   Then The Kid will take off and Psychotikitty will howl and then rush behind her until he "catches" her and he'll touch her with one paw.  They'll  both stop and stare at one another for a moment, until he turns and with a screeching meow,  takes off like a rocket and she'll chase after him  once again.   They will play that game for a good thirty minutes making laps around my house like Jeff Gordon on crack.    

The cat also  loves to kill things.    Wasps, flies, dollar bills, your feet.  Anything that doesn't look "right" is on his kill list.    Our hall is often littered with his "kills," be they ponytail holders, crickets,  or toy mice.   There is something about our hallway that has become his kill zone.   Everything is taken there to be slaughtered.   If he starts hanging up plastic, I'm changing his name to Dexter.

One of the things that drives me craziest about Psychotikitty is his recent taste for killing bread in the kill zone.  Big Daddy makes awesome panninnis, hot pressed sandwiches on San Francisco sourdough bread.   They are scrumptious.   One night my husband left the bread out, closed, but out of the cabinet, rather than back in the bread basket.     I was woken up around three by the fiercest, not-of-this-earth, most demonic  growling I've ever heard.    Blurry-eyed I stumbled to the hallway and found the cat ON TOP of a loaf of sourdough in my hallway.  Pieces of plastic bag  and crumbs littered the carpet.  Psychotikitty had eaten most of the loaf.    I had to push him away with a shoe to get to what remained of  the bread, and then he chased me to the trash can for the entrails.

Another day, I was unloading groceries from Wal-Hell.  On a return trip from the car, I found the cat growling and attacking a loaf of sourdough bread through the Wal-Mart sack.    Completely destroyed.   We never even  got a taste of it.

Being smart people, we began to safeguard the sourdough since that was his carb of choice.   A few nights ago though, I awoke to that sound that made me wonder if one of the hounds of hell had gotten loose.   I stumbled back to the hallway and there was Psychotickitty destroying a brand new  bag of hot dog buns.  He had decimated two and the remainders had puncture marks.

We hide all  the bread in the microwave now.    Hannah left the loaf on the counter the other night, and apparently, he loves whole wheat  bread as well!

It's not just his eating habits that are off.   Being the off-kilter kitty that he is, of course, he won't let you just pet him with your hands, oh no.  That would be normal.   Psychotikitty's favorite way for you to show him some love is for you to take off your shoe, and rub his back and belly back and forth against the fur as hard as you can.    He lies flat on the ground,  front feet tucked under his chin, looking like a rubber chicken, eyes closed ,  and purrs in bliss as you grind your foot into his back.

I call this pose...Churro Kitty.

Psychotikitty also loves to stretch out  flat on his side on  the hardwood in the kitchen.  My husband will walk up and ask him if he wants to spin-kitty.   Psychotikitty will meow, and then  Big Daddy will put a hand on his back and spin the cat in circles all over the hardwood.  Eventually, Psychokitty will get up, and stumble around like a drunk toddler until he gets his equilibrium back.    

Cat ain't right, I'm telling you.

After watching "My Cat From Hell" on Animal Planet, I think I'll take weird over possessed any day.