Posts Tagged ‘T’
Saturday, August 3rd, 2013
Name: Tuxedo Max
I know I'm a lightweight when it comes to SOHC qualifications, but I'm a heavyweight in mah belly!
What makes T-Max so mean?
Tuxedo Max (AKA TuxTux KittyKitty) may not LOOK mean (or even act mean) but he IS! In his high and mighty snuggliness, he endeavors to suffocate me at least once a day. The attack is usually preceded by the tried and true “Look at my cute belly!” maneuver. Once I succumb to the charm of that flashy white belly (which is huge, by the way, he’s a 20 pounder), and pick him up, he proceeds to headbutt me and block my breathing passages with his massive, longhaired sides. Also when he is in full purring smother attack, he has been known to ever so slowly get his face close to that sensitive part of my inner arm and CHOMP! He bites down with those long and pointy teeth. The only way to stave off these attacks of smothering is to fill his food dish heaping full, immediately. Or offer him catnip, in which case, he is reduced to a puddle of drooling mush. I’m sure that’s just a ploy, to get me to offer him more munchy snacks.
Photo submitted by: Elisa
Monday, April 29th, 2013
Hm, are there any voles in here?
What makes Tess so mean?
I got Tess for Christmas in ’01. My husband saved her life also (see Trooper for other cat saved). He bought her at a (ugh!) pet store. She had pneumonia; the vet said she would have been dead in a few days if we hadn’t gotten her. All her whiskers had fallen off due to her long fever.
Now healthy and grown, she walks right up to our German Shepherd and attacks her face, a full kitty hug. Whenever I strip the bed, she has to jump right in the middle and is so stubborn I’ve often had to make the bed around her. For some reason she won’t drink water out of her bowl…she waits until we get out of the shower and jumps in to drink out of the drain, or demands that we cup our hands and give it to her right then. She is so smart she opens every door in the house, but she is never content to just crack them. She insists on pushing them till they are open ALL the way.
A closed door is a potential party hidden away from me. Can’t have that!
Our other cat is an outdoor cat and one day on our walk, he brought her a still living vole to “play with.” She grabbed it and proceeded to carry it around, growling like a tiger, even though it kept biting her so she would drop it. It would stagger a few feet and then she would pounce again. She hides on the window sill and if you move she will attack you through the blinds. We have to be careful walking by a window with the blinds closed…you never know if a cat claw will come shooting out at you.
Submitted by: Stephanie
Monday, April 29th, 2013
Hey, female…can’t you see it’s boy’s night in? You women get lost.
What makes Trooper so mean?
When I got married I only had Trooper. He hated my husband and ended up biting him. There were some rough times in the house while my hubby recovered from the blood poisoning (to this day he swears Trooper has some kind of kitty venom). After a while, Trooper somehow broke his leg on night out carousing, and I think he realized that Baron (husband) saved his hide by taking him to the vet and getting him fixed up.
During his recovery he was house bound for 4 months, and they bonded. Trooper has totally abandoned me for the “other man” of the house. He walks right up to the girl cat Tess, kisses her a couple of times, and then bites her on the neck! [Trooper’s note: I’m just copying what Baron does…] If he sees that she is under a blanket he will walk over and sit on her while pretending that he never knew she was there.
Submitted by: Stephanie
Sunday, April 28th, 2013
Location: Oak Park, IL
Better not let THIS cat outta the bag! I’ll go psycho mode on your butt!
What makes Trotsky so mean?
Trotsky deceived us from the beginning when we picked him up at the Anti-Cruelty Society. He was both skinny and lovable and we thought he’d be the perfect companion to our 9 month old kitten at home. Unfortunately he was anything but. I’ll never forget the look our other cat Faust gave me when we opened the cat carrier and Trotsky stepped out. Faust sat at the back of the long hallway and looked directly in my eye as if to say: “How could you.”
Trotsky began his stay with us calmly enough, spending the first few days in a bathroom cupboard, but after a while he settled in and took over. We lived on the top floor of a three-flat in Chicago with my brother and his wife whom Trotsky developed a special hatred for. He would sit on the second floor landing and wait for her to come home, refusing to move as she and her 90 pound Golden Retriever would come up the stairs. Trotsky would rear up and snort if they tried to get too close, and she would have to scream for me to get him, which I would do, holding him gingerly at arm’s length while he hissed and flailed away.
When we bought our own house Trotsky would take special glee in terrorizing neighborhood cats. He would lie on our front porch in the early evening and just wait. If a cat was foolish enough to investigate our house, Trotsky would start a low guttural howl to warn the foolish intruder after it passed some imaginary line in our yard. If the errant cat continued to approach then Trotsky would begin to lather himself into psycho mode. If this first-time visitor (there were no second-time feline guests) continued his advance, Trotsky would lunge and the two would transform into a screaming, hissing ball that would roll and bounce across the front yard. The noise would bring me running with a broom that I kept near the front door for just such occasions which I would use to pry the two apart. I’d have to shove Trotsky back to our house with the broom, for I dared not pick him up. He’d sit in the living room breathing hard and snorting as he would slowly cool himself down, our other cats looking on in amazement from the relative safety of the hallway.
Alas Trotsky is no more, but his ashes sit on our windowsill as a reminder to our household to not get of line.
Submitted by: Mike B.
Saturday, April 27th, 2013
Name: Trotsky (2)
Location: Near a hospital
I wouldn’t have to fight so many other cats if they didn’t make fun of my ears!
What makes Trotsky so mean?
Trotsky could be one of the meanest Meankitties around. From the day he was allowed into the big bad world he was trouble. On average, once a week he would come home with scratches on his belly and bite marks on his neck. Every time he would have to be taken to the vet to have the abscesses lanced. He quickly developed an intense hatred of the vet and even now has to be sedated to unconsciousness before he can be taken out his carrier.
Trotsky had always been an anxious little guy and never very affectionate; being picked up is out of the question. His idea of fun is to attack any part of your body he can reach, so it’s not a good idea to get your face close. After 6 months of suffering constant trips to the vet, it was decided that Prozac might be a way of calming him down. Reluctantly I agreed and magically for 2 months it seemed to work, no fighting. But then it started again.
One day I heard his hissing and growling outside my apartment and thought I’d intervene before he needed another trip to the vet. Stupid mistake. As I pulled him off the other cat, he sunk his teeth into the back of my hands. Within 20 minutes both my hands had blown up like balloons. Within a week I was in hospital having surgery on my left hand to flush out puss from an infection that had taken hold around the knuckle of the index finger. That was the beginning of a very, very long 4 week stint in the hospital and the first of 4 operations on that hand. And Trotsky? He had to have another abscess lanced. To this day I have the constant reminder of the whole fiasco–my index finger is permanently crippled.
Interestingly, when I got home from the hospital at 4pm, by 5pm he was covered in blood, bites and scratches. He hadn’t been in a single fight while I was away. It was decided for his own safety and the safety of others he would, from now on, be an indoor cat.
You would think this would have solved everything, wouldn’t you?? Not so. Now he sprays everywhere around the apartment to show how much he misses the abscesses. I can’t tell you how many times I have been driven to tears of frustration by this but I love him and, well, no one else would!
Says Meankitty: PROPS TO ONE OF THE MOST COMMITTED SLAVES EVER! GOOD JOB! (May your next cat be a not so meankitty!)
Submitted by: Adriana
Friday, April 26th, 2013
I’m short tempered, all right… I’m at the end of my rope!
What makes Trouble so mean?
I named her “Trouble” because she has a giant patch of red fur on her head. She’s a redhead just like me – and I was right to think that she would be ornery, mean, and short-tempered.
* When I eat, she jumps onto the table (usually by crawling up my back with all claws fully extended) and dives headfirst into my food. If someone pulls a pan of food out of the oven and puts it on top to cool, Trouble’s usually right in the middle of it the moment our backs are turned.
* Around daybreak, she comes inside with various dead things and deposits them at the foot of my mother’s bed. So far, she’s offered “gifts” of several dead mice, one very large rat, a small frog and too many grasshoppers to count.
* Trouble is forced to share the cat feeder with several other cats. She has somehow trained my mother to leave the top open after refilling it so that Trouble can sit on top of the microwave and lean down to eat out of the top while the rest of the cats crowd around the bottom.
Submitted by: Sarah B.
Thursday, April 25th, 2013
Name: Trouble and Mush
“Good Dog, I can smell his fetid breath from here! Somebody get Trouble a dental, STAT!”
What makes T & M so mean?
Ever since their cousin Mr. Softie made it into the Meankitty Gallery, Trouble and Mush have been practicing their mean faces. Trouble (right) has been practicing his mean face more than Mush.
Meankitty’s Note: Normally this wouldn’t be enough to get into the Gallery, because who knows if these two characters are even MEAN, but it *is* a good photo.
Submitted by: Pete
Wednesday, April 24th, 2013
Location: Uxbridge, MA
Extra claws are the better to smack you with.
What makes Tucker so mean?
Tucker, aka “Freaky Paws”, is always ready for a pub brawl. Nobody gets near her Guinness….nobody! One look at the size of her polydactyl paws is enough to convince even the biggest prat to stay clear.
No newspaper or magazine is open for more than a millisecond before Tucker plonks herself down on the story of interest. Nudges and shoves from her human companions only trigger her extended stretching reflex. Any further provocation results in the publication in question being rapidly gathered up by her front paws and then ripped to shreds by her back ones.
She equates material for quilting projects with her own personal comfort. No fabric can be sewn until it gets kneaded and slept on for at least three hours.
Freaky Paws is, without a doubt, the Queen of the Countertop, the Countess of the Keyboard, and the Mistress of the Fridge. Failure to follow her wishes result in bloody ankles and arms.
Submitted by: Bob and Pattie
Tuesday, April 23rd, 2013
Hey, I don’t bite the other animals, they just have bad dreams!
What makes Tuffy so mean?
This is Tuffy, our mean kitty. She was named Tuffy because when she was brought home as a kitten she wouldn’t let anyone near her. She hissed and clawed at anyone who so much as looked at her. She finally warmed up to us, but never accepted our other cat or dog. She sneaks up behind them and attacks them every chance she gets. She’s smart enough now not to do it in front of anyone, but sometimes you can hear a yowl or yip in another room from the animal being attacked. Even though she’s smaller than the other animals, she rules them.
Submitted by: Jean
Monday, April 22nd, 2013
Location: Crouching in the bathroom
What they don’t know is I pee on the other bathmats, too, it just doesn’t show stains, heh heh heh
What makes Laf so mean?
This evil feline is named ‘Laf (short for Tulaf — don’t ask). He has his own theme song to strut to. Why is he so mean? Let me list several of his less charming qualities:
1. He’s a fighter, not a lover. When someone tries to give him some much-needed loving, he growls.
2. He DEMANDS fresh, cool water from the sink. The stream must flow at the just the right speed and temperature, or he sneezes and wipes his paws all over the mirror in disdain.
3. Occasionally, he likes to pee on the fluffy white bathmats just to assert his evil dominance.
4. ‘Laf gets very excited about his vittles, sometimes a little too excited. When he over-stuffs his fat face, he will puke by the trashcan.
5. He licks himself, in dog-like fashion, in front of his human slaves. This is just WRONG!
But, like many bullies, he’s really a softie underneath the rogue exterior — he sucks on a leopard-print pillow when he thinks no one’s looking.
Submitted by: Kerry