Diary of a Mad Black Cat

A certain small, fuzzy member of our family has lost his friggin' mind.

And I'm not talking about Devin ( who still has all his faculties intact, as far as I can tell). I'm talking about the one with the poo-scrubber tongue (again, not Devin), the one that used to be my lil' guy.

I'm not one of those new-fangled cat whisperers or nuthin', but I think we might be dealing with some issues of jealousy here. The problems really started when we brought the baby home. Ming has been up to some bad kitty business since then. Eating anything that's not nailed down, for one thing. Possibly the most upsetting is continually waking us up throughout the night.
Here's a little equation for ya:

Very little sleep + painkillers - wisdom teeth + kitty eating the bed/lamp/my hair = 1 crabby- ass lady. I get very whiny in the middle of the night when something is eating my hair. Go figure.

He's earned a fresh new crop of horrible nicknames: Fart with Legs, Walking Turd, Anus McGillicuddy, Turd Ferguson, Black Tarry Stool (which is a listed side effect from my prenatal vitamins, oddly enough. "What is black tarry stool," you might ask. To that I'd say, "You'll know.")

I feel like a parent of a teenager; I just can't relate. I want to say to him, "Who are you anymore," and "I know you're on THE POT, AREN'T YOU?" I called the vet to make an appointment, make sure he doesn't have some sort of tapeworm or something. I mean, there must be something physically wrong with this beast!

When the receptionist asked the reason for the appointment, I simply said, "My cat has lost his damn mind. He's eating eggshells and licking the floor. He's eating my bedpost and when we lock him out of the room he eats the paint off the door."

"So it's a well visit then," she said.

Yeah, it's a well visit.