Tag Archives: kitties

KITTIES

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or,

The Zoe Post!

I have about seven unfinished stories waiting, about Marrakesh and NGOs and hiking through Middle Earth, but we’ll get to those later.

Last night, I curled up under my covers and Rim the Pregnant Kitty lay down in the little fort in the crook of my bent knees.  Just another night in Rabat, I thought, I should probably do my homework for Gender class tomorrow.

In the middle of a rather restless night (lots of half-waking-up, confused, to some weird noises), I awoke to find that Rim the Pregnant Kitty was no longer pregnant! I thought of Zoe as I looked over to a shelf in our closet, and saw instead four (five?!) TINY BABY KITTIES squeaking like there’s no tomorrow. Newborn kitties squeak, by the way. None of this meowing business, they sound like squeaky toys each time they wake up and start crawling all over each other. Tomi the Barfy Kitty (Rim is his mama too, did I mention that?) came in to inspect the new kitties as well, and then Boushra, Wided and Abir, Jalal, Huria, Jamila, all the fam. Anyway, pictures to follow eventually; I don’t want to bother the kitties with a flash right now. They look so peaceful and snuggly, and I can’t find my camera cord anyway.

Allie did suffer one casualty of childbirth, though. Unfortunately, Rim thought it’d be a good idea to give birth on her clothes, which she removed from the shelf and dumped into the kitchen sink. (These kitties just have terrible judgment with some things.) Hopefully no permanent damage has been done!

ZOEEEEEE! Zoe is in India, teaching English. I’m a big Zoe fan, I have t-shirts and foam fingers and everything. This is her blog, you should read it because she’s awesome. Zoe, four more kitties just joined the legions of cats in Morocco! I wonder if they’ll let me name one. Got any suggestions?

So, hidden away in a corner of the blue-walled kasbah, a cat gave birth in our closet. I never know what I’m going to wake up to here!

Tomi the Barfy Kitty

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A FUNNIER CONTINUATION OF THE YUCKY STUFF POST

Last night, Tomi the Drooly Kitty puked all over my bed.

WHA—I DON’T—YOU—THE NOISE—IS THIS SOME NEW MOROCCAN THING—

It started with the most ungodly, gargling, hacking sound I have ever heard. WHAT IS THAT HOLY SHIT SOMETHING IS DYING.

Then puke. Puke everywhere.

Allie and I just watched him do it, suspended in some bizarre wtf is going on moment, and by the time I shoved him off my bed it was too late. So I grabbed some napkins (thank god we bought those as a we-have-no-idea-where-they-keep-toilet-paper last resort) and scooped it up—and suddenly, the whole thing struck me as utterly, ridiculously hilarious—here I am in my cheap, fuzzy, bright blue hello kitty bathrobe, holding a big handful of cat vomit and laughing uncontrollably.

CAT BARF.

There are no garbage cans anywhere here, so we threw it out the window into the piles of litter already lining the shores of the river. I can’t stop laughing even as I’m typing this.

(You’d think that my first purchase in Morocco would be something culturally relevant or important, but no. It was a cheap fuzzy hello kitty bathrobe. I’m pretty sure this is the point, though.)

I’ve renamed him Tomi the Barfy Kitty.