It's not often that I do one of these photo things for John Scalzi, but this week's seemed like a fun one. He wanted us to take a picture and transform it into a negative by inverting the colors, so I managed to dig up a picture of my deaf, mostly blind cat that I took while snapping pictures of my Concrete Pig for a different assignment. I tinkered with it, and, shortly after, I realized that my cat scares the living hell out of me. She looks like a ghost-cat who's crawled back from the dead to eternally torment me for not changing her littlerbox after every single use.
However, in case you're curious, here's what she really looks like (but, I'm willing to assert that the negative-style picture captures her TRUE wicked-kitty essence):
Her name is Acacia by the way. And no. I didn't name her. I think old ladies and gay men name their pets "Acacia," after all.
Nope. I picked this lemon of a cat up at the Humane Society when I picked up my other odd beast, Harding.
Both of them were near death with kitty upper-respiratory infections, and, as Harding's release papers were being processed, I made the mistake of looking at some of the other cats in the kennel. That's when I found Acacia. I walked past her cage, she let out a high pitched "meep," and tapped my arm with her little mitten of a paw. And, after they told me about the two-for-one deal at the Wisconsin Humane Society, her papers were processed, and before I knew it, I was carrying two cardboard boxes with sick cats inside home to nurse back to health.
Harding was an easy fix with antibiotics. Acacia, on the other hand, required almost weekly trips to the vet, she developed an ear infection, she lost her hearing, her sense of balance and her vision, according to the vet "will be like she's looking through a fishtank." Indeed, as was witness during the back yard air-show fiasco of this past weekend, on those odd occasions where a plane flew overhead, it's clear that she couldn't tell the difference between a canary and an F-16 (or whatever it is the Thunderbirds fly). She was jumping in the air trying to swat our military aircraft out of the sky like a retarded, drunken terrorist. Fortunately, she's declawed, otherwise I'd probably have to have her shipped off to Gitmo.
She's a good cat though, and she's got a pretty spoiled, happy cat life so long as there are planes in the sky and I keep plastic grocery bags on the floor for her to attack.