and Felicia home, and later this morning I’ll be taking Ellie-Belly to the pet store to put in the same cage with Skittles. “Nooooo, not The Cage!” “How ’bout you rub the belly instead?” Rest assured that I don’t WANNA take Ellie-Belly to the pet store, but off she goes. This is the part of fostering I hate the most. If I woke up in the morning and a foster fairy had whisked her off to the pet store and then she was adopted before I got there next week, that would be perfect. I don’t know what’s going on with Punki and Felicia, but I hope it’s not something they got into when they were here. And I hope the medication gets them better fast. And I hope Skittles and Ellie-Belly get adopted FAST. Stinkerbelle needs to have the rest of her claws capped, because girlfriend likes to climb up the backs of chairs and couches, and it’s not like our furniture is all the nice or expensive, but I’d rather not have the furniture all clawed up, thanks. She cracked us up last night, because Tommy was sitting on top of one of the recliners in the front room, and she climbed up the back and when she got to the top, she snuggled up to Tommy, and he rolled his eyes and jumped down and ran away. Right now, he’s upstairs in the foster kitten room, asleep atop the cat tree. It’s the one place in the house he knows Stinkerbelle won’t follow him. Poor Stinky. All she wants is LURVE from her Tommy. (Don’t feel too bad for her – she and Tommy were snuggled up on the end of Fred’s bed at bedtime last night.) ******************************** Yesterday morning I was sitting in front of the computer, and this whiff of nastiness kept wafting across my field of smell. It smelled at first like something ROTTING, and all I could think was that maybe a cat had killed a mouse or some rodent and buried it under the pile of empty boxes in the corner of the computer room. So I sniffed around there and found nothing. Then I sniffed around the bathroom and it smelled fine. I sniffed around the stack of canning jars in the other corner of the room. Nothing. And then I wondered if I’d actually smelled anything at all, because after all the sniffing it seemed like I couldn’t smell anything at all. So I sat down in front of the computer, and half an hour later I smelled the same smell again, and I looked at Mister Boogers and said “Dude. Is that YOU?” Mister Boogers regarded me and said something in Feline that loosely translates to “Your Momma.” It finally occurred to me to check the trash can I keep by my desk, the trash can where I do my best to never toss any kind of food products, because that’s just asking for trouble. Well. Apparently at some point since last Wednesday I’d tossed something nasty in there (or maybe Fred tossed something nasty in there. For that matter, maybe a CAT tossed something nasty in there.) and it was RANK. I was curious as to what it was, but I wasn’t curious enough to go looking for it, so I bagged up the trash, took it out, and put my trash can outside so that it could air out. And sitting next to the stoop was one Newton J. Newtleton, having caught himself a snack, demonstrating to me that the brain is the tastiest part of a squirrel. Bleh.


Fred called me at home around 1:00 yesterday afternoon and said “I’m coming home.” “You’re coming home?” I said. “How come?” “I mouthed off to [his big boss] in a meeting.” “….” “…” “And she sent you HOME?” I was opening my mouth to ask what on earth he’d said – something, I was sure, he thought was funny but pissed her off; he’s good at that sort of stuff, inadvertently (or perhaps not so inadvertent) pissing off people by making a smartass comment – when he told me he was kidding, that everyone got the rest of the day off because of the holiday party or something. So we met for lunch at Ruby Tuesd@y’s. I’ve been craving the salad bar/ turkey sandwich combo for a couple of weeks now. When we met there, guess what? They no longer have the turkey sandwich. OF COURSE. The waitress pointed out that they have a salad bar/ turkey burger combo, and that’s what Fred got, but I don’t do turkey burgers (the idea of ground turkey makes me gag. See that? I just gagged. Just THINKING about it.) so got the chicken BLT and salad bar. It wasn’t bad, but it was no turkey sandwich, damnit.


Newt slept like this for over an hour the other night. He is severely cute, that boy.


Previously 2006: How these cats aren’t the size of Tubby, I will never know. 2005: No entry. 2004: And if I ever get the urge to go shopping at the mall on a Saturday two weeks before Christmas, I’ll lay down until it goes away. 2003: Thank god I’m not famous. I could handle being followed around by the papparazzi, but live interviews on the TV and radio? Fuck THAT. 2002: My favorite Christmas entry, ever. Chock-full of the Bitchypoo Christmas Spirit. 2001: Of course my world revolves around me and the people I care about. And yours revolves around you. Except when it revolves around me. 2000: I think they should hire me to play his girlfriend – the stripper with a heart of gold – because I just love that man right to pieces 1999: No entry.]]>