But lately, my faith in them has been shaken to the point where I am convinced that not only are my cats not the brilliant ones, or even the average ones, I'm becoming rapidly convinced my cats are so "grey matter challenged" that I think they may no longer be able to be considered of the cat species. If indeed it is discovered that I am the first to claim owner ship to this new breed of feline, I shall have it's name be officially known as... kitiot. (and yes, it rymes with idiot...)
I would like to say my cats are retarded, but I feel that is a huge insult to the intelligence of real retarded cats and I don't want to risk their wraith. My two precious babies are going above and beyond the calls of retarded, into something that just defies logic. Thus, why renaming them to kitiots works so well.
I have given examples of their brilliance before. Chrissy gets her head stuck in cans.... Goten leaps on the heater and stays there even when it gets to the point where Todd sniffs the air and goes, "Honey, what type of meat are you making for dinner? Smells really good!"
But these were merely warning signs. Even Chrissy's escape from the apartment, only to sequester herself in the basement of the house next door, which was condemned and flooded with a lot of water and evil crap was mere child's play compared to their latest little trick.
They ate a shoe.
Note that last word. It is a noun. Yes, normally cats and people do eat things of the noun persuasion. Food is a noun, as is beef, chicken, cat food, human flesh, peaches, etc.
But, shoe is also something you wear on your foot.
I suppose I should explain. Or at least tell my side of the story. I don't think I can explain their actions, because despite being pretty good at understanding cats, the world of the kitiot is still beyond me.
I had two pairs of working shoes. One pair is fairly new. The other was old. But, I kept the old ones clean and all nicely whitted up, in case something ever happened, I had a spare pair.
For months, these older shoes have sat innocently in my room, enjoying their semi-retirement no doubt dreaming of the day they would finally be able to fully retire and move to someplace warm with lots of mink oil around. They had a pretty good life for a pair of shoes, even if they spent a great deal of time under my bed, in a shoe box.
I go out walking today. I come home. The cats are not around, but there is a great deal of... rubbery stuff on the floor of the kitchen, the living room, making a trail into my bedroom.
Where the box has been dragged out from under the bed, and inside contains one shoe. One old, but perfect shoe.
Since I knew there were two shoes earlier, and since I am brilliant, I leap to the conclusion that someone has been messing with the shoes. I dismiss my husband, as he is sound asleep. I immedietly think it is Goten, because those of you who've been on my friends list for awhile, know that Goten has in the past shown more than "normal" affection for my footwear at times. In fact, when it comes to sneakers, he's a feline pervert. Does anyone remember a few years ago, when Rhode Island had that strange man who was going into grocery stores and licking women's feet? I think he was taught to do that by Goten.
So, I go and gather up the peices of this shreaded footwear and notice that we don't have nearly enough to make an entire shoe. In fact, there are huge hunks of shoe missing.
That's when Goten comes up, leaps in my lap...
and projectile vomits shoe leather all over me.
No, I am not kidding. I only wish to God I was. He was sitting on my lap, facing me, I gave his head a little pet, and it was like I pushed a button. He made a little chirping noise, that I thought meant, "I wuv you Mommy!" but actually meant, "Here it comes... hope you're absorbent!" and wuff, out of his mouth came flying bits of shoe.
I pushed him off my lap, and I confess, instead of immedietly worrying about what affect a shoe might have on his digestion, I ran into the bathroom and cleaned myself up.
Then I came out, where amazingly, on the floor sat Goten, surrounded by about 10lbs of shoebarf.
Yes, Goten ripped apart my shoe and ate it
I look over at Chrissy, with a look of annoyance, disgust and gratitude. Gratitude because at least I have one sane cat.
The expression on her face clearly reads, How many times have I suggested you kill him, only to be ignored? Then, she rises from the couch, stretches, arches her back and daintily makes her way into the kitchen.
I call the vet. Once I get the woman to stop giggling on the phone, once I explain the situation, we talk for a bit and determine that Goten doesn't seem to be too worse for the experience of eating a shoe. I am advised to watch out for certain signs of trouble, which I know all too well, and told to call back any hour if anything appears suspitious.
I'm about to hang up, when I hear a terrible sound from the kitchen. "HOLD ON!" I yell, drop the reciever and run into the kitchen.
Where Chrissy just threw up a shoelace.
So, not only did Goten decide to eat a shoe, but he convinced Chrissy to do the same.
Both cats seem none the worse for wear despite their odd meal. Tomorrow, just to be sure, they are going to the vet's office. We can't afford this right now, but we have little choice.
Our vet recently got some lovely new office chairs. I think my kitiots are directly responsible for this.