I Might Be a Crazy Cat Lady

If you follow me on Instagram, then you know we have been trying to find a harness that fits Whiskers, our portly cat, for quite some time. I posted this picture last night, and my sister commented that it looks like we’re a heartbeat away from pushing him around in a stroller. This is when I realized that all my followers probably think I’m a mega creep.

Whiskers Harness

So I just wanted to clear things up: We don’t roam around with our cat on a leash, and I have never put clothes on him (although I’d probably force him to wear this if I thought I could get it on him without losing half my blood supply in the process).

No, the harness business all started because of Whiskers’ assholery every time we hang out on our back deck. If we’re out there, he paces up and down along the sliding glass door, making loud, obnoxious meowing noises that I can only assume are nasty words in cat-language. If you have to go inside to grab something, you have to execute a three-step maneuver that involves slipping your body between a three-inch crack in the door while simultaneously kicking your leading foot out blindly to dissuade him from darting outside, and then slamming the door shut as fast as you can behind you. After a few beers, this task turns into a Mission Impossible scenario, and we start questioning if it might be easier to just crawl in through the air ducts and rappel down into the living room.

Mission_Impossible

You know you wanted a visual.

Dave’s solution to this problem was to create a little cat run along the side of the fence. That way he can be outside with us, but he can’t jump the fence. (Our property butts up to a big field full of all kinds of animals who would love to eat our cat for dinner.)  Only finding a harness to fit his considerable girth has proved to be quite the fool’s errand. We could tell that none of the cat harnesses at Walmart would be big enough, so we figured we’d be safe with small dog size. When that was too small, we moved up to medium dog. Which looked like this:

Fat cat in a little co-ooat

Chris Farley, the cat.

Essentially, our cat is the size of a Rottweiler. Anyway, we finally found one that seems to be working. He hung out with us for about a half hour last night after dinner, eating grass and sniffing rocks and talking to birds. Apparently all that excitement tuckered him out, since he spent the rest of the evening passed out on our laps. My friend Corinna posted this on my Facebook, and I realized that I probably am a little bit of a crazy cat lady because I would totally buy it:

Cat beltSo yeah, maybe I actually *am* a little bit of a crazy cat lady. But at least this hasn’t happened yet:

cat-lady-alert

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