This is sorely lacking a photo of my cats wearing Santa hats
As Christmas fast approaches, you’re probably wondering what to buy for the finicky feline in your life. I’m here to help.
After moving into a new apartment a few years ago, I set out to make Teva and Isabel feel at home but made the terrible mistake of buying them a cat bed. I stupidly thought they might – oh, I don’t know – go near it. A paper towel falls to the floor? They’ll fight over who gets to lounge on it. Leave a white sweater atop the dresser? It’ll soon sport a gray sheen. But spend $40 on a plush, pillowy pad that matches the pale-green color of my Prius so we all can be tripletsies? They were as disappointed as the time I picked out a black wallpaper border with brightly colored musical notes for my childhood bedroom only to come home from junior high to find my mom had vetoed my choice and opted for nursing home-worthy pastel carousel horses instead. Yes, Mom, I’m *still* upset.
And so the cat bed sits empty.
No matter how enticing I make it seem with my old T-shirts …
… and their favorite toys …
… and a trilogy of timeless Julie Andrews films.
And yet, I recently scoured Boston and the interweb in search of an ass pillow to use at work after I somehow inexplicably bruised my tailbone because apparently my ass like the rest of me is so lazy that it can no longer be relied on for basic tasks such a sitting. I was thrown by the name on the label – “Carex Foam Invalid Ring” – and was all, Huh. If it’s invalid, why would I buy it? I need a valid ring. Who do you have to fuck around here to get a little validation? Then I realized it’s not in-val-id; it’s in-vuh-lid. I swallowed two bitter pills that day: suffering humiliation thanks to a homonym and being 30 years old and already needing to shop for something marketed to invalids. This is probably what Centrum Silver tastes like.
After weathering that shame as well as relentless ridicule and possible sexual harassment at the hands of my co-workers, the cushion doesn’t even offer any relief because the doughnut hole in the middle isn’t wide enough to accommodate my more than ample backside, which I’m pretty sure means the ass pillow called me fat. Insult to injury.
It didn’t call Teva and Isabel fat, though. Or Teva and Isabel know their worth comes from their minds and hearts, not their bodies. Or Teva and Isabel haven’t been swayed by an image-obsessed media that constantly bombard us with photos of picture-perfect models. Or Teva and Isabel are cats. I’m not sold on that last one.
My girls wasted no time claiming the ass pillow as theirs. It looks and feels and is shaped a lot like the cat bed that they refuse to use, but it’s obviously oh. so. different. It can be yours for the low, low price of $10 (not including shipping and handling).
What’s that, you say? The economy is in the crapper and $10 is too much to spend on your beloved Dame Judi Dench this year? I hear you, savvy shopper. Chances are there’s an inexpensive cat toy already in your bathroom. Chances are greatly improved if you’re a woman. Who hasn’t hit menopause yet. And risks toxic shock syndrome every month.
From the time Teva was a kitten, she would ransack my purses and raid the cabinets on a hunt for … tampons. Her eyes twinkle every time she sees me reach from the porcelain throne for a feminine product. I don’t share her joy. If the refrigerator ever goes on the fritz, beneath and behind it the landlord will find a dusty graveyard of applicators and cotton chunks riddled with bite marks. I can only imagine the conclusions he’ll jump to.
But Teva’s totally on to something. Tampons are, in essence, the perfect cat toy.
They crinkle and tear …
I’ve often thought about repackaging Tampax in cutesy wrappers, creating a logo, slogan and punny name and making a killing by reselling them in packs of three to yuppies at upscale pet boutiques.
Meh. Seems like a lot of work. I don’t have that kind of time. I’m very busy and important.
This holiday season, think outside the box.