Loki

As much as I hate cutesy cat stories, I have to vent about our retarded cat, Loki.

We brought Loki into our home about six months after Mara The Fat Butted Cat took his final swipe at me and died in our bed. Leave it to us to lose world's most malevolent, passive-aggressive cat only to find one that's even weirder. We're like magnets for psycho kitties. (On the other hand, MY cat, Skitters, is perfect.)

Loki must drop at least one item per day into the water dish. He prefers hair scrunchies. I throw them out; he finds more. Where, I have no idea. I'm beginning to suspect that he has a scrunchy connection.

He dips his paws into the water and licks it off instead of lapping straight from the bowl.
When he's finished, he flips the water dish over so that it spills all over the kitchen floor. Then he drinks out of the toilet. Skitters, being a bit more refined, refuses to do the toilet thing, so she squeaks until I mop the floor and refill the dish.

I won't even go into Loki's addiction to my used dental floss (he will dumpster dive for it if I don't hide it in a bigger trash can) or how, after eating, he scratches at the food bowl like he's just used the litter box. A writer friend watched all this and commented that Loki has fascinating behavioral patterns. Fascinating. Sure.

It's cold here in Los Angeles. (Relative cold. I'm a weather wimp and damn proud of it.) Last night, Loki got off the bed (my feet, actually, and he's too heavy to kick off once he settles in) , went through the open bedroom door, and walked around the house to the closed door. He then meowed his fool head off and scratched at the door for ten minutes before I got out from under my warm blankets to let him in.

"You were just in here!" I told him as I stood shivering in the cold draft, waiting for him to finish slinking around the jamb at a glacial pace. "Why didn't you just come back through the open door?" (Yes, I realize that talking to a cat is a little demented. Scolding one is even more insane - as if they care what I think.)

He jumped up on the bed and made himself comfortable on my pillow. At three o'clock in the morning, the line between fascinating behavior and total dumbass is awfully thin.