pussy antics

I know some of you think I am just that sick that I may write a whole post about my nether-regions, but I will be honest ... I don't like the word pussy for anything but laughing about my cat being a pussy.

Let me introduce you to Rusty ...

Aka Rustykins. Aka Rusty-bo-busty. Aka Rustyfarian. Aka Rust the Crust. Aka Crusty Rusty. And to Sydnerella, aka Fat Pig or Fat Worm. 

And Rusty's not a pussy like she backs down from fights. She's an outdoor pussy because I don't like my floors being pissed on. She's been in and won her share of cat-fights. I usually judge the winner by who has the biggest clumps of fur in their paws and the least amount of blood on their faces. Rusty also has a good 6 pounds on most cats, I'm surprised the neighbour cats even bother anymore. While they're sneaking up on her trying to attack, she's sneaking up on the jack rabbits that run around the block. She may be old, but she's solid.  Rusty is very beloved in our house, she may even come before me and Sydnerella. As stinky nasty as she's been over the years, I love her to bits and pieces. So much so that when T-Bone crushed up Advil in her milk because her hips looked sore, I forked over the grand it cost to pump her stomach, flush her organs, keep her at the emergency vet for 48 hours because in case you didn't gather, Advil is poisonous to cats. That almost cost me my relationship with T-Bone back then because I actually paid instead of taking her home and letting him shoot her. Fucker. But he coughed up a ticket to an Olympic hockey game shortly after so we called it even. I haven't blogged in awhile, haven't really had much to say, but I've been spending so much time on my couch with Rusty, I am more recently realizing how much I love my geriatric ol' girl that has a rough time going up and down the stairs, but had absolutely no problem stomping on my chest this morning because she refuses to eat from her dish if it's not at least an inch full. She also had no problem chasing me around my bedroom last week swatting at the water dripping down my legs when I got out of the shower. I was calling for Sydnerella to help, but I'm pretty thankful now that she didn't seem to care that I was getting attacked to save her from seeing her naked fat-ass mom standing in the middle of the bed hitting Crusty with a towel while she swatted and tried to climb on the bed to gnaw on my legs. Bitch. Rusty ... not Sydney. Our relationship is love-hate like that. For example, she knew I hated it when she used to piss down my vents, but she also know I love it when she cuddles in my hair, purrs, and drools. I know she hates when I put her own whiskers up her nose or hold her tail when she's trying to walk away from me, but I also know she loves it when I let her lick my plates after dinner. See ... Love-hate. My intent of today's blog was to post one of a few videos I've taken on my blackberry of Rustykins eating, but I'm blackberry-retarded and can't for the life of me figure out how to get a damn video on the computer. So, you get this entire blog post of my pussy. And how I love her so.

And also when I grow into a crazy cat women, I'll be able to read back and see when it all started ....

Oooh, and it's my lucky day because it's Tuesday. It's been forever since I played along with Rachel and Mr. Daddy at Once Upon a Miracle for True Story Tuesday. Here's my contribution. For more true stories, click on the box below