Well, it's been a long time since I've posted any kitty-related material (as far as I know, I don't read this blog) so let's give a teensy update on the cats.
Our cats have split into factions. Sylvester merely tolerates me, and I would be 100% unsurprised to find some sort of Doomsday Device in the basement designed to kill me so he can replace me as Andrea's lover. Whenever she's in bed and I'm out of the house, he'll jump into bed with her and aggressively snuggle. This has consisted of nuzzling her neck as hard as he can, putting his paws on her face and ears, and biting her in the head once. I think it's a kitty kiss, and I'm jealous. He occasionally sneaks into the bed when I'm there too, lays between us, and rests his paws on Andrea's face. It's very very cute. She hates it because she has some sort of a problem with kitty litter paws near her eatin' hole.
Lady, on the other hand, loves ME. Which is sort of depressing, since Lady's the foulest cat I've ever laid eyes on. Her hair has grown long and looks very much like a persian. Had we suspected her of being a long-haired demon, we never would have picked her. She was very malnourished in the shelter, however, and actually looked like a short-haired cat. The long hair is pretty, and I really don't mind brushing her or sweeping up the hairballs that accumulate in the corners of our house. What I do mind are the. . . well there's really no delicate way to put it. . . dingleberries. Little bubbles of turd that cling to her legs, hoping to escape into the wild and raise a family of turds somewhere in Utah. (that's where most turds flee, and then convert to mormonism)
The first time we discovered this foul little trait of hers was one evening in the fall. I was petting her, and ran my hand under her tail to make her butt stand up because I'm a sicko. Anyway, I run into a bump which I assume is a hairball, and begin (without looking) to attempt to tease it out. This breaks the outer cookie shell and an odor most vile escapes. I realize what I've been touching, stupidly smell my fingers to confirm, and throw up a little in my mouth. I'll spare the gritty details of the initial cleaning attempts and sum up with: Lady hates baths, and at one point grabbed both sides of my face with her claws and attempted to pull herself out of the sink. Fortunately the claw marks didn't scar.
Our current policy is this: she KNOWS she's got a dingleberry, and she will take the steps to clean it by licking it until it falls off, hopefully into her filthy mouth.
Her other hilarious (to me) trait - she loves to sleep in the bed where Andrea sleeps. Like Sylvester trying to replace me, I suspect Lady wishes she were a poop-hanging version of Andrea. The wife is completely grossed out by her and made me promise to not tell people about how disgusting our cats are. (I'm assuming she meant onstage and it's totally cool in blog form)
Two nights ago her worst fears (and my happiest hilarious moment) happened: the discovery of a hairball on her side of the bed, wrapped tightly around what was probably a dingleberry.
She swore at the cat, I stifled my laughter and tried to suggest to her it was a gift and she should save it.
The only irritating part about all of this - our gross kitties have not deterred her from wanting babies.
Which are basically hairless kitties that you can't litter train.