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Yesterday morning I let the cats out into the back yard, and I had to go chasing after Mister Boogers not once, but twice. Finally, I brought him inside and took off his collar and shut the door. Tommy and Sugarbutt were still outside, and when I heard Sugarbutt banging at the cat door, I went and let him in.
Like a shot, Mister Boogers went flying by me, out the cat door, and into the yard. He was still collarless, and I thought about chasing him down, but finally I said “You know what, you fucking DOUCHEBAG, run away! See if I care! Asshole!” He wandered around the back yard for a little while, then came inside and took a nap.
Maybe it’s not that he wants to go out of the back yard. Maybe it’s that he wants to be able to leave the back yard if he wants.
Oh, who the fuck knows? Fred’s still got plans to make the back yard like Fort Knox, we’ll see how that goes.
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Have I mentioned that egg production has dropped off since the days have gotten so much shorter? Apparently egg production is tied to the amount of light a chicken sees in the course of a day. You can increase it by putting a light in their coop, but since chickens are born with the ability to lay a certain number of eggs (or so I’m told), we’re going to let things take a natural course and see how it goes.
I think Frick is a little in love with me. He flies out of the chicken yard, usually around mid-morning, and if I step out into the back yard, he runs over next to me, looking up at me hopefully, and if I walk across the yard, he heels better than any dog I’ve seen. I know he’s really just hoping for food, but even when it’s apparent that there’s no food for him, he stays right next to me. Yesterday I was standing on the back steps taking pictures, and he stood on the step next to me the entire time I was out there, just looking up at me. When I came back into the house, he stood on the top step, looking through the cat door, for several minutes before he hopped down and went off across the yard.
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flickr)
I just know that one of these days he’s going to figure out the damn cat door, and I’m going to have to kill him because I WILL NOT have a chicken shitting in my house.
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The new fosters are doing well. They’re all friendly, at least to me, if not each other. They’re from four different litters and Patrice is the only really hissy one – she likes to stand in the doorway between the room and the closet (where the litter boxes are) and hiss at the other kittens when they go by. So far the litter box situation is looking good – no diarrhea, which is nice, considering what we went through with the Ka-Tet.
Brolo REALLY likes that toy.
Patrice really, really likes me.
Keith is the most playful of the bunch, and very good at entertaining himself.
Brolo goes for the sniff.
“Hellew.” (Brolo)
Pretty Chemda.
Patrice is keeping an EYE on you.
Such pretty markings, our Brolo.
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Tommy and Sugarbutt, feeling their oats: the pictorial.
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Previously
2006: As of today, I’ve been journaling for seven years.
2005: What I’m not going to miss is the rotten-egg gas Sugarbutt’s been suffering from lately.
2004: Off to Myrtle Beach.
2003: Instead, we should probably go for “Shizzle M. Andersizzle.”
2002: Why I journal.
2001: No entry.
2000: Okay, enough of that mushy crap.
1999: So. Welcome to my journal.]]>