Month: June 2010

The Rescuees are going to the adoption center Friday morning. They’ll all be together in a big cage, so they can relax for the day before adoption hours begin Friday evening and they have to put on the cute. Wouldn’t it be great if they were all adopted Friday night? I’m not going to count on it – but I can certainly hope for it, can’t I?

Oh, her little bitty face KILLS me.

Reacher, there in the cat bed, all stretched out, cracks me up. He must be six feet long from nose-tip to tail-end. He’s like Gumby, he just keeps stretching!

(Hmm. I wonder if “Gumby” and “Poky” have been used by the shelter as cat names yet?)

Tiny little Lieu (aka “Lieu-Lieu”, also “Lieuby-Lieu”), curled up in a tiny little Lieu package.

“I’m gonna jump!”

“I’m not kidding, lady! I’m gonna jump!” (And he did. But he survived the jump, worry not.)

“I was sleepin’, and then I woke up with this cute little redhead in my bed. How much ‘nip DID I sniff last night?!”

The sweet face, did I mention? KILLS ME DEAD.

Reacher: “Pardon me, sonny, you’re in MY bed.”
Lieu: “::SQUEAK:: I’m sorry, sir!”
Reacher: “Don’t let it happen again.”

“He was skeery.”

“Oh, I love it when you blow in my ear, it’s so – Uh.”

“Rhyme. ::tap::tap::tap:: Rhyme? Rhyme. RHYME!”

“We have company, Rhyme.”

::BLISS::

Tommy guards the back yard.

Previously
2009: The shit that is PISSING ME OFF these days.
2008: I’ve warned Nance that the house is a pig sty, but I don’t think she believes me.
2007: No entry.
2006: Must be ’cause I’m so approachable.
2005: Hobbies.
2004: Fred calls Miz Poo “Musty.”
2003: He sighed. “Because everybody knows that 256 (the total number of pages in the book) is 2 to the 8th, which is 2 to the 6th times two squared, which is 64 times 4, so you should print four blocks of 64 pages.”
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Folks, it’s Dumbass Day.

I don’t think I mentioned that a few weeks ago, Fred processed almost all of the chickens in the blue coop yard (the small coop that was the maternity coop for a long time). I’ve been trying to convince him for about the last year that we should move all the chickens out to the big coop in the back forty so that we only had one yard to worry about – and so that all the chickens would be under George and Gracie’s protection. As it was, the chickens in the blue yard had no protection from the occasional hawk who came along, because the ditch separates the back forty from the blue yard. We had talked about joining the fence around the blue yard with the front of the back forty fence, but we were pretty sure that George and Gracie would spend all their time in the blue yard part while hawks picked off the chickens in the back forty, one by one.

So one night at dark, we went out and loaded all the chickens in the blue coop into a carrier, carried them to the big coop, and one by one placed them on the roosts in the big coop. The next morning I happened to have a bunch of errands to run, and when I got home, every damn one of the chickens we’d moved had found a way out of the back forty and they were all scattered along the fence to the blue yard, trying to figure out how to get in. They were understandably nervous when I approached them, and so I pulled the gate to the blue yard wide open and started tossing scratch on the ground and calling them. They were super interested in the scratch and they’d walk along the fence trying to figure out how to get into the yard, but then they’d reach the gate, which was in their way inasmuch as they couldn’t keep walking in a straight line, so they’d lose their shit, gather up their figurative skirts, clutch their figurative pearls, and run for the open space behind the back yard.

Eventually the mail lady came along, startling me when she called out “Should I leave this on the porch?” When she saw what was happening, came over to give me a hand, THANK GOD, since I was about to lose my shit, slam the gate closed, and yell at the chickens that they could just SUCK IT. With her help, all the chickens were shooed into the blue yard, then we talked for a few minutes (she told me about how she had been unable to deliver someone’s mail when she worked for a post office out near where Egg the Pig Man lives, because as she’d left her car she’d been rushed by a turkey. When she told the people who lived in that house what had happened, they didn’t know what she was talking about, ’cause they didn’t have any turkeys. Then I had to pontificate on the amazing stupidity of turkeys.).

That night, at dark, we loaded them all up in the carrier again, and took them out to the big coop. One by one we put them in the coop, on roosts, and then shut the door so they’d spend the night in the coop.

“Whoever escapes the back forty tomorrow and ends up back in the blue yard is going to be processed,” Fred told me grimly. I thought that was a fine idea.

And not knowing that they were signing their own death orders by their stupid devotion to the blue coop, every one of those chickens ended up back in the blue yard the next day.

That weekend, Fred processed them all and also processed several of the roosters from the big yard.

So these days, instead of going out to close up the blue coop at 7:30 (which usually required chasing one last chicken into the coop) and then going out to give the pigs their evening cookies and say goodnight to the dogs, we go out around 5:30 to the back forty, then check out the garden to see what’s going on out there, and we can settle down in front of the TV (with the ceiling fan going full-blast, usually) and relax for a few hours before bed.

It’s pretty nice.

Along the same topic, a few months after we got George and Gracie, I told Fred that it was silly to close up the big coop at night. I thought it would be fine to leave the coop open, since George and Gracie were there to protect the chickens. He disagreed, vehemently. He thought we still needed to close up the coop “just in case”. I suggested he post on one of the forums he frequents soliciting opinions. He did, and people were split between the opinion that I was a lazy-ass whore (I might be paraphrasing. Or completely making it up. WHATEVS.) for not wanting to go out and force the chickens out from under the coop and into the coop every night, and MY PEOPLE, who were all “Why the hell do you have livestock guardian dogs if you’re not going to let them do their job?”

We kept closing up the coop until at some point over the winter, we would occasionally leave the coop open if the weather was going to be bad, so that George and Gracie could go inside and stay warm. And then we left the coop open more and more often until at some point it was more unusual that we’d close the coop.

And once again, I’m in the right. George and Gracie are doing their job, the chickens are safe, and we don’t have to force chickens out from under the coop and into the coop every damn night.

And it’s pretty frickin’ nice. If I hadn’t mentioned.

It’s too bad Jake and Elwood can hardly get any of the kittens to hang out with them at ALL, isn’t it?

Reacher and Elwood.

Lieu likes to pick fights with Elwood.

Elwood and Reacher.

Elwood and Lieu.

Rhyme’s all “I LOVE YOU, Crazy Jake!”

Rhyme’s all “I’m in love, I’m in love, I’m IN LOOOOOOVE!”
Sheila’s all “Get out of the way, it’s my turn to snuggle with him!”

From atop the dryer, Bolitar disapproves of all the shenanigans.

I cannot get over how long and leggy the Bookworms have gotten.

And now, a couple of movies. The first one is from about six weeks ago (it’s not that I don’t want to share movies with y’all – it’s that I use my Flip video to take movies, and then forget to do anything after that!), and it’s Reacher and Rhyme, hanging out in the recycling bin.

This one is from last week, I think. It starts with Sheila playing and Bolitar deciding she needs a smackdown and then goes from there. Bolitar is not a Sheila fan.

Sugarbutt disapproves.

Previously
2009: Our dogs are awfully sweet and it amazes me that anyone could be scared of them, but I have to admit that when they bark with their serious bark, they can sound kinda scary.
2008: No entry.
2007: Gives new meaning to the term of endearment “shithead”, doesn’t it?
2006: No entry.
2005: I said “You shut up, motherfucker, or I’ll unleash my wifely instincts on you” and he said “Shut your unmaternal mouth, woman.”
2004: Wound report: It’s sensitive and weepy. Just like me!
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Have you ever felt like your hair looks like a really bad wig?

On Saturday I was covering for the usual Saturday morning volunteer at Petsmart, so I decided that since I was out that way, I’d go to Sam’s and then to Costco. I love the fact that with my “business” membership at Sam’s, I can get in at 7:00 instead of having to wait ’til 9. It’s generally pretty empty before general business hours start, too, so I can get in and out and not have to dodge many people.

Lately, Sam’s has done some sort of VERY ANNOYING overhaul wherein they’re rearranging the entire store. The kitty litter has been in a particular spot for years, but on Saturday I had to wander all over hell and creation to find it. And I was pushing one of those big flatbed carts around (instead of a regular grocery-type cart), so it was especially annoying. But I finally found the litter and loaded up on that.

Except for the dog snacks I bought, I ONLY bought the stuff on my list, and THAT hardly ever happens, so kudos to me. When I left Sam’s, it was just before 9:00, so I had to kill time before I could go to Costco, or so I thought. I’d checked online to see what time they open on Saturdays and the web site claimed they open at 9:30, but when I got there, the big sign on the front of the store said that for “gold star” members (which I am) it opens at 9.

I killed time by going to Petsmart and picking up a few things, so I ended up getting to Costco right after 9:30.

Costco wasn’t too terribly busy, so I was in and out of there quickly. I compared prices on a few of the things I’d bought at Sam’s. The pig ears (for the dogs) were cheaper at Costco, but the Tylenol was more expensive, so I think it all works out in the end. They had awesome, huge, sturdy cat trees for $56, and the only reason I didn’t buy one (no, we don’t particularly NEED another cat tree, WHAT IS YOUR POINT?) is because I was pretty sure it wouldn’t fit in my car. And I can’t seem to convince Fred that we should go back with the truck, damn him.

I had guesstimated that I’d be home by 11:00, and it was just after 10:30 when I pulled into the driveway.

After we went out for lunch, I spent the afternoon readying squash to be frozen (more on that in Thursday’s entry), making pickles, and cleaning the house.

Then, of course, my usual 2:30 nap on the couch. Look, when you’re woken up at 4 am by a screaming little kitten wanting to be let OUT of the horror that is a room fully stocked with food, water, and all the toys he could ever possibly want, I think a nap on the couch is warranted.

Sunday morning I cleaned the HELL out of this house. I scrubbed all three bathrooms! I vacuumed! I EVEN DUSTED.

The thing about cleaning the house that pisses me off is the same thing about doing the laundry that pisses me off – the instant you’re done with it, it needs to be done again. By the time I reached the laundry room with the vacuum cleaner, I guarantee that the foster room (the first place I’d vacuumed) needed to be vacuumed again.

I am not fond of this never-ending cycle of cleaning.

This weekend, I did something that will surely result in having all my cats – permanent residents AND fosters – taken away from me. Something so horrific, so unthinkable, that I advise you to click away before reading any further.

I discontinued Snackin’! Time!

I KNOW. The horror!

It came to a head Friday evening when I was doling out plates to everyone, and everyone acted like a giant asshole, gulping down their own food and then fighting to gulp down the food on everyone else’s plate, and they were hissing and smacking at each other and tromping all over my nerves, and I just got fed up and declared that there was NO MORE SNACKIN’! TIME! EVER!

Fred didn’t believe me, but it’s gotten to be such a pain, with the doling out two cans of food between ten plates (Miz Poo does not partake of Snackin’! Time!, do you mistake her for some PEASANT?, and Tommy and Sugarbutt share a plate. Which is how there are twelve cats up in this house and only ten Snackin’! Time! plates. Because I knew someone was frantically doing the math and about to ask. Also, the Rescuees were getting their snack in their room, and the Bookworms were getting THEIR snack in the guest bedroom. My god, I could go on for hours about the Snackin’! Time! politics. Oh look, I already did!). Then there’s the making sure everyone gets their own plate, and the bullies don’t edge Spanky away from his plate of food, and that I stand a far distance from Stinkerbelle and sliiiiide her plate to her so she doesn’t flounce off in a huff, and then I have to fucking go around and pick up all the plates while the cats sit there and give me the eyes of “Really? That’s ALL?” and then I rinse the plates off and put them in the dishwasher while kittens are climbing into the dishwasher, and you know? I’m tired of it. These cats have PLENTY of food, there are four bowls of food in the laundry room, another bowl in the guest bedroom, and three small bowls (of kitten food) in the foster room, they barely have to go two feet to eat if they’re SO hungry, so fuck it.

Fred was sure there was going to be a revolt Saturday evening when there was no snack forthcoming, and he HIGHLY disapproved of my “Little bitty kitties!” call to get everyone away from the back door so I could shut it (that’s the snack time call for the Bookworms, or at least it was when there was such a thing as snack time), but the cats milled around, looked vaguely puzzled, and then they went off to play or nap or whatever.

The final joke might be on me, though. Saturday, I switched one of the kinds of kibble we’re giving the cats, and it made some of them just a TAD gassy, and these cats have been Farty McGees for the past two days. Especially the, well. I was going to say especially the Rescuees, but the truth is that I was taking a nap on the couch Sunday afternoon, and I had five cats on me – Reacher, Bolitar, Gavin, Franco, and I think Sheila was around – and I’m pretty sure that they were ALL letting loose.

The worst part is that Gavin seems to think that the proper action to take after farting is to put his ass directly on my face, and in case you were curious it’s not particularly relaxing to spend your nap attempting to dodge a kitten ass.

Cat farts: could there be a more fascinating topic?

Reacher’s all “YES I am sitting with all four feet on my brother’s head. WHAT OF IT?!”

Rhyme’s face is cracking me up. If that’s not the epitome of abject misery, I don’t know what is.

I think it’s funny that I had to give the Rescuees the run of the entire house before I could get a shot of all five of them together.

“You has a snuggle for me?”

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: “Hey! I’m not a complete idiot. Of course I know who Vernon Jordan is!”
2006: It was the weirdest hyper-real instant of cognitive dissonance I have ever experienced in my life.
2005: “Oh, look a finger! I feel so relaxed and unfrightened now…”
2004: Then I sang “Iiiiiiiiiiii am the Stuuuuuuuuump of Constant Sorrowwwwwwwwww!”, which amused Fred to no end.
2003: No entry.
2002: Readers, if you love me, you will never, NEVER allow someone you don’t know who isn’t a cop (ask for identification, and LOOK at it, don’t just glance at it) inside your home when you’re alone.
2001: No entry.
2000: Black widow. Lovely.

Last week (or was it the week before?) Jean asked: How many years have you fostered, and how many cats have you rescued/adopted/fostered? And if you feel up to doing the math, how many unwanted kittens have you prevented from being brought into this world due to your selfless fostering? A grateful nation awaits.

I know. It calls for some higher maths, which you probably swore you’d never use when you got out of high school! 😀

I found this an interesting question because I had no idea exactly how many cats we’ve fostered over the years, though from time to time I’ve wondered. So I sat down and figured it out. I even made a spreadsheet so I could get a total number as well as how many were males and how many were females.

The year we started fostering: 2005 (May 19, to be exact).
The total number of cats we’ve fostered: 125
How many females: 60
How many males: 65
The number of our fosters we’ve adopted: 5 – Tom Cullen, Sugarbutt, Joe Bob, Stinkerbelle, and Kara.
The largest litter we’ve had: 7 (The Seven)
The litter size we’ve had most often: 4. We’ve had 9 litters of 4. Followed closely by 5, of which we’ve had 8 litters.
The most fosters we’ve had at one time (which is different from the largest litter!): 9. We had 4 Wonkas and 5 Cookies last Fall, and we have 4 Bookworms and 5 Rescuees right now.

I was really, really surprised to find that we’ve had more males than females – I honestly thought we’d had more females over the years!

The total number of fosters would be higher except that after we adopted Tom Cullen and Sugarbutt in the Fall of 2005, Fred made me promise to take at least 6 months off from fostering so that Tommy and Sugs would be older and thus less able to fight off any illnesses fosters might bring into the house. We ended up going almost a year before I decided it was time to start fostering again, and I brought that she-devil Maddy (our first bottle baby!) into the house in September 2006.

It’s impossible, of course, to figure out how many unwanted kittens we’ve helped prevent from being brought into the world. The number of litters a fertile female can have in a year (3), and the average number of kittens in a litter is 4-6. Fertile female felines can have kittens through their entire lives, so let’s say the average female cat lives 10 years (though they often live longer – sometimes much, much longer). 3 litters per year times 5 kittens per litter, times 10 years is… drumroll…150. And then let’s say that of that 150, half are females, who each go on to have their own 150 kittens, so that’s… 11,250. And we’re not even talking about the males, who can impregnate myriad females. I wouldn’t even know how to come up with totals for the males.

Let’s just say we’ve prevented at least 11,250 unwanted kittens from being born. And that’s just MY fosters. I’m not the only foster parent for Challenger’s House cats, and Challenger’s House isn’t the only cat shelter in this area, let alone the state. When you think about it, it’s kind of amazing that when we walk out of our houses, we aren’t seeing a flood of cats as far as the eye can see.

Because I know you’re totally fascinated by this topic (heh), here are all my fosters, in order of fostering, and pictures of each litter! (If you consider Maddy and Maura – who were the only two cats we had who were “onlies” – to each be their own litter, that means that the Rescuees are our 31st litter!)

The links are to the “about” pages about each litter if one exists for them at Love & Hisses – if one doesn’t yet (on my very long list of stuff to do is cutting and pasting all those entries about the early litters over to Love & Hisses), I linked to their album on Flickr for the time being.

(At some point, I’ll likely go through and find better pictures – I kind of tossed this together last night, and it took a lonnnnng time to weed through the pictures – thank god I have them at least organized by litter name. Did you know I take a LOT of pictures of my fosters? I know you’re surprised!)

Mia, Snoopy, Flossie, Peanut, Oy, and Edgar.

Rambo & Jodie.

Smitty, Barrett, Little Cal, Sad Eyes.
(“Barrett” became Tom Cullen, and “Sad Eyes” became Sugarbutt – the first fosters we adopted!)

Maddy.
(Our first bottle baby!)

Fezzik, Inigo, Westley, Princess Buttercup.
(Maxi’s babies! When we bought this house and had met Maxi, she showed up one day with her litter – and Newt.)

O’Malley, Christina, Izzie, Meredith Gray.

Catie, Seamus, Mopsy, Flopsy, and Cottontail.

Faith, Noelle, Merry, Kringle, Jack Frost.

Moondance and Moonman
(Moonman later became Joe Bob!)

Fantine, Cosette, Eponine, Javert.

Tina Louise, Spanky, Gilligan, and Maryanne.
(Maryanne later became Stinkerbelle!)

Susannah, Roland, Billy Bumbler, Eddie Dean, Callahan, Jake.

Elle, Skittles, Felicia, Dulcinea, Punki.

Chemda, Keith, Khalili, Patrice, Brolo.

Malley, Spooky, Deuce, Rhian, Jesikat, Peyton.

Lindsay, Lucille, Maeby.

HG and Smudge Bunny.

Kara, River, Inara, Kaylee, Zoe.

Lem, Delmar, Marion, Claudette.

Rumba and Samba.

Creed, Dwight, Phyllis.

Beulah, Jasper, Caleb, Phinneas, Bessemer, Ezra, Elijah.

Hamilton J. Porks, Jefferson, and their two brothers.
(I never wrote about this litter at Love & Hisses because it was too sad. In short, it was a litter of four kittens who were taken from their mother too soon. I got them when they were only a few days old, and one by one they died. Coming so soon after Mister Boogers died, it was especially hard.)

Terry, Bill, Hoyt, Sookie, Lafayette, Sam.

Mike Teevee, Augustus Gloop, Violet Beauregard, Veruca Salt.

Hydrox, TimTam, Lorna Doone, Keebler, Milano.

Steely Dan & Fagen.

M’Lynn, Clairee, Drum, Ouiser, Truvy.

Maura.

Reacher, Rhyme, Bolitar, Corbett.

Franco, Sheila, Gavin, Garrity, Lieu.

“This is where I hide when I’m overwhelmed by all those fosters.”

Previously
2009: (A story we recounted, and I do not exaggerate here, at least five times over the course of the weekend.)
2008: Taking a few impromptu days off.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: I’ll try to drum up some drama for tomorrow, m’kay?
2004: (For the record, I do vacuum out there every couple of months…)
2003: A Day in the Life
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: I will be hurting bad tomorrow, though.

I changed the way, once again, that I’m organizing my links list. I’m using Google Reader to do so, which is easier for me. So I wouldn’t have just a long list of nothin’ but links, I organized them into categories, and you can see the list here. You can also find that link in the left sidebar with the picture of Miz Poo on the bookcase confusingly entitled “Blogs I Read.” You can ALSO find the link in the right sidebar with “Links” in the header of the block and “Blogs I Read” as the actual link.

Or you could just frantically enter “links,” “blogs you read,” “llinks,” “linx,” and “list of links” or any other descriptive phrase in the search box. I don’t know if that’ll get you where you want to go, but it’s worth a try, I s’pose. Whatever works for you works for me.

That list doesn’t include blogs that don’t have an RSS feed. Which isn’t to say that I don’t read blogs that don’t have RSS feeds, I just need to make a list of them to add to the bottom of that page. I’m perpetually behind in my blog reading (right now, Google Reader informs me that I have 1000+ unread items. I think it’s unfair that they stop counting at 1000. I NEED an exact number!) and I’m especially far behind when it comes to blogs that have no RSS feed.

I’m always behind on everything always, is what I’m saying to you.

I tried a couple of new recipes last week, and both of them were really good.

The first was Dried Cherry and Ricotta Muffins. They were really good, and I bet you could add just about any kind of dried fruit to the recipe that you like. They’re a lightly sweet, moist muffin, and I give ’em two thumbs up. Fred didn’t care for them, though, not that I was making them for him, anyway, SO THERE.

The other was Poppy Seed Chicken, which could not possibly have been easier or tastier. The fact that I always have canned chicken on hand made it even easier. I was a little worried that it would be bland, but it wasn’t at all. It’s comfort food, really, is what it is. And a good way to use up some of that canned chicken you have laying around!

Yesterday I worked out in the garden for a couple of hours, weeding the part of the row of tomatoes where I haven’t put down newspapers to block the weeds. I also went through and did some pruning. Honest to god, I’d like to tell you that I have some idea of what the hell I’m doing when I prune tomato plants, but I so don’t. I kind of hack willy-nilly, and as long as there aren’t blossoms on the parts I cut off, I’m happy.

Unfortunately, I found blossom-end rot and had to pull and toss about 15 small tomatoes. We still haven’t gotten a single damn ripe tomato from the garden, but last night we had oven-fried green tomatoes, and while they were really good, they made me want some ripe tomatoes that much more. I’m starting to think that tomatoes just don’t like our garden, and maybe next year all the tomato plants should be in raised beds behind the back yard. The six tomato plants I have back there right now look mighty happy. Actually, the tomato plants in the garden look pretty happy, too, since this year I’m keeping on top of the weeding and pruning.

The green beans we grew this year – Contender Bush Beans – are really good, but the last time Fred brought in a big bucket from the garden, more than half of them had holes in them from some damn bug or another. I’ve only got 26 pounds of green beans put up thus far (I was aiming for 40), and I’m not sure whether he’s planning a second planting or not. He decided to do bush beans this year and after the first time he picked beans, he announced that he remembered why he hadn’t planted bush beans last year – apparently they’re a pain in the ass to pick and pole beans are easier. Last year I canned all our green beans. This year, I’m freezing them. The canned green beans are easier to deal with at meal time, but I have decided that I like the consistency of the frozen-then-cooked beans more. Next year I’ll have forgotten that fact and will go back to canning, I’m sure.

The squash is coming in like crazy, especially the scalloped squash. We’ve had stuffed scalloped squash, oven-fried scalloped squash, and mashed scalloped squash (cut up squash, boil ’til tender, drain, add salt, pepper, and a sprinkling of cheese of your choice). I tried canning scalloped and yellow crookneck squash, but I think I’m going to boil it, mash it, and freeze it instead. Canned is a nice idea, but since squash cooks down to almost nothing, we’ll just about be drinking the canned stuff through a straw.

Fred planted a lot of spaghetti squash this year. I think we’re going to have more of that than anything – good thing I love the consistency of spaghetti squash, because we’ll probably be eating it at every meal over the winter.

Have you ever had purslane? Fred thought he’d found some growing in the ditch and I was all for cutting some and eating it, but he talked me down from it since (1) the runoff from the road flows directly through that ditch and (2) he wasn’t completely sure it was purslane. But ever since he brought it up and I read about it online, I’m dying to try it. Have you had it? Is it good? Do I want to grow some next year?

I could look for it in the wild, but to be honest, I really thought the stuff in the ditch was purslane – Fred’s stepmother told us it isn’t, it’s some poisonous something-or-other (THEY ALWAYS RUIN MY FUN) – and I’m not sure I could successfully identify it.

Someone asked yesterday if the Bookworms are ready for adoption yet. The answer is that while they’re certainly big enough to be neutered (Corbett, the smallest of the litter, is over 4 pounds), they still have to be retested before that can happen. (Those of you who are new to the site, the Bookworms came up FIV positive two months ago.) I’m going on vacation in a couple of weeks, and once I get back I’ll be taking them for that. I have no doubt at all that all four of them will test negative and can then be neutered, id-chipped, and go off to the adoption center to be adopted.

(Unless one – or some – of you nice people are interested in adopting them and want to save them from the sad fate of sitting in a cage for 10 seconds before someone comes along and falls immediately in love with them, that is.)

So that’s why they’re still around even though they’ve moved from their tiny cute kitten stage to their long and lanky teenage stage. If it wasn’t for the positive FIV result, they would have gone off to be adopted two months ago.

“C’mere, Elweird, you have shmutz on your head.”

The Bookworms in the sun.

Happy Corbett.

“I can’t help it. I don’t like those little bitty kittens. I’m the baby around here!”

Rhyme and Corbett.

Garrity jumps! He misses! But he certainly looks amused by the fact that he missed, doesn’t he?

Sheila does love the feather teaser…

Pondering.

Considering.

Thinking.

Planning.

Later.

She smacks! She misses! (Note Gavin and Garrity over there in that basket egging her on.)

Got it!

I hear tell there’s a magical place where the cats do NOT take over all the furniture in the house. Is this a real place, or just something they made up to make me jealous?

Previously
2009: The airport for the night, then.
2008: No entry.
2007: No Mister Boogers.
2006: No entry.
2005: Oh, the hilarity that ensues when your car and foster kitten have the same name! I could almost hear the laugh track in the background.
2004: PMS, anyone?
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001:No entry.
2000: Charmed life, have I mentioned?

Attention, those of you in the Baton Rouge area:

I am in Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and my husband and I have a cat who desperately needs a good home as soon as possible.

We do not have the physical space, resources, or time to keep them segregated while we “reïntroduce them.” Everyone she meets remarks on her friendliness and good nature. She needs a fresh start to show off that friendly spirit. We would hate to put her back on the street. Please let me know if you know someone who could take her in. I would be willing to drive her an hour or so in any direction.

If anyone is interested in adopting this sweet cat or you know anyone who’s interested, please contact Carol at carolrain(AT)cox(DOT)net or email me, and I’ll pass your email along.

So, today I’m fine. My elbow is still sore, and if I twist my back a certain way, it hurts a little. I have a rectangle of road rash on my left hip, and a bruise on my left butt cheek and lower calf, but they’re not nearly as bruised as I would have expected.

I’m lucky that I fell on wooden steps, and that my foot slipped forward instead of back – had I fallen forward, I’m sure I would have broken something.

Luckily, the only cat in the vicinity was Maxi, who was lolling about on the landing. I didn’t fall near her at all, but she vamoosed while I was falling, and I didn’t see her again for a few hours.

I spent Friday on the couch with various cats and kittens . I caught up on the Housewives reunion (Newsflash: Kelly: whack-job), Bethenny Getting Married? (I laughed so hard I cried when they were doing the registry), and then napped for a while on the couch.

Luckily I had Hydrocodone left over from surgery earlier this year, so that helped alleviate the pain for the first couple of nights and also helped me sleep.

Yesterday, Fred and I went up to Dog Days, the flea market in Tennessee. We brought the carrier with us, so as a result didn’t see any turkeys (thank god). We did buy some cantaloupe, cabbage, and onions. Fred also bought a couple of fig trees because they were $5 each and looked super happy.

The one thing I hate about going up to Dog Days (and Trade Days in Lacon) is the cages of kittens. All the kittens at Dog Days were free for the taking, and you better believe I considered taking every last one of those kittens home with me, so I’d know for sure they’d be spayed and neutered and vaccinated and well cared-for and would go to good homes. Fred pointed out yesterday that the kittens are always free, but the puppies never are.

At the bottom of Friday’s entry, I posted a picture of a cat and invited y’all to ponder who that cat was. Some of you suggested the cat is relation to Newt. Is he? I don’t know. He showed up around the same time Roscoe did, but unlike Roscoe this one was a harder nut to crack. It took Fred about three weeks to pet this one, and as soon as we knew we could count on him being present every morning, we made an appointment to have him tested, neutered, and vaccinated.

(Have you ever seen a grown male cat, unneutered? My GOD those things are big!)

I was pretty sure he was going to end up testing positive as Roscoe had, since I was pretty sure they’d come from the same place – they were very clearly friends, if not brothers. I took him to the vet on Thursday when I took the Rescuees to be spayed and neutered, and waited to hear that he’d tested positive.

I didn’t hear anything, so around 3:30 I called, and not only had he tested negative, they’d already neutered him. I brought him home, and he was a little loopy. We kept him overnight in a cage in the garage – which he HATED – and Friday morning Fred let him loose. He disappeared for most of the day and then when Fred checked one last time before bed on Friday to see if he was around, he moseyed up to the porch and demanded to be fed.

So, meet Coltrane.

Seeing as he’s just this side of feral, Coltrane’s not intended to be an indoor cat. But then, Maxi and Newt weren’t intended to be OUR indoor cats, either, and you see how that worked out. He has shelter on the porch and under the side stoop, and he can get in to and out of the back yard pretty easily. He’s been hanging out in the back yard with our cats for a few weeks now, and they hardly even seem to notice he’s there.

Is he related to Newt? I don’t know. He could be – he could be Newt’s father or a sibling. Fred seems pretty attached to the idea that he’s Newt’s father. The vet said that he’s definitely fully grown, so at least two years old, but could be as old as five or six. He has a distinctive high-pitched meow similar to Newt’s. Maybe he’s Lieu’s father! There’s really no way to know.

Could he belong to someone in the area? It’s possible. But he was pretty thin when he showed up and clearly very hungry. He was covered in ticks and probably had fleas (we treated him as soon as Fred could get close enough). He was unneutered. I don’t know what the law says, but in my opinion if your cat shows up on my property looking hungry and is covered in fleas and ticks, is unneutered, and sprays every blade of grass he comes across, I’m within my rights to have him neutered.

He seems to really like Fred but he’s still scared of me. Of course, I’m the one who took him off to be neutered, so I can’t say as I blame him.

So, anyway. I guess we have another cat. SIGH. That gives us an even number, anyway!

On Saturday, I threw open the foster kitten door and let the Rescuees free to roam the house. Except for Lieu, they all ran out the door as soon as I opened it and went to explore. Lieu is a little more reserved than the other four, so he napped on the chair in the foster room until mid-afternoon whereupon he decided that he, too, would do some exploring.

By late afternoon, all five of them were downstairs roaming around, and let me tell you – the Bookworms did NOT appreciate the interlopers. At ALL. Bolitar, especially, is a growly, hissy little monster and has given every one of those little kittens a smart rap on the head. His nose is completely out of joint about this “kitten” thing. Don’t they know that HE is the baby?!

It was actually my intent to confine the Rescuees to the upstairs for a few days before I let them have the run of the entire house, but after I set up the temporary door across the hallway, Jake and Elwood were dying – DYING – to get in and get their paws on those little kittens, so they climbed over the temporary door. The temporary door was held to the wall by a flimsy little hook, and as they climbed over the door, the hook broke, and I got annoyed and just let everyone go wherever they wanted.

(Fred has been told in no uncertain terms that he’ll be coming up with a better solution to hold up that door before the next set of fosters.)

We put them back in their room around 6, and left them in there overnight. Sunday morning, Fred could hardly wait to let them out.

So from now until they go to the adoption center (hopefully before I go on vacation July 3rd), the Rescuees will have the run of the house during the day. They seem to be enjoying their new freedom.

Sweet Sheila.

“Paws up, y’all!”

Franco, mid-scratch.

Despite his propensity for shooting everyone the stink-eye, Gavin is the sweetest little thing.

I love that Jake loves the Bookworms so much – and they love him back!

“Bwahaha! Corbett’s ear is turned back and he looks FUNNY!”

Bolitar and Corbett.

Joe Bob, in the back yard. Such a sweet boy.

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: Needless to say, Maxi’s persona non grata when the chickens are present in the back yard from now on.
2006: The discerning decorator always considers that cats are decor accessories as well as beloved, spoiled-rotten pets and takes into account the decor of their home before adopting said animals.
2005: “If I can make four percoset get me high for the next year, you just might.”
2004: (Don’t lecture me, I KNOW. I swear I’ll wear sunscreen from now on okay, MOTHER?)
2003: No entry.
2002: Hell. O. Dolly. God in heaven, they were SO DAMN GOOD.
2001: Plus I’m taking this newfangled thing they call “pen and paper.”
2000: No entry.

So, a few weeks ago I ordered something from Amazon – I don’t remember what it was, to be honest, I think it might have been a book or possibly coconut oil (I sure as shit didn’t pay $26.95 for it, though. They must have been running a special, because I wouldn’t have paid that much.), but in any case when it arrived, the packing slip in the box was for someone else entirely, and he hadn’t ordered any coconut oil. Actually, it’s kind of amazing that the box arrived with the correct order, since the wrong slip was in the box, isn’t it?

Of course I had to look at the slip to see what Mark in Tennessee had ordered, because I’m nosy like that. If someone leaves their grocery list in the cart, I pick it up and read it, too.

Anyway.

So Mark in Tennessee had ordered Caught, by Harlan Coben. Obviously Mark in Tennesee has good taste.

Mark in Tennessee also ordered two DVDs – Pink: Live in Europe, and Pink: Live from Wembley Arena. Apparently Mark in Tennessee is a Pink fan.

Lastly, Mark in Tennessee ordered a Venus Butterfly. (I’m not providing a link, you guys. If you don’t know what one is, you get your butt over to Amazon and search your own self. NOT SAFE FOR WORK, that search. In case you were wondering.)

I’m not judging Mark in Tennessee, but you’d better believe that I am struck with the urge to call and ask if the Venus Butterfly will be used in conjunction with the Pink DVDs.

Of course, now I’m wondering if Mark in Tennessee is wondering what dirty things I’m doing with that coconut oil.

Get your mind out of the gutter, Mark in Tennessee (and the rest of you, too!) I AM DOING NOTHING WITH THE COCONUT OIL. Everyone (or at least one person) swears that coconut oil is better than butter, lard, Crisco, any kind of oil. (In cooking, I’m talking about, you pervs.) It’s a MIRACLE oil, this coconut oil. You can use it in place of any of that stuff, and not only will it taste better, it’ll clear out your arteries, give you energy, scoop out the litter box, and clean the bathrooms.

But the issue here is that when I open the can of coconut oil, it smells – and yes, somehow this managed to surprise me – like coconut. Will it taste like coconut? What if I don’t want coconut-tinged biscuits?

Do you/ have you used coconut oil? And will it make your food taste like coconut? Did I get suckered in by the hype?

Here’s another question for y’all – I bought a bar of Lemon soap at Marshall’s a few months ago because it smells SO GOOD. Unfortunately, I can’t use it as soap because my skin is sensitive and gets all dry and itchy when I use this soap. But it smells SO DAMN GOOD that I don’t want to toss it.

Give me suggestions for what I can do with this fabulous-smelling soap, would you? It says on the label that it’s vegetable soap, and it’s got Sodium Palmate, Fragrance, Sodium Chloride as the main ingredients, if that matters.

Here’s yet another question for y’all: say you’re laying on the couch minding your own business. Then a cat jumps up, and heads in your direction, but stops suddenly. He starts sniffing wildly at a certain spot. He sniffs and sniffs and sniffs. Then he does the cat version of a shrug, and continues along his way.

Do you get up and sniff where he was sniffing to see if you can figure out what he smelled?

Or is it just me?

Reacher’s all “Play with ME! Play with ME! I wanna play tooooooo!”

Bolitar says “Okay, then. ::CHOMP::”

Sheila and the camera strap.

Sheila has finally captured the elusive tail! She can’t figure out why she feels pain every time she bites it, though.

“I GOTS YOU, pink feathers!”

Skeptical.

Does Franco look like the cuddliest little teddy bear, or what? He’s such a snuggler!

The Rescuees are off to be neutered (and spayed) in a little while. They don’t have any idea why I haven’t come in to give them their morning snack, and when I go in and immediately put them in carriers, they will be most displeased, I imagine.

It’s a 25-minute drive to the vet – I’m thinking I’d better stock up on earplugs!

“Hey! Can you get Mom? Joe Bob’s hoggin’ the cave, and I need some quiet time in there before Snackin’! Time!”

Previously
2009: Their lobster roll is FABULOUS.
2008: And that whole throwaway “Well you’re fabulous of course at any size, Samantha, that goes without saying, but my CHRIST, when you gained the first pound and a half, how were you able to LIVE with yourself?!” line.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: And I so desperately wanted to say “Did I see? Yes. Do I care? No.”
2004: Ten
2003: I’ve never been the patient sort.
2002: Damn YahooGroups.
2001: No entry.
2000: I’ve always felt that I have a lucky life.