Month: February 2008

(There’s an entry for yesterday, in case you missed it.)

I am such a dog person, but lately you have made me wonder if I’d like a cat in my house? It’s really weird that reading you makes me want a cat. It’s something to think about…wonder if my dachshund would freak if I brought a cat home?

You would not be the first person who ended up getting a cat after reading my site. I can’t say whether your dachshund would freak out over a cat, but dogs and cats have been known to get along (it always helps if the cat has a spot to get away from the dog – and vice versa), but of course it’s not guaranteed, it always depends on the personality of the dog and the cat.

 

Does Joe Bob have “thumbs” (extra toes?) or does it just look that way in the picture?

I am sad to report that none of our cats have extra toes. Which is too bad, because I think those extra-toed cats are kind of cool. Maybe our next cat will be a polydactyl!

 

How often do you dust and vacuum each week? (I’m trying to start a new schedule for myself)

In a perfect world, I vacuum on Saturday and Wednesday, and dust twice a week. In the real world, I vacuum on Saturday or Sunday (and run the Roomba two or three days during the week) and dust whenever I can force myself to do so. I loathe dusting more than just about any other household chore, and I’ve been known to go weeks between dusting, until Fred writes “Dust me” in the dust on all horizontal surfaces.

 

We have recently been taking care of a stray cat. I know she has worms. (don’t ask) Recently her belly has gotten really big – I don’t know if she is pregnant or its because of the worms, and she has liquid poop. (big sigh) AND her little butt hole place seems a bit puckered. MY QUESTION IS… I remember the vet violating sugar butts butt and saying something about a gland? Can you point me to that entry or remind me what he said?

Sugarbutt had impacted anal glands, which had to be expressed (ie, squeezed) by the vet. It was a painful but necessary experience for him. Signs of impacted anal glands in cats: Affected pets may lick the anal area, ‘scoot’ along the floor, or have problems with defecation.

 

Like Joe Bob and Mister Boogers, I also get very excited when it’s Snackin’ Time.

It’s no coincidence that my own Snackin’ Time takes place directly after the cats’ Snackin’ Time. Everyone needs a nightly Snackin’ Time!

 

Your 40 year old knees might need some glucosamine and chondroitin.

Yeah, I’ve been taking glucosamine/ chondroitin for about six months now. My knees were feeling fine until I apparently stressed them by suddenly exercising after doing none for months. After two days of rest, they’re feeling a lot better, but my right knee still hurts more than I’d like. LE SIGH.

 

Robyn, when you were a teenager, fantasizing about adulthood, did the image of you standing outside screaming at a cat whilst kicking the shit out of a chicken coop ever come to mind?

Anita, when I was a teenager, I knew for certain that if any screaming at a cat and chicken coop-kicking was to be done, my husband Donny Osmond would hire someone to do it for me whilst I lounged in bed and ate bonbons.

Also, I’m pretty sure it never occurred to me that I would be happy: 1. In the country, 2. Owning 630 cats, 3. Having to trudge through chicken poop and check for eggs every day, and 4. Canning and freezing our own food, let alone looking forward to owning PIGS. Thank god Teenage Robyn doesn’t get to pull the strings, is all I have to say.

 

The running around like their asses are afire … do they do that INSIDE too?

Oh, HELL yes. Every evening, as the time approaches Snackin’ Time (7:00), the cats get more and more agitated and more and more active until they’re racing around, fighting, jumping off furniture, chasing invisible pieces of dust and just generally being pains in the ass. After Snackin’ Time they calm down for a little while, then race around a little more, race around at various times during the night (though they’re usually fairly quiet at night, thank god), and then when I get up in the morning they commence to race like the hellions they are. Thank god they nap more than they race around; I couldn’t take 24-hour racing around.

 

And Robyn, why dincha make HIM drive the movies to the Post Office? I’da been all, “Oh, honey, while you’re out will you pick me up some whatever/fill up the tank/do this other errand I don’t want to do?” “While I’m out doing what?” “Taking those movies that I didn’t remind you about to the post office.”

Because it made me feel holier-than-thou to stomp around and make my point, of course!

 

Why didn’t Fred just let the kitties eat the yogurt? Two of my three love yogurt. I’ve never let them have most of a carton, though. They’re lucky to get a spoonful each when I’ve eaten 99% of it.

‘Cause I lied, and it was ice cream, not yogurt. And the ice cream had chocolate in it, and chocolate’s not good for cats. 🙂

 

I think you mentioned you use T-Mobile in a past update. What search words do you use on ebay to look for phones that will work with T Mobile? I am FOREVER replacing phones here. We have 4 in this family. Btwn oops and worn out parts I HATE waiting for a upgrade or paying full price for a new phone. Or GOD forbid extending my contract AGAIN! Any tips, I would be thankful.

Readers, correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe any “unlocked” phone can be used with any SIM card. Is that right?

In any case, an eBay search on “T-Mobile cell phone” brings up a bunch of different kind of cells, so it wouldn’t hurt to give that a try!

 

Oh man! I was rooting for Punki to stay. Where did my mojo go?????!!! Where will they go if they’re not happy in their new homes? Does the group you work with do home visits to confirm that they’re being treated well?

The shelter has a lifelong policy that any cat ever adopted from them can be returned to them, whether it’s been a few days or weeks, or years and years. They don’t do home visits (they really just don’t have the manpower for that), but I believe it’s written into the contract that they could just show up and ask to see the cat if they so desired. The adoption counselors are really good at their jobs, and I’m pretty sure that the cats go into good homes.

That said, after I found out that Punki had been adopted, I was REALLY regretting letting her go and not keeping her. I regret it a little less now, but if she were returned, I don’t think I’d even ask Fred before I brought her home for good.

 

My Siamese, Simon, always puts a couple of pieces of his dry cat food into his water bowl. WHY? Is it so he can see the water level? Is he telling me he’d prefer boullion to water? By the time I get home from work, there are hugely swollen disgusting pieces of kibble floating around and falling apart in his damn water bowl! It’s making me KUH-RAZY!

Like a couple of other commenters mentioned, it could be that in the process of “killing” his food, some of it goes into the water. Or maybe he’s one of those cats who likes the softened food. Does he eat any of the food that goes into the water, or does it just sit there? Like you mentioned, it’s also possible he’s having a hard time seeing the top of the water, so floating pieces of food help with that. We used to cut up a colored straw and put a couple of pieces in the water bowl so the cats could tell where the water began. Can’t hurt to give it a try!

 

What do you think of the new Survivor? I have just 2 words to describe Joel on the Fan Team: ROID RAGE. He takes himself way too seriously and I would laugh at him if he was not just a little ca-razy scary with the rage thing.

I’m actually really enjoying this new season of Survivor; this is the first season in at least a couple of years where I pay complete attention to what’s going on rather than flipping through a magazine while it’s on.

Joel reminds me a LOT of Ogre from Revenge of the Nerds, and I half-expect him to clench his meaty fists and bellow “FAVES! FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAVES!” at the other team during challenges.

Chet looks A LOT like Robin Gibb to me.

Also, Mikey B looks like Luke Wilson.

I don’t, at this point, have any hands-down favorites, but I’m enjoying the show a lot!

 

Good news on the adoptions! I’ve been meaning to ask, what ever happened to Jack Frost?

After being adopted and returned a couple of times, Jack Frost was finally adopted for good!

 

Do your cats eat flowers? I find that whenever I have flowers in the house, the cats will practically kill themselves to eat them. One of my cats will munch on the flowers, turn his head to barf up poorly chewed leaves, then immediately resume consuming my bouquet. I have to lock the flowers in a spare bathroom when I leave the house to protect them, and I also sit with a squirt bottle because those effers think they can chew on my flowers right in front of my face. Is this normal? Do I really have to choose between my kitties and fresh flowers?

Not only do I never have fresh flowers in the house, I had to get rid of my last plant too, because the shitheads were digging around in the dirt and making a mess. You very well might have to choose between your cats and fresh flowers, unless you have a place where you can put flowers that the cats can’t get to (I’ve considered putting a shelf just large enough for a vase of flowers on a wall in the living room, but I’m not confident enough that the cats wouldn’t figure out how to get to it!).

 

Right around the time I started reading you, I also started reading a blog by someone named Shelley. She wrote a HILARIOUS entry about Assless Chaps Man (complete with Assless Chaps Pictures) and she had a hairless guinea pig. Do you know if she still has a blog out there anywhere?

That was Shelley at Shelleyness.com, and unfortunately, she’s not blogging anymore. I miss her EVERY DAMN DAY, do you hear me, Shelley? Come back to us! The internet needs youuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!

 

My 10 month old cat used to suck on my hands and shirt when she was a kitten and while she no longer does that regularly, she likes to crawl under my covers while I’m sleeping and suck on my back, which is really gross and wakes me up. Why would she do that? Do you have any sucking cats or did I get stuck with a weirdo?

I’m fairly certain it’s the sort of thing that results from being weaned too soon – Sugarbutt used to do it, but he’s pretty much grown out of it. I’ve heard of other cats who do it their entire lives, so I’d say your cat might grow out of it, or she might not. She’s not a weirdo, though, it’s pretty common.

I just looked around and found this page, which says:

There are three factors that may explain the development of this behavior:

1. While pica is common in many breeds, the intelligent and sensitive Siamese, Burmese, and Himalayan breeds all inherit common genes which seem to carry the urge to wool-suck or chew.
2. Also, premature weaning appears to predispose some cats to this behavior. This may also explain why the Oriental breeds are more likely to exhibit this behavior. The Oriental breeds tend to nurse longer (16 weeks) than their mixed-breed cousins (8-10 weeks), leading to a greater postweaning drive to suckle. However, even a mixed breed kitten that is weaned early will have a strong drive to nurse and may displace that drive into ritualized oral activities.
3. Stress appears to be a major factor triggering these behaviors as the sucking and chewing activities may not be performed until the cat is well into adulthood. Perhaps it could be compared to thumb-sucking or nail-biting in humans.

It goes on to offer solutions to stop the behavior if it’s bothersome, so you might give one of those a try.

 

Does the Pur water dispenser make the water taste better? I should buy one because I refuse to drink the water from my faucet. I don’t like having to buy water all the time.

It absolutely does – it removes that chemical “tap” taste from the water, and it makes the water taste great!

 

Is snackin time the only time they eat? Or is that when they get the canned food and they also have dry food out all the time? Do they eat people food?

No, Snackin’ Time’s when they have their canned food (two small cans of food divided amongst 9 cats – though the pigs (Mister Boogers, Joe Bob, Stinkerbelle) get quite a bit more than their fair share!)). They always have dry food available to them (three different kinds, OF COURSE). Some of them will occasionally eat human food, though we don’t really offer them human food too often. If we’re having chicken, Mister Boogers will howl and howl and howl until you give him a piece. Sugarbutt will jump up on the counter and eat dry oatmeal in the morning when Fred is getting his breakfast and lunch together to take to work with him. Last night, Tommy ate a bran flake, if you can believe it. Apparently Tommy believes in being regular. Joe Bob and Stinkerbelle will eat human food if you offer it to them, but they don’t demand it the way Spot used to. If there’s any dairy being eaten, Spanky hangs around looking inquisitive until you’re done and offer him your bowl to lick. The only cat who absolutely will not eat any human food at all aside from the juice from a can of tuna is Miz Poo. Chicken, steak, fish, dairy, the girl is not interested in the slightest.

Wow. That’s probably WAY overanswering your question, isn’t it? 🙂

 

who is now the oldest Anderson cat? In years and/or length of service. And I know I could do some research but I’m busy getting my house ready to sell. OK. I’m also rather lazy.

That would be Spanky, who’s 11 1/2 years old – Fred gave him to me as a Christmas present the first Christmas I was here. I can’t believe he’s so old! Miz Poo is next, at 8 1/2 years old – she’s another one we got around the holidays; I brought her home the day before Thanksgiving 1999. After her is Mister Boogers, at almost 5 years old. Tommy and Sugs are almost three years old – we’ve had them since they were itty bitty. Miss Momma is, and this is a total guesstimate, about four years old and Newt is around two, we think. Miss Stank will be one at the end of March, and we’ve had her since she was a little thing, too. Joe Bob (who I am calling “Jobey” – or “Joe B.”, I guess – more and more lately) will be three at the end of June.

The cats are actually listed in the left sidebar in the order in which we acquired them!

 

Miz Poo watches forlornly from the back yard as I feed the chickens and check for eggs. (flickr)

 

Previously
2007: No 29th.
2006: No 29th.
2005: No 29th.
2004: No entry.
2003: No 29th.
2002: No 29th.
2001: No 29th.
2000: Honest to god, am I the most spoiled wifey you’ve ever seen, or what?

This Sunday-through-Thursday-night posting thing isn’t working for me. I’ll post the comment-answering extravaganza tomorrow morning, and go back to the old Monday-through-Friday morning posting next week.

So if you’ve got questions, ask ’em!

 

Fred wrote a truer (and far funnier) account of why we (HE) needed Q-tips to clean between the floorboards.

He asked me to proofread the letter (yes, he really did send it to the founder of the company, and I hope the guy has a good sense of humor, because a letter like that deserves to be appreciated by the recipient) and when I got to the part where he talks about Mister Boogers, something about the so-very-casual mention of the cats name just cracked me up and I laughed until I cried.

Most of the time, the fact that we have a cat named Mister Boogers (and one named Sugarbutt, for that matter) doesn’t really strike me as all that funny. That’s just his NAME, I don’t really think about it, but the idea of a complete stranger receiving a letter and reading that we have a cat named Mister Boogers just hits my funnybone for some reason.

And yes, I AM getting a sewing machine – this one, to be exact. Y’all were pretty much unanimous that I should stay away from Singer and go for a Kenmore, and after some consideration (and an email from fellow not-much-of-a-seamstress Styro), I decided to go for it.

I’ve already told Fred I could probably make my own curtains – how hard can it be to whip up some valances, right? (When I’m swearing up a storm because I fucked up yet another set of curtains, remind me I said that, would you?) Hopefully the hardest part will be finding fabric I like. I hope so, at least!

 

I went to the recycling center today for the first time in about two weeks. Surprisingly (not), when you don’t use four 20-ounce plastic bottles a day, the recycling tends not to pile up. I know I mentioned that I bought some 1-liter Sigg bottles back in December with the intention of reducing the amount of trash I generate on a regular basis. Unfortunately, what I should have done was order 20-ounce Sigg bottles, because I just don’t care for the 1-liter size. So I’ve been using 20-ounce plastic water bottles for a week at a time before I recycle them. We got a Pur water dispenser I keep in the fridge in the laundry room (the filter that you can attach to your kitchen faucet wouldn’t fit so we went with the dispenser instead) and I fill the bottles from that.

Anyway, I was able to put off going to the recycling center for about two weeks, and the majority of the recycling were the cans of cat food from Snackin’ Time. Damn those cats and their Snackin’ Time.

After the recycling center I stopped by the bank to make a deposit and then to Big L0ts. Before we moved to Smallville, I had never once stepped foot into a Big L0ts, and now I go by there every other week or so. I never buy much there, but if they’ve got cans of compressed air I generally snatch them up, and I like taking a walk through the food section (a box of Cheerios for $2? Yes, please!) and the cleaning section and the kitchen section. It’s a good store to browse in, and I never spend very much money because everything is so damn cheap.

I was disappointed to find that they didn’t have any egg noodles though, damnit. How’m I going to make chicken noodle casserole without egg noodles?

Which reminds me. Anyone out there got a good chicken noodle casserole recipe? Something simple? I saw a recipe on the back of the box of cornflake crumbs for tuna noodle casserole, only I don’t eat tuna (because even contemplating eating tuna reminds me of when I was 8 or 9. At the time, I ate tuna a LOT. One day I took a bowl of tuna (mixed with mayo, of course) out of the fridge, took the top off the bowl and saw a dead fly floating in the pool of mayo around the edge of the bowl, and if that’s not the last time I ate tuna, you could probably count the number of times I’ve eaten tuna since on one hand) so I thought I’d substitute chicken for the tuna, and then I promptly threw the freakin’ box away and thus have no recipe.

Yes, I could Google up a recipe, but I’d rather one of you point me toward a recipe you’ve used and like.

Speaking of food, damn you, Ali. That Paula Deen recipe you linked looks so damn good I have no choice but to make it, possibly even this weekend. My arteries curse you as well. And damn those of you who mentioned the banana pudding recipe, because I might have to make that as well. DAMN YOU ALL.

I left Big Lots, got home, did some laundry (since it was a bright and sunny day, why not hang the towels out to dry? Nothing I love more than using a towel that smells like sunshine.), stalked the cats (who were in the back yard) with the camera, filled the bird feeders, took a thousand pictures of cats and chickens, fed the chickens some cracked corn, and just puttered around the house.

Then I plunked my ass on the couch and watched TV while I cross-stitched.

A totally relaxing day. I love days like that!

 

(flickr) 9:13 am:
Momma: “What doin’, Skittyboo? What it do?”
Spanky: “Nothin’.”

(flickr) 11:22 am:
Momma: “What doin’, Skittyboo? What it do?”
Spanky: “NOTH. ING.”

(flickr) 12:55 pm:
Momma: “What doin, Skittyboo?”
Spanky: “Jesus goddamn motherfucking christ WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I’M DOING? DO I APPEAR TO BE LUNCHING WITH HILARY CLINTON AND DISCUSSING HER PLANS FOR HEALTH CARE? AM I SAVING A SMALL CHILD FROM A BURNING BUILDING? DO I LOOK LIKE I’M GIVING A PRESENTATION TO THE NATIONAL ACADEMY OF SCIENCE ABOUT STRING THEORY? I AM DOING NOTHING. NOTHING. NOTH. ING. I AM STROLLING AROUND THE BACK YARD TRYING TO ENJOY THE DAY AND YOU KEEP BABBLING GODDAMN NONSENSE AT ME, DEMANDING TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK I’M DOING. DO YOU NOT HAVE ENOUGH TO DO? DO I NEED TO FIND SOMETHING FOR YOU TO DO? SHALL I WORK UP A MULTIPLE ROOM SHITTING SPREE? WHAT THE FUCK? WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU WANT FROM ME? WHAT? WHAT? NOW I UNDERSTAND WHY MISTER BOOGERS KEEPS TRYING TO RUN AWAY, IT’S TO ESCAPE THE CONTINUAL “What doin’? What doin’? What doin’?” LEAVE ME ALONE! GOD!”

(flickr) 1:38 pm:
Momma: “What doin’, Skittyboo? What it do?”
Spanky: “Please god, help me make it to and over the fence before her tiny little brain figures out what the hell I’m doing.”

 

Previously
2007: Who knew that Hellcats enjoy ripping eyeballs from your face and then batting them around the room?
2006: Yeah, one of those days.
2005: So sue me.
2004: Always.
2003: What keeps me sane.
2002: No entry.
2001: Plants.
2000: Translation: I’m going to get a gown that will cover your fat ass.

I realized yesterday that I never told y’all any of Joe Bob’s back story. I’ll do that now, and then copy it to his page when I get around to it (which will probably be in three years or so, knowing me).

Joe Bob was born in a litter to a feral mother somewhere in South Huntsville. Luckily for the mother and the kittens, a couple of women who volunteer for the same shelter I volunteer for either discovered the mother and kittens soon after, or had been feeding the mother for a while, I’m not sure which. When the kittens were a little older they trapped them all and had them spayed and neutered (though it’s entirely possible they trapped the mother before she had her babies. Clearly I didn’t get as many details as I thought I did!). The mother cat was truly feral, so they released her and one of her kittens (from that litter or a previous one, I don’t know. What the hell DO I know? Not much, I guess!) and to this day they still feed the two cats.

One of the women fostered the litter of kittens until they were socialized and ready to go to the pet store. They went to the pet store and got adopted; Joe Bob and his sister (who was named MoonDance, but we called Myrtle) were returned a few years later due to a death in the family. They sat at the pet store for a couple of months until a year ago, when the shelter manager asked if we’d mind bringing them home to give them a break from being caged.

It was at our house that I noticed that Joe Bob and Myrtle weren’t all that attached to each other. I thought they’d be perfectly fine, adopted separately, and I actually thought Joe Bob might have a better chance at adoption if his crazy (“cranky”, his original foster mom termed her. Heh.) prone-to-shrieking sister wasn’t part of the package.

Myrtle went to the pet store and Joe Bob stayed with us for a few more weeks, then went to the pet store too. They both sat there in cages for what seemed like forever, and then Joe Bob was adopted and Myrtle went back to the shelter. Joe Bob was returned after a short amount of time and went directly back to the shelter.

At some point, Myrtle got herself adopted and Joe Bob languished in the shelter. It drove Fred crazy – he’d periodically check the shelter’s PetFinder page and see that Joe Bob was still there, and we’d talk about what a tragedy it was, that no one could appreciate what a great cat Joe Bob was (is).

When I dropped Punki and Felicia off at the pet store on Saturday, the adoption counselor asked after Joe Bob, and said how happy she was that we’d adopted him, since our house is cat heaven.

Joe Bob reminds me a lot of Spot. He’s not as neurotic as Spot was, but he’s very quiet, and he likes to follow me around. He acts nervous about being outside (like he thinks he’s not supposed to be out there) and he’s a great big pig when it comes to Snackin’ Time.

He’s really a sweet boy with a good heart and maybe it’s a good thing no one else was able to appreciate what a good boy he was (is). The more time goes by, the better he fits in with our other cats, and I dare say that I saw he and Mister Boogers rub against each other last night. I mean, it WAS Snackin’ Time and they both get quite excited and forget themselves when there’s Snackin’ on the way, but still. Give it another few months, I might even be able to say that they’ve become friends.

(flickr)

 

I have never seen a single episode of Paula Deen’s show, I’ve never seen her on Oprah or ran across her on any show whatsoever, I’ve never been to her restaurant, never flipped through her cookbook, I’ve never heard her voice, I don’t even read her blog (if she has one). All I know is that she cooks Southern food, and she uses a lot of butter, and I only know that much because other people have mentioned it in passing. Also, she apparently says “Honey” a lot, because I’ve been subjected to imitations of her performed by both my mother and my friend Liz, and they both began their imitations with “Honey” and used a very thick southern accent.

All that said, I can tell you that, somehow, Paula Deen annoys the fucking shit out of me.

I don’t know how that can be, it just is. I’m not a great fan of any cooking show, really, but if I’m flipping channels and come across Rachael Ray or Emeril Lagasse or. Um. I can’t think of another cooking show, so insert your favorite cook here, anyway, if I flip across a cooking show, I say “Oh look, it’s Rachael Ray (or Emeril Lagasse or whoever)” and keep on flipping the channels. None of them annoy me as much as the very idea of Paula Deen for some reason.

 

Oh my god. I just typed the words “I’ll be there with bells on!” in an email to a 19 year-old. Do 19 year-olds even know that phrase, or am I just going to sound like some strange old lady to her? Because I’m thinking that phrase was old when I was born (like “cat’s pajamas”, another phrase of which I am fond).

I should not be allowed to just type up emails and send them, willy-nilly. There should be a delay and Gmail should say to me “Did you really mean to say “Bells on” to a 19 year-old? Choose yes or kill me now to complete your emailing experience.”

Right now somewhere in Alabama a 19 year-old girl is thinking “Why does she think she needs to wear bells to cover my shift at the pet store?” with a big cartoon question mark over her head.

 

(flickr) Sugarbutt watches the birds outside. It’s too friggin’ cold outside – it was actually spitting snow earlier – to let the cats out, and they’re most displeased with me.

 

Previously
2007: Just call me Betty Homemaker.
2006: I swear to god, I have NO CONTROL over what comes out of my mouth sometimes.
2005: No entry.
2004: Dude, what the fuck? I don’t talk for 20 to 30 minutes on the phone to people I know and LIKE, let alone some strange man from the CDC!
2003: A Day in the Life of Mr. Fancypants.
2002: No entry.
2001: But I kinda like the irritability.
2000: My heart stopped, my jaw dropped, and I whispered “Oh, shiiiiiiiiiiit!”

I’ve walked on the walking path in Closeville for the past three days at about 45 minutes each time, and my knees are freakin’ KILLING ME. I need to give them a rest and then maybe try something a little more low-impact. Elliptical machine, I’m lookin’ at you.

Elliptical machine, you bore the shit out of me. It’s not me, it’s you.

If my knees aren’t completely pain-free by the end of the week, I’m going to make an appointment to see my doctor. She will surely look my knees over and say “You’re 40. It’s time for your entire body to fall apart now. Get used to it. Take two aspirin and soldier on through the pain, WIMP!”

 

So I made the mistake, this morning, of opening the back door and letting the cats out into the back yard at 6:30. They spent all day yesterday out there because it was sunny and warm and lovely, so in their minds it should still be sunny and warm and lovely out there.

It was not.

But I let them out anyway, because they were gathered around the door shooting me hopeful looks, and I cannot bring myself to dash the hopes of cats who only want to run out, half-climb the tree, and run around like their asses are afire before flopping over onto the cement pad and rolling around happily.

I let them out, as I mentioned, at 6:30 and then at 7:30 I got dressed to go walking, and I went to the back door and I called the cats.

“Kittykittykitty!” I called. From various points of the yard, Sugarbutt, Tommy, and Mister Boogers came running, ran inside, and looked expectantly at me.

“Kittykittykitty!” I called again. Joe Bob was still out in the yard, I could see him snuggled up against the old chicken coop, and he was studiously ignoring me.

“Fine, fucker,” I said, and shut the door. I went to the dining room and started my laptop downloading the latest Keith and the Girl episode, I went into my bedroom and got the socks I needed, and then I made the bed. I went to the back door, sure that Joe Bob would be doing his “I’m just a sad little kitteh who only wants to come inside but the door is closed, o woe” thing.

No Joe Bob.

“Fine, fucker,” I growled in annoyance, and put my boots on and went outside to fetch the little bastard.

Except there was no Joe Bob anywhere. Not next to the coop, not under the coop, not hanging out in his favorite patch of daffodils, nothing nowhere nojoe.

“What the fuck?” I said, then realized that the side gate, which comes unlatched all the goddamn time, was hanging open in the breeze.

I started calling for Joe Bob, then ended up stomping around the perimeter of the house calling for him (at 7:30 in the morning, you’re welcome, neighbors!), and just as I got back to the back yard, he came flying across the lawn from the other side of the garden, jumped over the fence, and sailed into the old chicken yard and under the coop.

I spoke gently to him. I spoke softly to him. I coaxed and wheedled and whined, but that little shithead refused to come out from under the coop.

(Side note: The coop will eventually be leaving the yard, once Fred’s done laying around eating bon bons all the damn time. And then the chicken yard will revert to back yard (once he takes down the fence sectioning off that area of the yard.))

“GodDAMN!” I finally said, and I began kicking the side of the coop.

(Side note again: My knees were hurting before I kicked the side of the coop, so put your stethoscope away, Dr. Reader.)

I gave the coop two or three hard kicks, and then Joe Bob came running out from under the coop, hellbent for the back door. He got to the top of the steps and tried to go through the cat door, only there was an issue with that act, since I’d shut the back door to keep the rest of the cats inside. I approached the door to open it for Joe Bob, and he ran back across the back yard to the safety of the chicken coop.

“You,” I said.

“Are,” I said.

“SUCH AN ASSHOLE,” I said.

I flung the back door wide open and headed back to the chicken coop.

I coaxed. I wheedled. I begged. I suggested a Joe-Bob-only Snackin’ Time. All to no avail, and so I kicked the side of the chicken coop, again telling Joe Bob what an asshole he was, like such:

“You (kick) are such (kickkick) an asshole (kickkickkick) get in that goddamn house!”

After the third or fourth kick, Joe ran across the yard. Sugarbutt, who’d discovered that the back door was open and decided that meant it was Yard! Time! for Everyone! was sniffing around the bottom of the steps. He saw Joe Bob coming at him and froze in horror for a moment then decided that the sky was falling, and he whirled around and raced to the top of the steps and through the cat door. Joe got to the top of the steps and then paused, glancing over his shoulder at me.

“Get in there!” I said, and he did.

Goddamn cats.

Much like Spot was, Joe Bob seems to be under the impression that if he’s outside he’s being a bad boy.

“Robyn,” you are saying. “You kick his safe place and tell him what an asshole he is, what do you EXPECT?!” To which I respond, he’s always acted like he thinks he’s not supposed to be outside when we walk out there. He acts like he’s going to be scolded, even though I PUT the fucking collar around his neck so he can go out there, and I OPEN the back door so he can get out there, and in fact many times I HOLD the screen door open so he doesn’t have to push the cat door flap open with his little head. I LIKE letting him out there (as long as he doesn’t run away), so why the fucking drama, Joe? WHY?

 

(flickr) Miss Momma and her flat dead serial-killer gaze just cracks me up. (And scares me a little.)

(flickr) Mister Boogers cleans the boogers from his face while Tommy looks on.

(flickr) Spanky wonders if you need an escort to the bathroom. He’s the Bathroom Ambassador, after all.

(flickr) I did not, in fact, put those cat beds there for the cats. I was washing them, then I took them out of the dryer and left them on top of it, and before I knew what was going on, they’d claimed it for themselves. They take turns sitting there, looking out the window all day long.

 

Previously
2007: Christ, what a weekend we had.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: God, why why WHY do women do this to themselves?
2003: A Day in the Life of Spanky.
2002: No entry.
2001: Saturday was my dumbass day.
2000: No entry.

I have this little routine where I get movies from Netflix on Tuesday – the day new movies are released on DVD – and I like to watch what we’ve got before Saturday so that when Saturday morning comes I can stick the movies in the mail, they receive them on Monday, and then they ship out the new movies on Monday and they arrive here on Tuesday.

It’s a routine that rarely fails me, and the only issue is that usually I’m not dressed and ready for public perusal before the mail carrier comes, so I get the movies in their envelopes and ask Fred to take them out to the mailbox when he goes outside to work.

I have learned, through experience, that if I ask him and then remind him and remind him again and then remind him one last time, he gets annoyed and says “GOD, I am NOT STUPID, Bessie, just put them on the table by the door, that’s all you have to do!”

So on this most recent Saturday, I had three movies to go back, and I walked into the computer room and I held them up and said “Would you put these in the mailbox when you go out?”

“Okay,” Fred said.

“I’ll put them over here on the table by the door,” I added helpfully.

“Okay,” Fred said with an edge to his voice that indicated that I should just shut up about it.

So I put the movies on the table by the door and I wandered off to lay in bed and read or clean the litterboxes or something equally thrilling.

Around 9, I took a shower and got dressed and then I thought “Hmm, I wonder if the mail came yet?”, and so I looked out the window and saw that the flag on the mailbox was down and so I put my shoes on and went out to the mailbox.

And there was no mail. Now, this NEVER happens. I always ALWAYS get mail, every single day, even if it’s a letter from SELF Magazine reminding me that my subscription will be lapsing in 2030 and I should renew NOW so that I don’t miss a single issue!, so this was a surprise to me.

I shrugged and thought “Well, hell. I suppose it had to happen one day!” and went back into the house to do some laundry.

About an hour later, I wandered through the computer room, and what? What do you suppose I saw? Sitting there all bright red on the table by the door? Where I’d mentioned I would put them? By the man who acts all huffy if I remind him of something more than once?

Of course. The movies. And why wouldn’t they be sitting there? After all, I didn’t REMIND him, so IT DIDN’T HAPPEN.

I was steamed, to say the least. I picked up the movies and my keys and stomped out of the house, slamming the door behind me. I stomped out to the garage and slammed the garage door behind me. I backed out of the garage at a high rate of speed, and then zoomed out of the driveway. I drove to the post office (and yes, I DROVE to the post office even though you can practically see it from the front porch, shut UP). I threw the movies in the mailbox. I drove angrily home. I slammed the garage door and the house door.

And I swore the entire time.

Lucky for Fred I’d mostly calmed down by the time he came inside, gave me a chagrined smile and said “I’m useless, huh?”

“TO SAY THE LEAST. FUCKER.”

 

Saturday evening, Fred was sitting at his computer eating yogurt when he noticed that Miss Momma and Newt were sitting on the side stoop, waiting to be let him. They don’t wear watches, but they always seem to know when it’s Snackin’ Time, and the time was rapidly approaching.

“Would you let them in?” he asked.

“I can’t! I’m playing Scramble on Facebook!” I said, clicking on random letters to see if they’d make a valid word. I’m of the “This looks like it SHOULD be a word, let’s give it a try!” school of thought, and it pays off more than you’d expect.

Fred got up, yogurt in hand, and as he reached the door he simultaneously reached out to grab the doorknob and dropped his mostly-full container of yogurt.

The yogurt container hit the floor (upside-down, of course) and splattered. Miss Momma and Newt strolled halfway through the door and said “Hey, what’s thiiiiiiiiis?”, and stopped for a sniff and an experimental lick.

Fred swore, ran for the paper towels, and then swatted Miss Momma and Newt away, tossed the doormat out onto the side stoop, and proceeded to clean up the yogurt.

Only he didn’t use wet rags or any kind of cleaning solution to clean up the mess, and so when he was done the floor was sticky and filmy with a thin yogurt layer, and yet he looked with satisfaction upon his cleaning job and went to change his clothes.

My Scramble game over, I went into the kitchen and got the cleaning spray and some rags, went into the computer room, and sprayed and wiped until the floor was actually clean.

I was washing my hands in the kitchen when Fred came in. “There’s still some between the boards,” he said. The thing about living in an older house is that there are occasional gaps in the floorboards, gaps where food or dust or cats will sometimes get stuck.

“Yeah, I saw that,” I said.

“Do you think you should get some Q-tips and wet them and use them to clean between the boards?”

I stared silently at him.

(pic)

He looked inquiringly at me.

(pic)

“I think YOU should get some Q-tips and wet them and use them to clean between the boards,” I said.

He grinned abashedly and went off to do so.

 

Sunday morning I left the house a little before 8 with the intention of walking on the walking path in Closeville, then stopping at the grocery store for enough groceries to get us through the week.

I was about a mile from the end of the walk when my cell phone blasted out Sweet Home Alabama (which plays when anyone calls me from our home number. Usually it’s Fred, but sometimes Mister Boogers likes to call and ask if my refrigerator is running.). I answered it, told Fred to hang on, and then paused my iPod.

“What up?” I said, because that’s just how hip I am.

“So… it seems that I left my cell phone in my pants last night,” Fred said.

“Well, shit,” I said. I’d started a load of laundry before I left, and since his pants were on the top of the pile o’ clothes, they were the first thing in the washer. And no, I do NOT go through pockets before I put the clothes in the washer, because I have not the inclination to do so, and I don’t think I should have to, I AM NOT YOUR MAID.

(This is the line of thinking that ruined many clothes when the spud was younger, because she had the habit of leaving Blistex in her pockets, and you cannot get that shit out of clothing, believe you me.)

“Yeah,” he said.

“Did you look in the washer and find it?” I asked.

“Yeah.”

“Does it start up at all?”

“No.”

“Well,” I said. “You really hit the fuckup trifecta this weekend, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I’m going to take it apart and see if drying it out will make it work.”

We never were able to make the cell phone come back on, so we ordered the same model off eBay.

 

In and amongst his fuckup trifecta, Fred managed to get the fence around the pig yard finished. He only needed me at the very end, the part where I held t-posts while he used a sledgehammer to pound them into the ground. He was nervous because as the t-posts went into the ground, the top of the posts were about even with my head, and he was worried that the sledgehammer would slip due to the rain and smack me on top of the head.

I wasn’t worried, though. I know how careful he is about that sort of thing and I knew that if the sledgehammer slipped and headed for my noggin, he would throw himself in front of me with his superquick reflexes and save me.

And I figured if his superquick reflexes failed him and he did smack me in the noggin, it’d kill me quick enough that I wouldn’t feel a thing. He could bury me next to Spot and tell anyone who calls for me that I’m in the bathroom.

Wielding the sledgehammer was tiring enough for him that we took a couple of breaks so he could rest. And where did we rest? In the pig shelter, of course. He’d spread out the straw he’d bought for bedding, and of course we couldn’t put pigs in there without giving it a try ourselves. It was surprisingly comfortable, and if I’d had a blanket to put over me, I could have easily taken a nap.

 

(flickr) Joe Bob’s fragile.

 

Previously
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: “That’s all she had to say! A simple ‘thank you’ would have made Doug as happy as a sissy with a dick in his mouth!”
2004: This DOES NOT STRIKE ME as a government that is staying the FUCK out of my face!
2003: A Day in the Life of Miz Poo.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Ahhh, sweet blessed Friday.

I finished reading Find Me by Carol O’Connell Friday night around midnight, and promptly burst into tears. Then I dreamed about Kathleen Mallory. I don’t know that I’ve ever cried so hard over the ending to a book. I’ve read all of Carol O’Connell’s Mallory books and I’m sure I’ve said in the past that I’m a little in love with the character. I’ve re-read the last three pages of the book probably six or seven times since that first time, and every time it gets me right there.

The book itself was probably not one of my favorite Mallory books, though it did make me want to go out and drive what’s left of Route 66, but the ending made up for any flaw in the book.

I don’t know if the ending of the book means that the Mallory series is coming to an end or not, but if it is, I couldn’t have imagined a better ending.

Although, I’d really like to see Mallory and Andrew Vachss’ Burke team up. It might be a total shark-jumping moment, but it would be fabulous while it lasted!

 

I think I’m in the market for a sewing machine. I want a simple, fairly inexpensive one, I don’t need it to do anything fancy, just sew a straight line. Got any suggestions?

 

Friday night after we finished watching Rendition (not a bad movie), I got up off the couch.

“Where’re you going?” Fred asked.

“To the bathroom.”

“Oh, then I’ll watch one of these episodes of How It’s Made,” he said gleefully. He adores the hell out of that show. I find it interesting, kind of, but he’s a man obsessed.

When I came out of the bathroom a few minutes later, he paused the show.

“I’m going to tell you something that’ll make you happy!” he said.

I glanced at the TV. “I don’t want to watch that goddamn show.”

“It’ll make you so happy you might dance!” he said.

“I DON’T want to watch that goddamn show,” I whined, and sat down.

“Miss Elle and Miss Skittles,” Fred began.

“DID THEY GET ADOPTED?!”

“They did. And she wants you to bring Miss Punki and Miss Felicia to the pet store tomorrow morning.”

I was so happy that Elle and Skittles had been adopted that I did, indeed, get up and do a little dance o’ joy.

Saturday morning I left the house around 11, and got to the store right after the woman who’d adopted Elle and Skittles left. I chatted with the adoption counselor for a few minutes while she cleaned the cage they’d been in, and then it was time for Punki and Felicia to go into the cage.

“Look,” I whispered into Punki’s ear. She flicked her ear and meowed her husky little meow. “You know I want to keep you, but I don’t want no damn 10 cats in the house. Try your very best to get adopted today so I won’t have my heart broken tomorrow morning, would you?” She meowed again. I kissed her on top of her head and handed her off to the adoption counselor. I petted Felicia, talked to the adoption counselor a few more minutes, and then left.

Two hours later, the shelter manager told me via email that Punki had been adopted.

That’s three of the four, adopted in a 24-hour time period! I couldn’t be happier, but I’ve gotta say, I really am missing Punki a whole lot. She’s such a sweet thing, and before I went to the pet store to take the two cats Saturday morning, Fred and I decided that if she hadn’t been adopted within two weeks, we’d talk seriously about keeping her.

I hope she’s happy in her new home!

 

I was going outside to do something yesterday (I don’t remember what), and as I looked out the side door, I saw a grackle land on the feeder nearest the door, and then he pecked several times at a goldfinch sitting there.

“Hey, you fucker!” I said, opening the door. “Cut that out!” The grackle flew off, but the goldfinch stayed where he was, flapping his wings. I knew immediately that he’d gotten stuck in the feeder. It had been a while since I’d cleaned out the feeder, and after a few months the food builds up in the feeders, especially when it’s been rainy, and the finch had stuck his head through one of the holes on the feeder, and gotten his little head stuck against a pile of bird food.

I’m explaining the whole thing poorly, but all you need to understand is that his little head was stuck and he couldn’t pull it out of the feeder.

Fred was in the garden shed, so I carried the whole feeder over there to ask what we should do. I thought if I had a screwdriver, I could kind of scrape the food away from his head and he could free himself. Fred wanted to try taking the feeder apart first, though, so we walked over to his workshed.

(On a side note, there are entirely too goddamn many sheds on our property now. The garden shed, the wood shed, the workshop (shed), the pig shed. And I suspect we are not done with the shedding of the property.)

He came out with some tool and tried taking the bottom off, but was unsuccessful because the feeder was, I was informed, “Some piece of shit from China.”

Every now and then the finch would flap his wings and squawk indignantly.

“Just go get me something to scrape the food away,” I finally said. He came out with something that looked like the tool the dental hygienist delights in torturing me with, you know the pointy thing that they scrape the crap off your teeth around the gumlines with?

Gently, carefully, I started digging the food away from the finch, and he squawked in fear and flapped his wings and tried his best to pull his head out. Finally, I scraped under his head, and he was able to pop his head out and he flew away, squawking angrily in our direction.

“Well,” I said. “That’s gratitude for you.”

(flickr)

 

I looked out the window this morning to find McLovin in a place I hadn’t seen him before.

(flickr) (Look on the roof over the truck)

He stayed out there for about 10 minutes. He’d crow, then I’d hear the rooster down the road crow, then McLovin would crow again. I think the gist of the conversation was the McLovin is THE MAN, because he flew down from the rooftop and proceeded to have sex with every hen he could get his greasy little talons on.

(flickr)

 

(pic) Joe Bob is an outdoorsy kind of cat. He loves to sit outside all day long and watch the birds…

(flickr) Even when it’s not particularly comfortable.

(flickr) All afternoon long. He’s a bird-watching motherfucker.

 

Previously
2007: No entry.
2006: I hate spoiled rotten princesses.
2005: “4.2 billion,” he said suddenly. “Not 4.7. Because a regular signed 32-bit integer only goes up just over 2.1 billion – that’s 2 to the 31st power – and an unsigned would be one more power of two onto that, so–”
2004: Is it easier to write bad poetry, or am I just naturally a bad poet (and didn’t know it)?
2003: Let’s see whether or not I can give Lisa what she wants!
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Have you noticed that I feel like an idiot a lot?

Happy birthday, Anita!!!!

 

So do you sleep on the right side of the bed? It looks like the kitties are saving you a spot, as if they are trying to coax you into taking a nap with them.

Yeah, the cats like most to sleep on my side of the bed. I think they’re keeping it warm. Or it smells like me and they like that. Or they’re leaving all their extra fur on my side of the bed, so if I lay down to read for a little while, I’ll get up coated with cat hair. Or maybe ALL of that.

 

do you think McLovin’ could take down a hawk? Finally, per Megan’s comment, you should TOTALLY do a podcast.

If he needed to, he could at least do some damage – he’s as big as a hawk, if not a little bigger – and scare the hawk off. I reserve the right to claim that I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about if I look out my window one day and see a hawk flying away with McLovin in its talons.

I’d do a podcast except that I don’t much care for the sound of my own voice, and I don’t think y’all need any more ammunition to prove that I’m a blithering idiot. 🙂

 

Have you ever noticed in your pictures of Miss Stank when she’s with another cat that she’s almost always sniffing their rear? So funny.

Miss Stank is a butt-sniffin’ motherfucker; most of the time the other cat will put up with it, but sometimes there’s a growl-hiss-swipe in response, followed by the sound of multiple cats racing through the house.

 

I’m not trying to start anything, I swear! But you seem to REALLY like Elle and Joe-Bob kind of seems like he’s a pain in the ass…any chance of her being permanent too? Maybe just to even things out?

I realllllllllly don’t want the permanent residents of the house to go into double-digit territory. I really like Elle, and I really REALLY like Punki, and if we hadn’t adopted Joe Bob I’d probably be pushing to keep Punki, but I’m not going to for the aforementioned reasoning. I do bitch about Joe Bob a lot, but it’s just a matter of him adjusting to his new home; he’s really a pretty good boy, and fairly unobtrusive unless, ahem, someone does something like sniffsniffSNIFFSNIFF his butt, which pisses him off, and sets him on the hiss-growl-scream-smack-run course of action.

(flickr)

 

Here’s a question for Robyn, what is the condition of Maxi and Newt’s teeth considering they have probably spent more time eating outdoors compared to your other cats who have been eating dried foods?

I believe Maxi and Newt’s teeth are just fine, as far as I know (note to myself: Maxi and Newt need their yearly checkup and shots). Though I should point out that the raw food they eat (squirrels and birds and mice) also contain bones, and they eat those as well as the softer meat.

 

pardon my ignorance. but what is trilling / keening??? as a cat owner, i should probably know this. heh.

I call it keening, but I don’t if anyone else calls it that, that’s just what it sounds like to me. It’s mostly Miz Poo who does it around here; she gets a toy in her mouth and walks around the house meowing an unending, high-pitched meow that gets incredibly annoying after a few minutes. I thought at first that it was a mother-cat kind of thing, that she was treating the toy as her “baby”, and the keening was to announce that. I’m starting to think – because Tommy does it from time to time (not that a male cat can’t be motherly OH MY GOD GET OFF MY CASE!) – that it might be a hunting call. Like, “I caught this awesome prey, now come praise me and tell me how smart I am!”

Here’s a movie I made of Miz Poo when we lived in the old house, showing her mad keening skillz.

(Or you can see the mpg here.)

 

When I read about Spot’s marker I couldn’t help but laugh: imagine the next owners of Crooked Acres, many years from now, tootling around the garden then finding “Spot” – they’re going to wonder exactly what spot you were marking *heh* Maybe they’ll start looking for a treasure map…

I wondered, when I ordered the stone, if the people at the place I ordered it from were thinking “She wants to mark a spot… with a stone that says “Spot” on it? Weird…” I imagine that by the time we’re ready to sell this house, though, there’ll be a few more graves out there, each marked with its own stone. Hopefully not anytime soon, though!

 

That Tommy is one shiny cat. Has he ever fallen off when straddling the back of the chair? He must have perfect cat balance.

Tommy’s got pretty good balance. He sometimes struggles when he first gets up there, but once he’s balanced, he can stay there for hours (or until his Dad moves and Tommy can move down to the seat of the chair!)

 

Are you in contact with Athena from Lexxicon? I followed her for years and then a year or so ago (maybe longer?) she took down her site. I guess I was just wondering if she was doing OK and was back on the internet. Thanks!

I think I last emailed with Athena about a year ago. At that time, she wasn’t back to blogging, and as far as I know, she still isn’t. Last I heard, she’s doing just fine, just keeping busy!

 

Does it irk you that clumping cat litter comes in those huge ass plastic tubs which are just so great for the environment when we toss them in the trash? Why can’t they put it in a bag or at least a cardboard box?

I do hate the fact that the litter comes in those big buckets – it’s such a waste. I saved some of them and we use them for everything from storing bird seed in, to putting the litter scoop in next to the litter boxes, and I think Fred uses some as buckets, too. But at a certain point, you kind of run out of things to use them for, and you have to cart them to the recycling center. It would be awesome if I could take the truck to the Fresh Step factory, fill up the bed with litter, and not have to worry about getting rid of the containers!

 

Since you two are like me and believe in an egg being too “eggy” and chicken tasting “too chickeny” do you also believe a pig can taste “too piggy”. I experience this at Cracker Barrel with their ham. It tastes like a pig pen smells to me. Do you (or anyone else out there) ever think like that or am I the weird one? My husband thinks it is funny that something can taste like something you have actually never tasted but in fact, what it smells like.

Yeah, I imagine most meat can be too whatever-it-is (though I can’t say I’ve ever heard Fred accuse beef of being “too beefy”), so why not pork?

I think that salt and vinegar chips smell and taste PRECISELY like sweaty gym socks. And cumin smells and tastes like horrific haven’t-showered-in-three-weeks body odor. Gag.

 

In the interest of science, I wouldn’t mind seeing a picture of chicken lovin’, if you can swing it.

I don’t know that I’ll ever be able to swing a picture of it, because it lasts about 10 seconds, and that’s with foreplay. By the time I figure out it’s happening and grab the camera, McLovin’s off after another hen and the besmirched hen is smoking a cigarette and bemoaning the lack of romance in her life.

 

You never mention seeing deer at all. Do they have deer in Alabama?

We definitely have deer in Alabama – in fact, last Monday when we were driving in the country, we saw three of them. We see plenty of them, though I’ve never seen one in the back forty (which is not to say they don’t wander through there – just that if they do, I don’t see them!). Most of the time when I see deer, they tend to be laying dead in the median on the highway.

 

First let me say that I’m nooooot giving unsolicited advice. Because I wouldn’t do that. Because I know you hate it. But, I want to offer a suggestion, haha. Have you tried putting pics of the kitties up for adoption on your local Craigslist page? I wonder if that would give them, and the shelter, more exposure. I don’t know anything about this shelter so I’m not sure if it’s a pretty popular place, but it couldn’t hurt to get more attention sent its way, right?

and

Do they have them listed on petfinder.com ? Maybe that would help.

The shelter has all the cats on their petfinder page, and they occasionally mention the shelter in the newspaper. The shelter I volunteer for is well-known in the area, and they hold adoptions at a local pet store several times a week, and have regular hours at the shelter itself. I don’t know if the shelter manager would go for my posting pictures of the cats on Craigslist, but I’ll mention it to her!

 

Do any of your cats do the “puke up whole food thing ” all the time? I have one that seems to do it the most. all 3 are healthy and have never been outside. I’m stumped…..and sick of stepping in cat puke.

We occasionally have incidences where someone barfs up whole piles of food for a few days; it’s usually when something they’ve eaten doesn’t agree with them (ie, when I switch up the kind of food I give them at snack time). It’s entirely possible that whatever you’re feeding them isn’t agreeing with them – or you have one of those cats that gorges and then gets overfull and barfs because s/he’s gotten too full.

Readers, I know someone out there has had to deal with this sort of thing – advice?

 

Robyn I am curious, have you had trouble with freezer burn when you make a large dish and freeze half for later use? I don’t have one of those vacuum seal things and I am trying to make double batches of meals to make busy days easier. Any advice on freezing would be appreciated.

When I make big batches of food and freeze them for later use, I almost never use the FoodSaver, actually. If it’s something like soup or chili, I’ll put it in one of those bags meant specifically for the freezer – OneZip makes freezer bags – then press as much air out of the bag before I zip it closed. If it’s something like lasagna or chicken and rice casserole, I put two layers of foil directly on top of the food to help prevent freezer burn, and wrap the foil around the edges tightly. Whatever you can do to prevent air from touching the food will help prevent freezer burn.

That’s my advice – if any readers have more advice to add, feel free to share!

 

Thanks so much for posting your recipes. Tonight I tried the chicken and rice casserole. I didn’t have breadcrumbs so I used Pepperidge Farm herb-seasoned stuffing instead. It was delicious — even my kids ate it, which is a huge compliment considering how picky they are. Thanks again!

Great minds must think alike, because I’ve recently started using the Pepperidge Farm stuffing instead of bread crumbs, too – it adds a little extra flavor to the dish, and when I think of it, I’ll add that note to the recipe so everyone can give it a try that way!

My favorite recipe this week is a stir-fry recipe I got from my mother years ago. I can’t swear to it, but I believe it was a Weight Watchers recipe. It can be used with chicken or steak (I prefer steak) and it makes two big servings. I had it for lunch several days this week (and for breakfast this morning), and the leftovers are even better than the fresh stir-fry. I imagine you could toss lots of different vegetables in there, but I love it just the way it is. Recipe is hither.

 

When you launched into the visit-to-Lowe’s story, I had to stop and ask myself if I accidentally opened up “Vituperation” Then I wondered if Fred was doing a guest entry. Finally, you mentioned rugs and vacuums and I was all, “Whew…she’s back.”

I am secure enough in my femininity to make visits to Lowe’s if I need to!

(Also, I like to look at the rugs and curtains and plants and bird feeders!)

 

About the kitty litter: Have you ever tried that kitty litter that’s made from pine sawdust? It is more expensive, BUT it doesn’t stink! Really! It comes in little tiny cylindrical thingies, and when the cat pees, what it pees on just turns into sawdust, and after the whole box is sawdusty you can take it out and compost it. As for the poo, you just scoop it out as usual, as often as usual. But the pine really, truly keeps down the smell of the pee. I buy it at PetSmart here, but almost every place carries it.

The cats pees on the pellets (for lack of a better word), and the pellets turn to sawdust – but is that dry sawdust or a wet? I’ve never tried that stuff before, but I might be willing to give it a try.

After I get through the 200 pounds of Fresh Step I bought at Sam’s today, that is. I was loading litter into the cart, and this frail-looking little old lady who was half a foot shorter than me and probably 50 pounds lighter came running over and said “Oh my! Let me help you with that, ma’am!” I held her off ’til I got the cart loaded myself, because I didn’t relish the idea of seeing her snap in half under the load of a 40-pound bucket of litter. Of course, she probably would have totally kicked my ass – maybe she’s one of those little-but-strong women.

 

So let me get this straight, soft cottony tampons irritate your, uh, um, lower area, but Scott tissue doesn’t? That stuff is like wiping with newspaper! (Is it odd that I know so much about your bathroom happenings?)

It is not odd that you know all the details that I share about my bathroom habits – but it is rather odd that I apparently feel the need to share them and then immediately forget that I’ve shared!

The Scott Tissue does not piss off my lady parts because the Scott Tissue does not include a long, thick cotton thread that dangles and annoys and irritates, no matter how much it’s tucked out of the way.

 

How often per day do you count noses? Boring Diatribe: I scooped up bath towels this morning from the floor, where my (rotten) kids had left them piled up. (GOD FORBID anyone else put the damn towels in the damn wash, about six steps from where they left the pile. Lazy shits.) Anywho, as I was cramming the towels into the washer it struck me that they (the towels) had sort of been half on/half off a throw rug which one of my cats like to sleep on (I have two cats. I often prefer them to the two kids referenced above.) and I had better determine Cat Locations before putting the washing machine on. Plus the towels are white and neither cat would particularly benefit from being bleached. The cats were safe and then I thought of you and how many times you must have to count noses to make sure everyone is ok.

Actually, I don’t really do all that much counting. My main concern are the cats who hang out in the back yard and have the tendency to hop the fence (Tommy, Mister Boogers, Joe Bob), and so every once in a while I go and check on them. I usually know the favorite spots of the other cats, so if I wander past, say, the guest bedroom doorway and don’t see Miss Stank sleeping on the guest bed, I’ll go looking for her. I’ve kind of developed a sense of when I haven’t seen a cat in a while, but I honestly don’t remember the last time I did a head count.

 

Robyn, what do you really think of your foodsaver? Is it really worth it or just slightly better than regular plastic bags?

And Kristin said:

Jai, I know you didn’t ask me, but my Foodsaver freaking rocks and I love love LOVE it. Things stay so much nicer and there is never ANY freezer burn. Also, the bags are much cheaper on eBay.

I agree with Kristin – I love my Foodsaver, and it does an awesome job of keeping stuff fresh. Also, she’s right about the bags being much cheaper on eBay – I buy my bags there, and saved a bundle!

 

Do your cats open up a can of whoopass on a tennis ball sometimes? Keeka does that, and I think it’s so funny.

What I think happens is that the tennis ball (which has been laying out in the back yard ever since we had that old dog here for a few days – I took it outside and threw it for him, and he looked at it and then at me like “Your point is?”) taunts the cats. Because the cats will be out in the back yard hanging out, and then they’ll start stomping back and forth, giving the ball dirty looks and whipping their tails back and forth, and then suddenly they go running at it and kick the holy hell out of it. It’s a mouthy little bastard, that ball.

 

What’s going to happen if Fred or you decides you lurve the pigs and can’t kill them?

First off, I really do believe that Fred will be able to kill the pigs – I like to make fun of him, but I don’t doubt that he’ll be able to do it. However, if he realizes that he can’t, then we’ll send them off to be processed by a professional. If we can’t bring ourselves to do THAT (which I highly doubt), then we’ll sell them to someone who can. There is no fucking way we’re going to have two huge pigs living in the back forty as pets.

 

Here’s a cat question – how often do you bathe your cats? We have 2 indoor-only shorthair Siamese kitties that do a good job of keeping themselves clean, but I was wondering how often they should get a good dunk in the tub. Any words of wisdom on this topic?

We never bathe our cats. The last time I remember bathing a cat is when we had Sugarbutt as a foster, and we had to bathe him every day to keep the poop off his back end (long story short: we thought he had a prolapsed rectum, and he would get feces all over his back end every time he used the litter box. Turned out, he had impacted anal glands, and once they were expressed, he never had another problem, thank god). Before that, we gave Miz Poo a bath once because she couldn’t groom herself. Other than that, we let the cats clean themselves and don’t bathe them. I feel like I read somewhere that bathing a cat isn’t good for their skin, but I might just be making that up.

Readers, do you bathe your cats? And how often?

 

My cats don’t like to share snack either, so we have to give all three of them separate plates. Our youngest cat will quickly eat all of hers, and then go bully the other cats away from their plates and eat all of their snack too. We have to stand guard like the snack police!

Miss Stank, Mister Boogers, and Joe Bob are the resident pigs. They’ll share a plate with another cat, but once the food is gone off that plate, they start wandering around to the other plates and will try to bully the other cats away from their snack. It mostly pisses me off when they do it to Spanky, because he will totally let himself be bullied, and run away. If I see them closing in on Spanky I’ll push them away, but most of the other cats will stand up against the bullies.

 

Is that a happy-looking Joe Bob, or what? (flickr)

Sugarbutt loves him some grass. (flickr)

 

Previously
2007: “She keeps abandoning us for that damn Smallville house and those damn Smallville cats. Let’s pee in her bed, Suggie!”
2006: Holy hot dog! That’s a good freakin’ show!
2005: Questions answered.
2004: No entry.
2003: “Why, god? Whyyyyy?”
2002: He was in the room with me for less than 90 seconds. Was I happy? Oh, yes. Thrilled.
2001: I don’t know about that man…
2000: New vehicle.

Rest in peace, Geneva.

 

Comment-answering extravaganza tomorrow! Get ’em in!

 

Almost every day, when I’ve got the midafternoon slump going on, I think to myself “I’m going to SLEEP IN tomorrow, and then I’m going to lounge in bed and read, and then I’m going to watch TV and do NOTHING all damn day long!”

And then tomorrow morning comes, and I cannot for the life of me sleep in. This morning I was all set to sleep as late as I wanted, but come 6:30, my eyes popped open and I couldn’t sleep another damn minute. In fact, I was itching to get up and get my morning stuff done, so I rolled out of bed and went through the house opening blinds, accompanied by a herd of cats. Then I cleaned out the litter boxes, rinsed and refilled water bowls, put the dishes in the dishwasher away, and cleaned the kitchen. I started Lupe the Roomba in my bedroom, took a shower, got dressed and answered emails, and then moved Lupe to the kitchen.

About ten minutes after Lupe started her circuit of the kitchen, I heard her sing a happy little song and went into the kitchen to find that she’d docked herself and was happily recharging.

“Um,” I said. “Who the hell told you you could take a coffee break, missy?” I put her back in the middle of the kitchen and started her up again. She sang her happy little song and began another circuit of the kitchen.

Half an hour later when I left the house, she was still working on the kitchen.

I hit Target first, for cat litter and to look at cat snack plates* (the two foster cats don’t eat well off the same plate, so they each need their own, WHO’S AN ENABLER?!). Target, at 9:30 on a weekday, was oddly busy, which disturbed me so much that I didn’t bother to go look at the book selection, I just wanted to get the HELL out of there, so I paid for my litter and got out (they had no cat snack plates to speak of).

From Target I went to the pet store to buy Cat! Snacks! and to check out the litter and look at plates for Snackin’ Time, but to tell the truth, the main reason I was there was to see if Elle and Skittles had been adopted, and when I rounded the aisle and saw them both sitting there, I stomped my foot and I said “WHYYYYYY?!”, then had to duck back down the aisle so Skittles wouldn’t see me and start howling.

SIGH.

So I bought enough Cat! Snacks! to last for… uh… ((12×3)/2 = 18) 18 days, and I looked at the cat plates they had, only they didn’t have any small plates, they only had bowls, and that doesn’t work for me, so I just bought the Cat! Snacks! and some Woodpecker Cakes and left with a sad look in the direction of Elle and Skittles.

Then I went to TJ Maxx, not because I was looking for anything in particular, but because I was in the area and TJ Maxx is one of those stores where you tend to find the perfect thing you didn’t even know you were looking for, so I was basically just looking. I ended up buying a comforter to put on my bed under the comforter that’s there. Right now I have a quilt under the comforter and it’s cute and everything, but it’s beginning to pill and that really annoys the hell out of me.

I looked around in the kitchen section for quite a while, but there was really nothing that struck my fancy, so I paid for my new comforter and left.

I went over to Sam’s Club, which had been my main destination all along. One of the things that bugs me is having to buy packages of meat when I get groceries, I don’t know why it bugs me, but I’d been planning to go to Sam’s and stock up on meat in bulk so I wouldn’t have to buy a package of boneless skinless chicken breast halves here and a pound of ground round there, since I’d already have what I needed in the freezer.

(When I got home, I called Fred and said “Did you order some of those fancy boneless skinless chickens when you ordered our new batch of chicks?”)

I ended up buying a BUTTLOAD of meat, and a pack of paper towels and a huge pack of toilet paper (Scott Tissue, 30 rolls for $19.13), and printing paper and then I moseyed by the pet food section of Sam’s Club and to my dismay I found that they had a big-ass 40-pound bucket of Fresh Step cat litter for $12.68. I’d just bought two 23-pound boxes of the very same litter for $10.19. Doing the math, the litter at Target was $2.25 (see what happens when I try to do math?!) 44 cents a pound and the same friggin’ litter at Sam’s was 31 cents a pound.

UGH. That is some BULLSHIT. Now that I’ve actually done the math out, it makes me want to make another trip to Sam’s and buy a pallet of litter and another pack or two of toilet paper! Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow or Friday. Sam’s doesn’t always carry our toilet paper of choice (give me the rough sandpaper-like Scott Tissue over that soft crap ANY ol’ day) and I don’t think they carry Fresh Step very often, either, and god knows we have the room to store that stuff (upstairs in the garage) and we’ll definitely get around to using it eventually.

So anyway, I got a ton of boneless skinless chicken breast halves and some lean ground beef and some pork, and so after I’d paid and was headed toward the door, I stopped and grabbed a couple of boxes to put the meat in so it wouldn’t be sliding around the back of my car.

As I was loading stuff into my car, I put the packages of meat in the boxes and then put the box of ground beef packages on the bottom and leaned the box of chicken packages against the ground beef box, and I piled everything else in around the boxes, and I headed for home.

And when I got home, I started unloading everything from the car, and the first thing I grabbed was the box of ground beef packages, and the box was a wee bit wet on the bottom, but I figured it was just from condensation from the packages, and I took that box inside and left it on the kitchen counter, and I went back outside and picked up the box of chicken packages, and there was chicken goo EVERYWHERE. It was all over the bottom of everything that had been on the bottom layer in the back of the car, and there was a PUDDLE of chicken goo on the floor of the trunk.

(You know what I mean by “chicken goo”, right? The salmonella-laden liquid that chicken pieces sit in, in the styrofoam packages, that goops everywhere when you open the package and makes you clean the counters madly with bleach afterward?)

“UGH!” I said loudly. “OH GODDAMN!” I said loudly. “OH THAT IS FUCKING NASTY!” I said loudly.

And then I spent the next half hour madly wiping down the outside of every package that had been marinating in the chicken goo, and wiping up the puddle of chicken goo from the bottom of the trunk, and then another fifteen minutes dividing all the meat into smaller packages, sealing the packages with the Food Saver, labeling them, and finding room for them in the freezer.

We are ALL SET for the time being when it comes to meat, and that almost makes dealing with the puddle of chicken goo worth it. ALMOST, I say.

*Regarding the cat snack plates: usually, the cats are okay sharing the snacks on plates, two to each plate. Joe Bob and Spanky each get their own plate (Spanky because he’ll easily be bullied away from the plate if he has to share; Joe Bob because he doesn’t share well) and until now, we split the cats into teams of two for all the other plates. The plates that get shared are square white plates I bought at… Target, maybe? I don’t remember. Anyway, Spanky and Joe Bob get smaller plates:

(pic)

and since Punki and Felicia don’t share nicely, I wanted to buy some more plates like that, or that size at least, to feed them from. And WOW, did I just overexplain the shit out of that, or what?

 

How Tommy likes to spend his day:

Straddling the back of Fred’s chair.

Hanging out in the back yard, keeping an eye out for birds.

Glaring angrily at the tennis ball.

More glaring.

 

Previously
2007: “Hey,” I said despondently. “He’s dead.”
2006: But I’m afraid that now it’s tasted human blood, it’s going to require a periodic human sacrifice.
2005: No entry.
2004: The Bean appeared before me, eyes wide and dark, a sad little I’m a poor kitty who has lost his way look on his face.
2003: They freaked out.
2002: Um. In yesterday’s entry, I MEANT to link to Fred with the words “nice butt”, not MYSELF.
2001: We got proof today that we, in fact, do not have two gay hamsters.
2000: No entry.

Felicia’s new favorite place to sleep is at the top of the set of stairs Fred made for Spot, so Spot could sit by the window and watch the birds. It has since become Miss Momma’s favorite place to sleep. This morning, Felicia took possession of it.

Miss Momma’s opinion of the usurpation. Felicia better watch out!

 

I ran to L0we’s first thing this morning to buy more screws. It got dark last night before I could finish screwing the boards to the frame of the pig shelter, but we didn’t have quite enough screws to get it done anyway. Fred had planned to stop on the way home to pick up more of them, but I wanted to get my part of the job done before he got home, so I entered the Hall o’ Testosterone and bought the screws my own self. (I did have to call and ask him where the hell the right screws were kept, of course. When I’m in L0we’s I’m usually interested in the rugs, garden stuff, and vacuums, not the boring shit like screws and wood. YAWN.)

After breakfast, I finished my job as the Best! Helper! Ever! by going out and finishing the drilling and screwing. The shelter’s mostly done now – apparently the pigs don’t get windows and fancy shit the way the chickens do, maybe because they’re not going to be around as long as the chickens, I don’t know. I don’t get my pretty head involved in the planning of the structures, just do the grunt work I’m instructed to do.

And I like it like that.

After promising me that we were going to send the pigs off to be butchered so that I could convince myself that we were sending Pig 1 and Pig 2 off to live on another farm and then – COINCIDENTALLY! – receiving neatly wrapped packages of pork a few days later (no connection between the two at all!), Fred is being swayed by someone he works with (we shall call him Franklin), who swears up and down that they can do the butchering themselves, because said person he works with grew up on a farm and did it all the time.

Readers, kindly join me in making the Face of Skepticism.

(flickr)

“It would be less stressful!” Fred says. “You give them a big bucket of slop, and they dig in, then you shoot them in the head, and one minute they’re doing their favorite thing on earth, and the next – nothing!”

“And the next, you and Franklin are being chased across the back forty by a really pissed-off injured pig who has slop in her mouth and murder in her heart.”

“He knows what he’s doing! He did it plenty when he was a kid!”

(flickr)

“Bessie! He grew UP on a farm, and he butchered a million pigs!”

(flickr)

“And it would save us, like, a hundred dollars if we did it ourselves!”

(flickr)

“You don’t have to take part in it, Franklin and I will do it all ourselves!”

“Oh, I KNOW you and Franklin will do it all yourselves, because I’m fucking going out of town so I don’t have to hear you whining about how you boiled your arm off,” I said.

“Why would I boil my arm off? Oh, from scalding the pig to get the skin… well, we don’t do it like that. What we do is -”

“Nope. Don’t want to hear it. Just let me know when you’re planning to do it, and I’ll make plans to be gone.”

“You’ll probably want to be here for the second day, because you slaughter the pig and then hang it up overnight and then butcher it the next day,” he said.

(flickr)

“And I’ll come home to find you and Franklin hanging in the shed and the pigs picking their teeth with your toenails.”

He sighed with exasperation. “Seriously? You’d actually leave the house?”

“If it’s going to take two days, I’ll not only leave the house, I’ll go out of TOWN. Hey. You should do it when I’m in Maine at Christmas!”

“No, I don’t want to wait that long, I want to do it before, so we can show up at my parents’ house with a smoked ham, and I can say ‘We grew it ourselves!'” he said.

“Yes, I can see what a lovely idea that would be. ‘What’s the matter, you don’t want a great big slab of Petunia? She was a good pig. Did I tell you about how stinky she was? Sometimes I would go out and oink at her, and she totally looked at me like she understood me!'” I said.

He did not appreciate my humor.

So, it looks like I’ll be going out of town in early December. Who’s up for a road trip?!

(Note to self: Make sure Fred’s life insurance is paid up.)

Yes, I am a great big wimp for not wanting to partake of the pig slaughtering/ butchering. At least I know my limits and won’t be reeling around the back forty crying like a great big murdering baby.

 

We were watching TV last night, and Fred paused the show and went to check his email and check the side door to see if Maxi was ready to come inside. She and Newt generally go back outside after Snackin’ Time, and most nights they eventually come back inside to spend the night.

A moment later, Fred yelled “We have another cat!” and went running into the laundry room to get a bowl of cat food. As I stood at the window and watched, he convinced a little gray cat to come over and eat, and be petted.

He reported that the cat was an intact male, and though he was clearly well-fed, he was very hungry. He ate and ate and ate, and then he went over to be petted by Fred and then he ate some more. We talked about what to do, debated whether the cat belonged to a neighbor or was lost, or was a drop off. I thought he was too hungry to belong to someone nearby, and Fred thought word had gotten around that we were cat people, and if someone wanted to abandon a cat but make sure it was discovered and cared for, ours was the house to drop it.

We decided to leave him outside for the night, gave him more food, made sure the heat lamp in the outside cat house was on, and came back inside. Fred went out several more times to check on the cat, and the cat was very friendly and willing to be petted and picked up.

We decided that if he was still around this morning, we’d check with the neighbors before we brought him inside (to the foster kitten room, away from the other cats in the house) and made a vet appointment to have him examined and neutered.

This morning, he was nowhere to be found. Either he went home, or decided to move along. We’ll be keeping an eye out for him, for sure. He’s a cutie.

 

 

Previously
2007: We’ll be spending all day at the house.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: Bet I was a cold splash of water in HIS night.
2003: Poor Miz Poo.
2002: Give me a guy with a great smile any day.
2001: Yeah, I know, it’s goofy.
2000: No entry.

Readers, Suzy wants to shave her head again this year. Who are we to deny her? She’s shaving her head in memory of an 8 year-old named John, who lost his life to leukemia.

Donate and help her meet her goal!

 

If you’re on Facebook and you want to play Scrabulous or Scramble, you just go right ahead and invite me to a game. I suck at both of them, but I’m happy to play!

 

It’s been a while since I uploaded any movies, so here you go. This is from sometime in December, and seems to come from several different Snackin’ Time sessions. Elleh-Belleh is demanding a snack at the beginning, then she’s not there, and Punki and Felicia are, so I don’t know what was up. Also, it’s really freakin’ long, sorry about that.

YouTube link

Also, warning: Spot’s in the movie, so don’t be all sad and surprised when you see him.

******************

Punki.

Felicia.

I had completely forgotten what a sweet girl Punki is. The only times I’ve seen her for the last month was at the pet store, and she was all hissy and growly and climby, which is apparently how she acts when she’s stressed. After I cleaned at the pet store yesterday, I put Elle and Skittles in the cage where Punki and Felicia had been, and brought Punki and Felicia home, and Punki immediately turned into this goofy, sweet, sniffy, purring little monkey.

Before I left the pet store, I had a stern talk with Elle and Skittles, and they promised me that they’d get themselves adopted into very good homes before next Monday. I so hate going in there and seeing my girls in cages. I just don’t GET why they’re not getting adopted.

I suspect that Elleh-Belleh knew she was about to go to the pet store, because she spent all last evening sitting and giving me a “How COULD you?!” look. Then, she climbed up next to me, snuggled up, and spent the night sleeping with me, which she’s never done before.

I hate hate HATE taking cats to the pet store, especially cats who’ve been with us for so long and have come to think they’re in their “Forever home” rather than just a waystation. I feel sad and guilty and like the most evil person alive, but if we kept every cat I’ve come to love, we’d have about a hundred cats right now.

If you have a moment tomorrow evening, pause and send a happy adopting thought toward North Alabama and those two sweet brown tabbies, would you?

******************

When I got home from the pet store this morning, I settled in for a rough day of doing not very much at all: followed the cats around with a camera, checked on the whereabouts of Joe Bob (I still don’t quite trust him not to hop the fence), boiled a chicken carcass to make a couple of pans of chicken and rice casserole (which I immediately put in the freezer to have at a later date).

Speaking of food, last night we had green tomato chili for dinner. We had half a batch of it left over from September (it makes a LOT, so I always freeze half the batch), so I tossed it in the crockpot, let it cook all day, and told Fred that if he wanted corn bread, it was up to him to make it. He, being a southern boy, loves corn bread. I like cornbread if it’s sweet – I think that’s a Yankee thing – but otherwise I’m no big fan.

Fred got out the bag of cornmeal, looked at the recipes on the back and said “There’s no recipe for corn bread!”

“Well,” I said. “That’s why they make the internet.”

“I’m not looking up a recipe for CORN BREAD on the internet!” he scoffed, and made up his very own recipe on the fly. And it was really pretty good, as corn bread goes.

It pisses me off that he can do that. I can follow a recipe and make corn bread; he can throw a bunch of stuff in a bowl and make better corn bread. I’m a functional cook, but he’s the one who’s really good at it.

Bastard.

Anyway, I was just hitting my ass-sitting groove this afternoon when Fred came inside (it was 50 degrees outside today, but there was a brutal wind and it was fucking cold out there, so he was all bundled up). After talking around the subject for a few minutes, he finally said that he was worried he wouldn’t get the pig shelter finished today, and he wanted to get the roof on it so it wouldn’t get wet inside. I bundled up and went outside and I was the best! helper! ever!

While he cut wood, I drilled holes and then screwed screws to hold the side and back panels on. We took a break for lunch, and then he went out and mostly got the roof on, and I drilled more holes and screwed more screws.

This is my “What the fuck am I supposed to do here with this board that isn’t as tall as the others?” face. Please note: warm, puffy jacket.

Badass.

 

Mister Boogers is no dummy. He stayed inside where it was warm, curled up in a nice soft bed, and slept the day away.

 

Previously
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: Amazon is the Jonathan Baker of boyfriends.
2004: I could have crowned myself “The Queen of Fuck.”
2003: Because M&Ms rock, and so does my husband.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Have I mentioned that three-day weekends rock? They surely do.