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Ginger, the Cleptocat attacks again

Yeah, I know, I know, I should have known she’d do that. I know that. But I was hoping she wouldn’t…

So I had an allergic reaction and my lips blew up to the size of a house. Okay, maybe not that much, but they were (and still are a little) huge! Okay, maybe not huge, but bigger than normal. The first day it seemed like a lip procedure done wrong. You know when people inject fat (or whatever it is that they do inject) and their lips get huge and they look like three times bigger than they should be? Yeah, not that bad, but close. To be honest my boss didn’t even notice it. She said it looked like my lipstick was not right and it was a little smeared on the edges. I’m still trying to decide what’s worst, for people to think I have something contagious or for them to doubt my ability to properly apply lip gloss.

Anyway, my lips needed some sort of lip balm to keep them moisture. My biggest problem was that I don’t really buy those things because I never remember to put them on. Sure, it’s a little complicated during winter months, but I never had a big problem with my lips, so I never bothered about them. So when this happened, I had to find a lip balm. By sheer luck I had one. A Burt’s Bees one, which does sting a lot when you apply (another reason why I don’t like to apply them).

By now you are wondering, “What does the cat have to do with any of that?” And I assure you, this is needed background information. Of course I could have just said, “I needed a lip balm and only had one,” but what’s the fun on summarizing it like that?

Anyway, so I apply the Burt’s Bees thing and put it next to my bed, on my nightstand, so I could easily reach for it in the morning (or in the middle of the night, if necessary) to reapply the thing. Big mistake. Huge mistake, actually.

Ginger, as you already know, thinks that anything that is small enough to be carried around the house by her is a toy. The fact that she took the lip balm shouldn’t surprise me. However, the fact that it’s been 3 days and I have yet to find the thing does surprise me. I’m curious to know where she hid it.

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This is not my cat (or even my lip balm) but you get the idea.

But the worst part was her poker face when I inquired her about the lip balm in the morning. She didn’t even get up, just stared at me from her spot on the covers as if I was the crazy one. I swear I’m not. I know I had a lip balm. And one day I will find it.

In the mean time I ended up having to buy a new lip balm. Okay, Ginger, you win this time. But mark my words: I will find my Burt’s Bees. Yes, I will!

 

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Noisy toys in the middle of the night

Ginger is feeling completely at home by now. Did I tell you about her favorite toy? By the way, whoever said “buy your cat a toy that makes noise so you’ll know when he’s playing with it” does not have a cat. Either that or he locks his cat out of the house at night.

Well, Ginger has a few toys that make noise. I have to admit when I bought them I had that advice in mind and really thought it would be a good idea. How cute would it be to be doing something and all of a sudden hear her playing with her toy? Adorable right? I could see myself doing dishes or working on something on my computer and hearing her playing. Adorable.

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It has feathers. And a bell inside. And she throws it in the air to play with it. Adorable.

Now imagine that the thing you’re doing is sleeping, and that it’s anywhere between 3 and 5 in the morning. How cute does it sound now? Still cute?

Then imagine that she is grabbing the toy with her paw or with mouth and throwing it up in the air, only to hit hardwood floor. Still cute?

Now imagine she’s doing that under your bed, right under where your head is resting on a pillow, making the toy hit the metal part under your bed before hitting the hardwood floor.

And do you know what’s more frustrating? Every single night when I wake up to try to fetch the toy for her and hide it, I promise myself I’ll remember to hide it the next night before going to bed. But do I do that? No, of course not.

Apparently I’m a glutton for punishment.

 

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Of name changes and refrigerators.

I woke up this morning and I just knew her name was Ginger. I tried to name her Phoebe yesterday, but who was I kidding, I can’t name her, she names herself. And that’s how I woke up thinking “Ginger. Ginger is her name.”

Maybe she was whispering that in my ear during the night. Who knows? I just know that that’s her name, just like I know that she picked me when I went there to adopt a cat. She adopt me, and not the other way around.

So after I woke up this morning I went looking for my mini purring machine. She saw me passing in front of the kitchen and gave me a meow. She was on top of the fridge, hiding behind the cereal boxes.

I went on with my morning routine, got some coffee, took a shower, got dressed, etc. When I was brushing my teeth I heard a noise. “Great. Did she drop my cereal box behind the fridge?” Just imagine the mess. Plus, if it was one of the opened boxes, I’d have cereal under the fridge and that would be a mess I didn’t want to clean up. But no, all the cereal boxes were still there. Weird.

It only took me a few seconds.

I started pulling the fridge away from the wall, yelling her name (the right one, mind you) and nothing! Not even a tiny meow. When I pulled enough I looked and there she was, not moving. I know the poor thing was scared to death, but couldn’t she at least let me know she was alive?

When she finally summoned the courage to jump out of there I hugged her tight and didn’t want to let her go. Then I pushed the fridge against the wall as best as I could.

She hasn’t been there since then. We’ll see.

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Look at me. Do I look like anything other than Ginger? Of course not.

 

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