The Insane Amount of Cats I Have

Ladies and Gentlemen.

I, Furree Katt, have a confession to make.

I am a crazy cat lady.

Yes, you are allowed to gasp in surprise, look down upon me in contempt, and evict me from your lives. You can slam the door on my face, unfollow my blog, and jeer at me. I am ashamed of myself. I have turned into a monster, way before my time. I admit to have fallen into the inescapable web of madness that only middle aged and depressed women go through...

With the help of my ZILLION cats.

Okay, perhaps there aren't a zillion, but there are at least a million.

And I am going to tell you about them.

Ignore the above picture, that's totally not the real me trapped inside the world of cats trying her best to escape. Nope, not me at all.

Let us start with my very own house cat.

Boys and girls, this is Kuchi. She is nearly 3 years old, extremely fat, and...

SCARED OF HUMANS.

Yep. You read that right. Kuchi is the most terrified cat in the whole world. If she hears the doorbell ring, she will bolt under the bed and hide till she's sure that no stranger is around anymore. If she hears someone's voice that doesn't belong to the people who live inside our house, she goes absolutely ballistic. She hates people.

Kuchi, forlornly staring out into space, hoping against all hope that she won't come into contact with any human today.

When we first got her, she was a little kitten with a massive problem. Apparently, she and her siblings had been mistreated by a couple of little kids (picked up and flung around, chased up and down) when they were with their previous owners. Hence, all the kittens, who are now massive and healthy cats, are traumatized, leading them to be scared of anyone they don't know.

It took Kuchi at least a month to become completely comfortable with all of us, and the house in general. She used to stay holed up under the bed for ages, only coming out for eating and pooping. Gradually, she began venturing out of the room and exploring the house. We've had her for over two years now, and we are the only people she trusts. I am proud to say that she is the most attached to me, because I feed her and clean her poop the most.

We had another cat who used to live inside the house, whose name was Moomoo. He passed away recently. You can read my tribute post to him here. Since he was loved by everyone, I'm including this picture of him:

Moomoo, like a boss. We love you and miss you!

Now, for all the cats that live outside my house. These are the strays. But they're not exactly stray. They are surprisingly friendly and loving, and depend on us for food (they don't hunt)! These cats have the same line of ancestors, with the earliest being a stray cat that my aunt adopted when she was 11. That means the line of cats passed down to us has spanned over 35 years! That's gotta be some kind of record. There were more cats than the ones I am posting below, but I won't include them because they died more than a few years ago. They were the ancestors of these cats:

This is Gugu. DO NOT LAUGH. My brother names all the cats, because he has the most active imagination amongst us all. Gugu is nearly a year old, but she looks almost the same as when she was born. Gugu is my favorite amongst all the strays. She's the only one that obeys me and accepts me as her Master Owner Extraordinaire (which all of them should, but whatever).

This was Gugu as a baby kitten!

I have witnessed her birth, as well as her siblings' (they all ran away and left Gugu behind, which is fine by me, because seriously I'D RATHER NOT BE MORE CRAZY THAN I AM NOW), and that's what makes her so special. She has grown up in front of my eyes, and is always desperate to be picked up and cuddled. However, once given sufficient love and attention, she's gonna give her 'whatever' face, as seen in the above photo. LOL.

This is Chuchumama (again, please refrain from laughing). Chuchumama is Gugu's mum. She grew up in front of us, too. She's adorable, but lately she's become a bit scared of us and only comes four or five times a week rather than living in our garden. She must be nearly two years old. She has low patience for the other cats, and prefers home cooked meat as opposed to tinned cat food (unbelievable, right?).

This is Exorcistu. Yes, that's right. My brother named her this, as her 'meow' sounds like a scream of death, like a banshee predicting a massacre, like there's a demon inside her. Regardless of her horrific vocals, she's quite cute and loving. She also has a black spot under her nose which is reminiscent of Hitler's mustache. Exorcistu is Chuchumama's sister.

This is Exorcistu and Chuchumama's brother. He is quiet, and almost as terrified of everyone as Kuchi is. However, he has a penchant of cuddling with his siblings, who usually slap him and tell him to stfu (at least that's what I can interpret  from their hisses). He resembles Michael Jackson a little. We haven't named him yet. We just refer to him as Exorcistu's brother.

This is Billoo. She is Chuchumama's, Exorcistu's and Exorcistu's Brother's mother. Which makes her Gugu's grandmother. This was a picture of her before she even had Chuchumama. SHE'S SO UGLY. But she's not the ugliest. Wait till you see...

DOLL CAT. We named her Doll Cat not because she looked like a cute doll. But because she looked like:

AREN'T I RIGHT?! Ladies and gentlemen, Dollcat is Billoo's mother. Which makes her Gugu's GREAT GRAND MOTHER. How the hell is she even alive? Don't ask me. But whatever it is, she's evil.

Moving on:

This is Gugu's brother. Plot twist: He doesn't belong in the family at all, but he came to our house out of nowhere and never left. Plus he looks so much like Gugu that they could have been twins in some parallel universe. We haven't named him either, so we just refer to him as - wait for it - GUGU'S BROTHER. LOL. He hasn't entirely warmed up to us, but the rest of the cats don't mind his presence so he just lives here and eats the food we give.

This is Mehndu (name derived from Mehndi, which means Henna, since the cat is the ugly colour of faded Henna LOL). We still don't know whether it's a male or female. We never got the opportunity to check it, if you know what I mean. I think Mehndu is a tranvestite. Anyway, I despise this cat. The only reason it exists with the other cats is because it REFUSES to leave, regardless of what we do. Mehndu always fought with Moomoo, and it also often has spats with many of the others. But since it has chosen our household as it's home, we feed it and take care of it like we do with all the others.

And finally:

This is Meena. She's not our cat anymore, but since I never mentioned her on my blog before, I thought I should share her picture with you guys. Meena was our cat when we used to live in Dubai. She was awesome. When my family and I had to move back to Pakistan, we gave her to our neighbor. Meena is healthy and happy, with 3 kittens that look just like her! She turned 5 years old this Christmas.

OMG. After reading all the above, I'm sure you must be slapping yourselves for ever thinking I was normal. Seriously. Underneath my fairly boring and noncommittal exterior, I AM A RAGING CRAZY CAT LADY MONSTER. Someone please buy me this so that my life can be complete:

Thank you.

And before you think too badly of me, I would like to enlighten you all with this unbelievable yet totally authentic piece of information:

My Psychology tutor has TWENTY SIX CATS. So there. 

(Since this is my last blog post for December, I hope you all have a very happy new year! See you on the other side.)

Pose. No Pastry. No Picasso. No Pills. Damn No Pancake. NOOO Pitcher. OH HO POST*. Guest Post. I Hate Autocorrect :P (By Hamza Bin Ladin)

WARNING: Please avoid reading this post if you are allergic to bullshit. Because once you start reading it you’ll get jinxed and scarred for life. Not only you, your seven generations will be affected by this post so please save your great-great-great-grand-son by averting your eyes from this webpage and go elsewhere. 

                                               

After fifteen days of constant dancing and partying I’ve finally managed to write down this guest post for my/our most favorite blogger. I've been living on cloud 9 ever since I saw this on my Facebook wall.  

                                 

She was crying multiple shades of grey blue, which is not normal at all!

To which I responded:  

*please be kind enough to ignore my appalling Paint skills*

*Ahem*

Hello, Ladies and Gentlemen. I'm Hamza and I do not like my name at all. Don't get me wrong. It's a pretty decent name. Also, the definitions of Hamza at the Urban Dictionary is pretty apt too. Hehe. 

There’s so much fuss about names. You know what, in my opinion people should not be allowed to keep a name that already has been taken. This would invoke creativity in people and we’ll be able to have really cool names. Also people won’t have any trouble claiming twitter accounts with their real names so end of user-names like Jack69 or PrincessAlice. 

Some names are really cool. For instance: Dick. If I had a brother called Dick, I'd make him go crazy by saying,'Don't be a dick, Dick', all day!   

A friend of mine knew these two sisters in his school named Kisma Baig Butt and Seema Baig Butt. Now imagine this conversation: 

You: Hi, What's your name? 

She: Seema Baig Butt. 

You: Pardon? 

She: SEE MA BIG BUTT. 

  

Now you're standing there confused what to do. See her big butt or ask her name once again. Likewise, 

You: Hi! What's your name? 

She: Kisma Baig Butt.  

You: Pardon? 

She: KISS-MA BIG BUTT. 

Now you're in a grave situation; to kiss her big butt or ask her name once again. And in case, you chose to do the former, God bless you son. 

Man, I wonder what made Mr.Baig Butt name his daughters in such a vulgar and haram way. Openly inviting strangers (na-mehrams) to see and kiss his daughters 'baig butts'? Same is the case with uni-sex names. So confusing. Parents who christen their children with unisex names must high on something really strong.   

I hate meeting people with my name. Whenever I see another Hamza, they mean competition to me; WAR. If you’re a Hamza and, unfortunately met me, then don’t be surprised why I’m being extra mean to you. Actually, I’m not being mean; I’m just trying to make you understand, Do you realize that you are not worthy of MY name.  It's like Harry Potter and the Dark Lord. "Neither one can live while the other survives". There are just two options with people claiming my name to be theirs too; die or change their name(s). 

The reason I dislike my name is very viable and understandable. The reason may sound quite bizarre to most of you but that's that; It's not a nice last name. For instance, if I end up marrying Emma Watson and want her to take up my name it'd be Emma Hamza. "Emma Hamza". Yuck.  

I had a massive crush on this girl in grade three. I used to study at Saint Michael’s Convent School those days, we had a lot of Christian and Hindu kids in our class. So there was this cute Hindu girl in our class which was the ‘apple’ of all the male eyes in our class. 

One day, during the recess during one of those pre-teen-hormonal-chats, the boys were boasting and fighting about how she was dying for them but they couldn't marry her just because she was a non-Muslim. I said: I’d marry her but our names don’t sound cool together. One of my friends said: "Sonya Rajkumaari sounds a lot cooler than Sonia Hamza. Sonia Hamza sounds like brother and sister more than anything". 

So yeah, it’s kinda sad. Not kinda, it IS sad. *sniff* 

 
You see, it’s much harder for me to find a girlfriend for myself. I have to find someone with a name that goes well with mine. And I haven’t met a single one yet. Even my current crush’s name is Areeba. Imagine, Areeba Hamza. I don't need anyone to bro-zone me. My own name bro-zones me.  

 
Hahahaha hahahaha hahah *Burst into tears* 

*Sings* 'I find it kinda funny, I find it kinda sad, the dreams in which I'm dying are the best I've ever had...' 

 To help me out of this miserable condition, please let me know of any girls with names that sound great with Hamza. Also, please let us know of any funny names you've heard. 

But even if you guys fail to think of any suitable names, finally, as a last resort I shall change my name. Not completely change my name but use it like an anagram: Tom Marvolo Riddle = I am Lord Voldemort. Something like that. 

Or even if that does not work, I shall cut off my nose and become He Who Must Not Be Named. Bellatrix wasn't that ugly, you know. *Wink* 

  

Finally, Thanks-a-billion-gazillion for letting me write something on your blog. It's an honor for me to write a guest post for the Queen Blogger. By the way, Furree, you know what, I pronounce your name with an extra ‘h’.  

It makes it sound extra cool. Uber cool. “Fareeha...Fur-hee-haa!” Hee-haw. Like a cowboy. Oh, cow-girl. Ouch. Cow girl sounds bad. Like some fat-dumb-aunty-type-womanish-girl. 

Yee-Haw.  Fur Yee Haw.  I like the way your name ends with a cow boy sound. Yee Haw.

Fur-Yee-Haw {noun}: a cowboy with fur.

Okay. I must stop being lame now. Yee-haw. 

This is a guest post, 

Don’t read it like a ghost. 

If you leave a comment, I’ll give you a toast, 

Or else I’ll eat you up like a roast! 

Cheers! 

HBH. 

x

Hamza is, undoubtedly, the king of blogging. I am extremely proud to have this hilarious Guest Post grace my blog. Hamza is my hero, and he inspires me. LOL JK, he's an idiot. But I still love him! Visit his ultra funny and awesometastic blog, Teenage Mutiny.

.

something i drew to express my gratitude.

- Furree.

The Zit

It was like any other day.

I woke up late, struggled to get out of bed, and headed straight to the bathroom.

I looked in the mirror and the first thing I saw was...

A ZIT.

On the corner of my mouth.

It was the size of an elephant, detracting all attention from my other facial features, hogging the limelight, shining like an active volcano.

Well, in all honesty, it was really tiny, but whatever.

It was my first noticeable zit in a while. Regardless of that fact, I wasn't too perturbed. After all, I was going to be home all day. It would dry up and disappear by the next morning. No one would have to see my face. No one would need to know that a blemish had ever made an appearance. NO ONE.

Until my mum said...

GUESTS?! We hadn't had guests in over a month. Who the bloody heck wanted to pay us a visit when my face decided to decorate itself with Rudolph's red nose?!

MY RELATIVES, THAT'S WHO.

Relatives who seemed to have timed their visit perfectly with the day I looked like I attached a clown's nose to the corner of my mouth. Relatives whose evil plan was to see me when my face was not blemish-free, for lord knows what reason. Relatives who made sure to put me through emotional turmoil and excruciating moments of self consciousness with their arrival.

...

I'm not even exaggerating, okay. For me, at that time, my relatives were evil. They were the enemy.

Anyway, twenty minutes into the gathering, when everyone had made themselves comfortable and had moved on from polite small-talk to actual conversation, a shrill voice rose into the air:

"FURREE, YOU'VE GOT A PIMPLE!"

Me:

The zit had been noticed.

How could anyone be so cruel? Mocking me, in my own territory? Why point out my blemish in front of more than fifteen people? I mean, dude, seriously. EVERYONE gets zits. It wasn't exactly a very rare sighting. It's not like people come from all over the world to see the phenomenon of a zit erupting on my face. 

"only comes around once in a millennium, folks!"

WHY EVEN MENTION IT?! No one was standing there, giving out a prize for the first person to notice my unfortunate blemish. It wasn't the jubilee round of 'Spot The Zit' going on. Hmph.

In that moment, I utterly despised and abhorred the relative who had pointed my zit out. It was SO awkward, having everyone turn their attention towards me and just stare at my face, trying to locate the source of all the hullabaloo. (OMG did I just use the word 'hullabaloo'? FOR REAL?)

This triggered off a chain of extremely unwanted reactions:

"You should put TOOTHPASTE on it! It will dry up overnight!"

"Pop the damn thing!"

"Whatever you do, don't touch it! It can spread all over your face!"

"My poor baby-waby, gotta wittle pimple?"

"She's just going through a hormonal phase, like I read it up like, online!"

Me:

I didn't want the opinions of a million people regarding my little zit. It was MY zit, for goodness' sake! I could have handled the affair quite nicely, were it not for the penchant that some relatives of mine had for stating the obvious. Sigh.

Moving on, the rest of the day went fine, apart from the quick glances people were taking at my poor zit. Towards the end of the day, when the guests had left, I was so exhausted from all that useless banter that I fell asleep early. When I woke up the next morning...

It was still there. Oh well, on the bright side, no guests were coming over.

(OR WERE THEY?!?!?!)