Olivia Wigglebothum is my in-house document shredder. All I have to do is leave something on the corner of the counter for a few days and …POOF! Confetti! The v-e-t thinks it feels good on her teeth. 

With this in mind, a recent Amazon box became my gift to her. 

I ordered a new cat carrier which arrived in a box five times its size. The box is taking up most of the living room floor. Several toddlers could nap in it. 

The kicker is that the carrier wasn’t even assembled; I got that tedious as Hell job. However the pieces were wrapped in yards of brown butcher paper like it had been prepared for mummification. 

I dropped the Wigglebothum in and told her to go town. Shred it, baby! She obliged. 

Big eyes of excitement!


#Helpful, Not Helpful

As I’ve stated before, cats are about as helpful as a toddler with a handful of sharpened knives. Perhaps I have naively misinterpreted their intentions.

The reality may be that they just want to seed chaos and destruction veiled in a guise of wide eyed, furry “helpfulness.” #sorrynotsorry

For example:

1. EVERYONE has to help give Birdie her night time meds. This pill was described by the vet as so bitter that I have it frozen in butter, wrapped in a pill pocket, and coated in Fancy Feast. Part of its purpose is anti-anxiety so the entire clowder trailing me = not helpful.

2. MomBert’s kitten GGK who is a spaz helps monitor mom’s bath. I also got bath “help” this week. Miles stepping down from the edge of the tub on to my boobs as I tried to lay in the tub and read reminded me why I firmly close the door during bath time. He needed to put his face in my face RIGHT NOW!

GGK going from hilarity to “Holy shit! Put that thing away!” in a matter of seconds.

3. GGK  also does litter boxes. Not helpful.  This photo was adorable until I asked MomBert what GGK want rolling around in.

4. GGK’s companion Tilly makes beds. She HAS to “help” with this because the kitten sized lump under the sheets is GGK. Not helpful.

5. I’ve seen the videos where cats “help” their owners do yoga by laying in just the right spot on the mat or gracefully balancing on their owner’s back presumably without claws. That’s not how it goes down at our house.

The cats either take their nine lives in to their own paws by positioning themselves right where my ass is about to land or they bring me mousie to throw. The other night, Miles was busy checking out the dude on the talking screen because that guy was not laying on the living room floor squealing like a stuck pig because his arm and shoulder just Charley horsed.  Thanks for the help, buddy.

The only actual help came from Olivia Wigglebothum. A friend shared a cat video of a very floofy cat sliding into various boxes and scooting across the the floor. Could I PLEASSSSSSSEE get my cats to do that? I pointed out that the floors at this cat’s house looked a lot shinier and cleaner than my floors, but we would try.

So I set out an appropriate box to see who would take the bait. The Wigglebothum.


Not quite as dynamic.


How Do I Tell Her?

How do I tell her that maybe it’s time to let the boxed community go?

I love box.

I love box.

That it’s been in the living room for weeks now. That I haven’t been able to sit in the red chair for ages.

Certainly I have other places to sit, but she has other places to lounge.

How do I tell her that sometimes I need to appear to be a human who hasn’t let her cats completely dominate her  house and her life?

There will be other boxes. Maybe not as big as this box which is what happens when Amazon sends you a wall clock AND a new high-sided litter box. There are plenty of other perches perfectly angled for bird watching and observing the lowly creatures wandering around below.

Is it the height? The texture? The fact that it seems to be HER box since nobody else has taken a real interest in it?

Maybe on the next recycling day.

That gives her more time.

Sweet, sweet box.

Sweet, sweet box.