Jezebelle (smokeandreason) wrote in ratemypussy,

  • Mood:
  • Music:

Did someone say lasagna?

About Me
Name: Alyssa. Or, for those amongst us who are lazy bums, just Lys. It's pronounced like "Alisa," but that's a long story involving both immigration and Communism, so I'll save it for another day.
Age: 23.
Location: Bensalem, PA. It's a lil' suburb to the northeast of Philadelphia. Center City is about a twenty-minute ride down the highway, so you'll find me there fairly often.
About Your Pet
Name:Taco. Explanation to follow.
Age: About a year old.
Species/Breed: Domestic shorthair kitty; orange tabby.
Where Did You Get Your Pet?
One insanely hot July afternoon, something bizarre was happening to my car -- seemed as if the fuel wasn't reaching the engine, and so it wasn't starting properly. So, I drove my rear end up to the local Pep Boys to buy some fuel injector cleaner. Purchase it, go outside, and see a box in the grass median separating the Pep Boys' parking lot from a very busy intersection (the junction of two business highways). Peek into the box, and see one very confused orange tabby kitten, and two dead black kittens. Removed the scared-as-hell orange tabby from the box and wrapped him in a towel (because, being an avid Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy fan, I always have at least one towel on me), and said, "hey, you look like a lil' burrito!" Realized that "Burrito" would be an awkward name, so named him Taco instead. The other two kittens were taken home and buried under a tree in my yard.
Why did you decide to get this kind of pet and what made you choose this one in particular?
Well, as previously stated, I didn't exactly decide to get him -- I just wanted to nurse him back to health, and wean him (as he was only four weeks old when I found him), and the rest his history. As far as cats go, though, I've worked with no-kill cat shelters for years, so it was only natural that one would find its way into my life one way or another.
Interesting or unique tricks or talents
He doesn't seem to understand that he is not a dog. Complete with whining at the window, following either myself or the beau around the apartment, howling rather than meowing (in fact, he rarely makes cat-type sounds at all, aside from purring). He believes he is a watchdog, and is protecting us from the evil that lives in our walls. He frequently decides that our walls are the enemy, and will go from a blissful sleep to a running leap, leading to running up the wall as high as the light switches, falling down, hissing at the wall, and running away. Psycho.
Funny story about your pet
Aside from the time that he discovered that he enjoyed taking baths in the toilet?

This is when he decided that a spare, open-doored guinea pig cage was his makeshift bed. I didn't put him in there -- he just loves tiny spaces. I have a Saucony shoe box, missing its lid, on the floor -- and I'll find all of him curled up inside the shoebox.

Contrary to popular belief, this is not a yawn. This is singing along to Iron Maiden.
  • Post a new comment


    default userpic
    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.
aww he's so cute and I love his markings

my fat little pumpkin Spike likes to jam himself into tiny splaces too...and he's 20lbs!

I had a friend who liked Iron Maiden and named his cat Eddie, but I don't think his cat sang. that last one is great!
Hehehe -- thanks! And that's awesome. I don't name my pets after that kind of stuff, but maybe I should. The closest thing I did was name my rat snake after the evilest Powerpuff Girl, because she's a raging beyotch.
What a cutie! I love that dark orange color. He looks quite a bit like my boyfriend's old cat (also rescued as an abandoned kitten, though not in such tragic circumstances as Taco). Hard to believe they were once so small and helpless!

Tell me about it.

When I first brought him home, he climbed onto a stepstool (know the kind they have in libraries to help midgets like me reach the higher shelves?), and started meowing because he couldn't get down.

. . . He was four inches from the ground.

Now, I look at my hands, which are all scarred up thanks to his proclivity to biting (I wish he scratched instead, because I keep all of his claws clipped, religiously), and I wonder where the lil' thing with the head half the size of my fist went.
Cute cat. I love it.