Alexandra Kerr

It has become quite a sick joke how much I am seen as a crazy cat person. While I am doing nothing to squash these rumours, in fact my 10 trillion cat photos a week probably aren’t helping, I feel I am really not alone in this cat-crazy world. I mean, have you been shopping lately? The cat-cray is EVERYWHERE!

A recent shop (one of many, haha, PLEASEGODDONTTELLSHAUN) had me struggling to restrain myself on some cat purchases.

I lost that battle and now we are surrounded by not only my real cats, but these crazy purchases that I will probably never use:

Cat Tote (modelled by Mini)



Cat Tissue Paper



Cat Cards (combines my love of kittens AND a sale purchase)



How will I ever seem normal with these purchases lying around???

In other news, look what I made the cats made for a friend recently.
I hope he loved it!

Help me.

There is no denying I love a good crime show. I don’t know why I constantly choose to watch them when usually afterwards I freak out for about three days and make Shaun check and re-check every door lock and window.

Usually it isn’t the actual crime that freaks me out, it is the lead up to it. How someone got into the house, how long they had been watching the person for, the details that make you pee with the bathroom door open because you’re too afraid to be in any room alone.

So when I heard this simple statement the other night, I lost my shit. A woman (victim) on the show was describing how she was attacked in her own home, the details, everything. BUT it was the following few sentences that has had me living with all windows and doors shut even during this 30 degree weather. She said:

“I smelt him before he attacked me. I woke up and smelt a combination of cigarettes and body odour. I smelt him in my room, standing next to me before I was attacked.”

I’m just going to let that sink in for a while……


BECAUSE I AM NOT DEALING WELL WITH IT.

Anyone else watch crime shows and then deeply, deeply regret it?

So we rushed Mini to the vet the other night.

While I would love to point out how much earlier I wanted to take her before Shaun finally caved, I won’t, because I would hate to say I am right.

Anyway, I got home from work and went into Mummy instinct ‘something is wrong’ mode with Mini. Her obvious vomiting was a giveaway but so was her need to sit on me, yet wouldn’t sit still. I loved the attention, but I knew it meant something wasn’t quite right.

Sad face time

FINALLY Shaun gave in and said we should take her to the vet (somehow it became his decision?) and we did at about 9pm. It was not a good start when we arrived. There was a couple hysterically crying and their doggy was wrapped up in a sheet, I gave a sympathy cry and knew that I was not going to be able to keep my crap together for Mini.

And I didn’t.

When it was finally our turn to see the nurse, I could barely speak and Shaun had to give her the lowdown on what had been happening. Apparently I’m not very good in stressful situations involving my furbabies and I froze. All I could really blab out was to do whatever they had to, which included a $300 x-ray.

A $300 x-ray to tell us that Mini was blocked up. Yes. Blocked up. It seemed she hadn’t been pooping and was keeping it in. Which broke my heart. Anything they told me would have broken my heart, but I guess her refusing to poo sent questions screaming through my head. Was she depressed? Does she hate the colour of her kitty litter tray? Does she keep it in because I once told her it stunk? Worst Mother ever.

They took her away and kept her overnight. Then, thankfully, they rang the next morning to say Mini had FINALLY pooed after THREE (YES THREE) ENEMAS and that she could come home with some medication to keep her going. Good god, I needed to get my Mini Mouse Cat home and showered in love and attention! Which was slightly delayed because she hid under the bed and wouldn’t really come near me.

Hiding under the bed because she probably forever hates us

So to cut a long story short: seven hundred dollars later and I’ll forever be on kitty litter watch.

Get better Mini.

Sorry Mini, it doesn’t stink. Ever.

On Friday, I had a procedure which saw me going under general for the very first time. As you would know (or should know by now), I like to make a big deal about things, especially if that ‘big deal’ involves me going into hospital! While I like to think I am uber brave, I’m really not. In fact, I had Shaun ready with everyone’s numbers on a special list in case anything went wrong and my family needed to be contacted immediately to tell them that their favourite CHILD/GRANDCHILD/SISTER/FRIEND was in trouble!

Oh, and I cried on the way into surgery.

BUT I’M ALIVE. I had a wonderful stay in the hospital and was showered in attention, drugs and blood pressure monitoring by the staff while I was in my glad-I-pay-for-private-health-insurance suite. I do feel sore and sorry for myself, and if anything going under general made me so teary! Like, the other night for example I couldn’t decide what I wanted for dinner…so I cried. Like CRIED. Poor Shaun. If he sticks by me after this, it’s definitely true love.

The worst part of the ordeal (besides the pain and yucky cuts on my belly) is that the cats aren’t allowed into the bedroom at night! THEY DON’T UNDERSTAND! :( It is breaking my heart. But I know that if they jump on my belly it will be unlike anything I have ever felt before. So, life goes on…and I just continually spoil them with belly rubs and thousands of treats.

Anyway here are some (not so) exciting photos! I was still pretty dosed up in this photo. I was nice and blurred my face for you because me without make-up and looking very tired is not a sight anyone needs to see:

Here is Eddy when I got home after being away for nearly two days:

And here are some beautiful flowers I received from the very wonderful Rodica (she is my boss at work, and I also want to steal her gorgeous baby):

Thank you for coming to my pity party.

Evie and I had quite the incident with her groomers last week. While I absolutely adore the place she goes, this time it was not in her favour.

Firstly, Miss Evie came home with what I can only assume (because Google told me) is razor burn. This meant she was scratching, licking and more scratching her poor little body until Mummy-magic stepped in with some cornstarch.

Apparently cornstarch helps razor burn on dogs? Random.

So my Friday night was spent rubbing cornstarch all over her body (which she found relaxing, see below) and then making sure she kept her ‘I Love NY’ top on as it seemed to help stop her from more scratching! Don’t be jelly of my life.

BUT it was the overall cut that I was not expecting…..in fact, I have no other way to explain her cut than to show pictures. So, ladies and gentlemen….Evie has fur boots:

Fur boots and a lion head, apparently….

Well I forgave my parents for my horrendous hair cut in Year 8, so I pray Evie forgives me. Soon.

Sometimes I have really great flashbacks to a much simpler time. A time when I thought it would be a wonderful and harmless idea to get all white furniture. Thinking my house would look something like this:

Well wrong.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.  It is impossible to keep clean and probably the worst decision I have ever made. Even over the time I decided to cut my hair boy short. YES, IT IS THAT BAD.

My life is one big ongoing white furniture clean. From the tiny paw prints that show up EVERYWHERE to the continuous “Shaun, why the hell can’t you use a coaster” debate…I am constantly wiping down the whiteness. Well, the once-was whiteness.

Don’t even get me started on the white leather couch we thought would be an amazing idea. Yeah, it was…UNTIL WE INTRODUCED FOUR CATS. That couch is one big scratching post. Correction, one big SOFT scratching post for their delicate paws.

I guess this is a life lesson. Don’t buy white furniture, unless you are my Mum who has a serious obsessive compulsive cleaning disorder.

What’s a life lesson you face everyday?

On Wednesday, Shaun and I went to the Ekka….or as I like to call it, “BABY ANIMAL DAY!”.

I haven’t been to the Ekka in about eight years, so it did take some convincing. Once Shaun muttered the words, “baby animal feedings…and some showbags”, I was in. He knows how to win me over!

Anyway, talk about Shaun’s worst nightmare…not only did I make Shaun line up with the 10,000 children while we waited to enter the animal feeding area, but I also made him have a photo with me holding some lambs. Again, it was us and 10,000 little kids. God bless Shaun! Good kid.

BUT one thing I don’t remember when I last went to the Ekka was the area that YOU CAN SEE SHEEP GIVING BIRTH.

YES I CAN REPEAT THAT: AN AREA THAT YOU CAN SEE SHEEP GIVING BIRTH. Jesus. While I am well aware how nature works, and I am obsessed with ‘One Born Every Minute‘, seeing a sheep giving birth was something different. Something I was not prepared for as I ate my strawberry sundae.

But seeing the Mummy-Sheep licking the newly born lambies was very cute. So cute, in fact, that I removed the lamb that I tried to smuggle out and I handed it back. It needs to be with its mummy, I understand.

But I kept the baby moo-cow. What?

 In my element….using food to make animals love me.

Dearest Shaun,

As we embark on our house-buying adventure together, I have noticed that most places we look at do need a ‘freshen up’.

THANKFULLY I came across this helpful article with great colour palettes. I can’t decide, which do you like best?

I thought the “Sleepy Time” (5) would best suit the bedroom and maybe “Cuteness” (19) would be good in the study?

What’s that? Is there an issue? No? Good. I knew you would be impressed!

Love you always,

Alex

Looking back, it seems that my brother exercised his right as the ‘older brother’ exceptionally well.

You see, there are some things that my brother, Mitchell, has ingrained so strongly within my head that still to this day I often second guess myself. Let me explain…

1. My brother once told me that the seeds within capsicums are highly poisonous and will kill you if eaten or EVEN TOUCHED. It was only last week, that Shaun pointed out this was a lie.

2. My brother told me that the coral in the Great Barrier Reef will kill you if it touches you. All fun and games, EXCEPT HE TOLD ME AS WE WERE SNORKELLING IN THE GREAT BARRIER REEF. I still remember being so afraid of the coral that I was shaking.

3. My brother told me that sharks (again in the Great Barrier Reef) go after people who wee in the ocean. I don’t wee in the ocean, but I still lived in fear.

4. My brother told me that sharks can get through trap doors in pools. MY BIGGEST FEAR IN LIFE IS SHARKS and I have no doubt where this fear of sharks (and pools) came from.

5. My brother (we were about 4 and 6) once swapped his twenty cent coin with my two dollar coin because he told me, “My coin is worth more because it is bigger. Here Alex, you can have it.” I choose to believe he was being kind.

6. I once had my hair cut really short (Year 8) and my brother told me every single day I looked like a seagull. A GOD DAMN SEAGULL. I cried every night.

7. When my little sister was born, he pointed out that they both start with ‘M’ and have the same birth mark. This is because I am adopted, he explained, and hadn’t yet been told. I was 12 and at a highly vulnerable stage of no longer being the youngest child.

So while I love my older brother dearly, I feel he went above and beyond his role as an older brother who could torment his little sister.

Thank god, I am the favourite. Right, Dad?

I own four cats. There is no denying that it is often one big loving cat family. You know, along the lines of “The Catty Bunch, The Catty Bunch, That’s the way we all became the Catty Bunch”. You get my drift.

BUT sometimes this tight paw-licking family has moments. Moments where love turns to chaos. Let this series of pictures walk you through last night’s incident.

I think we can all tell who won that war. Play nice, Bertie.