Because I Don't Have Kids

So yes, I live in Brooklyn and yes, I have four (FOUR!) cats. The people who take care of our loveable foursome take pictures of the cats while we're gone. (A little weird, true, but they're reliable and hey--they leave music on for the felines during the day so they don't get lonely. How about that folks?)

So here are some pictures of my lovely felines, thanks to Amy & Chris. (If you live in Brooklyn & need a cat-sitter, email me at msminervajane at earthlink.net and I'll send you their #. They're great, if not a little over-eager.)

First came Zelda, knocked up at eight months. (Hey, I thought I had a while until I had to get her spayed...)


And Zelda gave us a wonderful set of kitty-babies.











Janus, the runt of the litter, who is actually a little slow. (He's the one who will sit in the corner of our bedroom at 3 AM and meow nonstop at the ceiling for like hours and hours and hours until either Rod or I finally yells SHUT THE FUCK UP and throw a pillow at him. At which time he jumps into the bathtub and meows at the faucet.
























And we have The Girls, who beat Janus up almost every day. Lately, he's learned to defend himself with the Kitty Samurai warrior move. (I don't have a picture of that yet, but someday.)


This is Jasmine:




She's Rod's favorite. He loves to hold her in his arms and pretend he's an evil comic-book villain.








And this is the beautiful Jubilee who has never learned to meow--all she can manage is this odd high pitched squeak.




You may ask--Are you a crazy lady? Four cats in a two bedroom apartment in Brooklyn! Lady, get thee to an asylum. But the weird thing is I swear to god there are times during the day that despite the smallness of the apartment and the nummber of the pride, you can't find a single cat if you wanted to. Where do they go? Ah, they have their hiding places... Or if the back of the closet really a door to an alternative cat reality? Are they off having all sorts of cat adventures while I, poor, lonely, bored and procastinating writer that I am (Okay, I should we working right now.... And here I am writing about my beloved cats) sit cat-less.

And so last night, petting one of them (Janut, if you must know) I realized--"Heyyyyyy. You're not a baby. You're just a cat. Fuck."