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6/30/10 – Wednesday

by @ Wednesday, June 30th, 2010. Filed under Fostering, Life

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::

 

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Tommy guards the back yard.

 

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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.

6/29/10 – Tuesday

by @ Tuesday, June 29th, 2010. Filed under Fostering, Life

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.

 

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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.

 

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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.

 

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Sugarbutt disapproves.

 

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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?

6/28/10 – Monday

by @ Monday, June 28th, 2010. Filed under Fostering, Life

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.

 

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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?

 

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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.

 

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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.

 

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“You has a snuggle for me?”

 

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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.

6/25/10 – Friday

by @ Friday, June 25th, 2010. Filed under CAE, Fostering, Life

It’s a SUPER Question-Answering Extravaganza this week because I took last Friday off due to falling down the steps (you should see the bruise on my ass – it’s pretty spectacular) and was taking the week off from blogging the week before.

So off we go!

 

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Hey Robyn. I have a kitty question to ask you, and I’m hoping you’ve got some insight.

I have 2 male cats. Basil (the spitting image of Suggie) who is 8 and Monkey who is 1.5. Both are fixed, indoor cats.

In the past month, I’ve caught Monkey kneading the crap out of a blanket I keep on the couch. I figured it was cute, and didn’t pay much attention to it, until I noticed that every few minutes he started to *twitch* his back legs. I happened to pick him up and he was fully *exposed* . So I no longer keep that blanket on the couch. Lol.

I thought that was bad enough until I walked into a room and saw Monkey mounting Basil! I picked him up and again, he was *exposed*. THAT kind of left me feeling a little queasy. Poor Basil had no idea what was going on!

Have you ever had any issues like this? I’ve tried to find info online but came up blank.

Any words of wisdom you can give?

My response:

I’m fairly sure that the part where Monkey was mounting Basil was a dominance thing, but I sure don’t know why kneading on the blanket would involve a kitty erection. Maybe he was just… happy?

(I’m sorry, I’m laughing. “Kitty erection” would be an excellent punk band name.)

How about if I throw the question out to my readers? Surely someone out there will have some input!

How about it readers? Have some words of wisdom, here?

 

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On a side note, is it illegal to dump animals in your state or county? It is animal cruelty, after all.

Good question! I assumed it was, but Googled about to see if I’m right and can’t seem to find the answer. Of course, to prosecute someone for abandoning an animal, you’d have to catch them doing it. Maybe we need to set up a camera pointing at the field across the street to catch the animal-abandoning motherfuckers.

 

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G*df*ckingdammit, my husband never finds kittens!!! Now I am REALLY pissed at him. It’s not bad enough we are going out to dinner for his birthday Sunday so I have to miss the season premiere of True Blood WITH NAKED ERIC NORTHMAN, but he, my husband, not naked Eric Northman, never finds kittens.

I bet Eric Northman finds kittens.

BAH.

I always liked the name Lieutenant and thought if I ever had a German Shepard (Sheperd?) POLICE DOG, I would name him/her that. Also I think your Lieu there has huge feet, or is that just the camera angle? Oh, I see other commenters noticed too!

I frantically Googled around for at least half an hour in a vain attempt to find a picture of Alexander Skarsgard naked, surrounded by kittens, but had no luck.

Damn you, Google.

Also, Lieu does have some mighty big feet. I think he’s going to be a big cat, though surprisingly, he doesn’t have a very big appetite. His siblings dive face-first into their evening snack of canned Fancy Feast, but he kind of picks at it, then wanders off to play.

 

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Oh yeah, and something tells me that a couple people we know are going to be keeping a closer eye on that field across the street!!

Can you believe it took me a LONG time to even realize that that’s where people might be dropping off animals? DUH. And yeah, I glance out across the street at that field at least a couple of times a day since I figured it out. I’d go walk through the field, but the grass is pretty high, and I don’t want to stumble across any snakes.

 

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OUCH!! Get rid of the Crocs. They’re obviously unsafe and hideously ugly too. If you wear shoes that completely cover your feet and toes and have a tread on the bottom, you’ll be a lot healthier and happier. Trust me, you’ll get used to proper shoes after a while.

Look, you Croc haters, they’re comfortable! And I only use them when I’m running out of the house to go over to the garage or out to my car to get something. I don’t wear them in public because they’re pretty dirty and beaten-up. I HAVE other shoes that I wear in public (though in the house, at home, I go barefoot. How else am I to properly step in piles of cold cat vomit??), I swear I do.

This is really all Coltrane’s fault, if you must know. I was going out to set up a cage in the garage to keep him in overnight, so I put on those Crocs without thinking about the fact that it had rained earlier in the day.

 

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It sure does seem like folks in your area like to drop kitties off at your house. This one is a beauty, isn’t he?

I think we’ve likely become known as the cat people around here. Fred’s told just about everyone he’s come into contact with that we have cats, we foster cats, and we lurrrrve cats. I’m wondering how many cats (and/or dogs) have been dropped off in our yard or near our house that wandered off before we knew they were there.

 

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Val asked:

I have a question for tomorrow. I suck at grammar, and I’m back in schoool at middle age.

So where does the ” go when you quote a word at the end of a sentence – before or after the end punctation?

“quoted word.” or “quoted word”. I can never remember!

And got the following answers (thank god, because hell if I know!):

It depends on what version of English you write in, Val. In British English, they write it like “this”. In American English, we write it like “this.”

and

But not question marks or semi-colons.
Commas and periods are inside the quotes, question marks and semi-colons outside. American English anyway.

and

That depends on the kind of quoting, though:

Did she just call him a “worthless jerk”?
She said, “Isn’t he a worthless jerk?”

I have frequently seen things like this (in major US publications, not just random people’s usage or British English sources):

What then are we to think of “the And3rson Effect?”
Scientists call it “the And3rson Effect;” no one is quite sure why it happens.

I disagree with the first sentence (I think it should be Effect”?) and agree with the second, but they both seem to have mainstream support.

 

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How is Fred liking his job now that he’s settled in?

Um. He’s in the process of leaving that job for another job, actually. 🙂

 

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The only thing I have ever used coconut oil for is suntanning. Back in the days, when I was young and stupid and thought that having the deepeset, darkest tan possible was the most important thing in my life. I lifeguarded my way through college and one of my friends and I heard that coconut oil was the best thing to use to get a really great tan. So we finally found some at a health food store and slathered our selves with it every day that summer. I don’t know if I was any tanner but I’m sure I upped my chances of getting skin cancer…

Dude. I’m the whitest of the white, and I put BABY OIL on my skin and sat out in the sun. I fried my legs so bad I couldn’t walk for two days!

 

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If I ever catch my son in a compromising position with a lady friend, I am going to ask him, “Does she have a mole?” and when he replies, “No, it’s just a freckle,” I am going to laugh and laugh and laugh until they take me away.

HEE!

 

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Even though in a philosophical sense poop is much grosser than pee….. I would so much rather pick up a few poop nuggets off the floor than deal with the lingering cat-piss smell. (Diarhrrea on the other hand, is a totally different story. ah, the joys of a cat with IBD!)

I’ve tried a ton of different cat-piss cleaners/smell removers, and the only one I have found to really work in the long term (preventing cats from going back to pee in that same spot even months after I can’t smell anything) is the aptly named Anti-Icky-Poo.

Come to think of it…. it might have been right here on this website that I first heard about it! If so – THANKS!

I agree, cat pee is the WORST. And what’s even worse than regular cat pee is unneutered male cat SPRAY. Coltrane has been spraying the side door (maybe he’s going to have the smelly spray forever since he was a couple of years old, or maybe the hormones haven’t worked out of his system, I don’t know), so I get to spray the door down and clean it off every day. It’s just noxious.

I seem to remember hearing about Anti-Icky-Poo, but I’ve never tried it.

It’s time for y’all to chime in – what does everyone else use? (Unless, of course, you’re one of those people who never has to worry about cat pee. Can I come live with you? Please?)

 

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“blotting wet pee with dry rage since 1999”

AIN’T THAT THE TRUTH.

 

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Robyn, do you have a Trader Joe’s near you? They have a lovely Lemon Verbena soap that doesn’t dry out my skin at all, and it smells fantastic. (My skin is pretty picky about soap, too.) If you don’t have a Trader Joe’s nearby, send me your address and I’ll send a bar from my stash. 🙂

There’s a Trader Joe’s in Nashville – I think this is an excellent reason to drag Fred up there to visit it finally!

 

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‘Nother question: apart from the sad litter of 4 (who look almost premature in that photo) how many have you bottle fed?

Maddy was our first bottle baby, back in 2006, and then we didn’t have any bottle babies again ’til the four who died last Summer. After that, we had the Wonkas. The Wonkas were no sooner weaned than we got the Cookies. Then somewhere in there was Ike, the kitten another Challenger’s House foster mother rescued from the Emergency Animal Hospital in Huntsville. Also the little black kitten and black and white kitten that I “babysat” a few times and then had for a few days. I didn’t count them, because they went to another foster mother, I only had them for a few days. Then came the Bookworms, who weren’t bottle fed for very long – in fact, they were lapping formula out of a bowl only a few days after we got them, if I recall correctly.

So I haven’t had a huge number of bottle babies, but enough so that I have some idea of what I’m doing. I really like them when they’re little bottle babies, because they’re so sweet, but they also stress me out a LOT. I was afraid for the first few weeks that I had Maddy, that she was going to die at any moment. Luckily, she was too evil to die. 🙂

 

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And I know that Jake and Elwood mysteriously appeared not long after the loss of Mister B (not a skimmer, me) but they could sort of be fosters, couldn’t they? Or did you know from day one they would be permanent.

I knew within a couple of hours that we were going to keep them, but it took a few days for Fred to agree with me. The original thought was that we were going to foster them, but they never entered “the system”, so I don’t really consider them to have been fosters.

What blows me away is that I wrote down their weight when we first got them and I came across the piece of paper yesterday – they were the size the Rescuees are now! I can’t even remember them ever being that small!

 

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You are going on vacation?? Just you to Maine? Or are you & Fred finally going to FL. And if so, who is taking care of Crooked Acres.

Just me, to Maine. Fred’ll be taking care of everything while I’m gone, of course. I don’t know that we’ll ever be able to go on a proper vacation again – I think we’d have to hire someone to come stay here and take care of the animals while we were gone.

 

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How did the potato growing experiment go? I can’t remember if it was last year or the year before that where you were going to grow potatoes in kind of a raised bed upon bed thing. Did it work?

It didn’t go well – I think the compost Fred put down was still decomposing, and the potatoes didn’t care for it. They grew some, but ended up rotting. I thought about trying it again this year, but somehow despite the fact that I started longing for summer in January, the whole garden thing took me by surprise, and I didn’t get anything set up for potatoes. Maybe next year!

 

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And … don’t you have another permanent resident cat to create a link for?

It’s on my list! 🙂

 

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What’s the average length of time each litter stays with you (approximate, you don’t have to go calculate it out precisely)? Because I’ve been reading since somewhere between Sugarbutt and Maddy, but there’s a BUTTLOAD of cats I don’t recognize – I wonder if some of them were one-night-wonders or something.

Without actually going and looking, I would guess that litters average 3 weeks to a month with us. The shortest litter (though I don’t remember which one) was with us for less than 24 hours. Actually, there may have been two litters who were only with us overnight.

Okay, I think I’m going to have to get back to you on that. Now I’m curious and I’ll have to check!

 

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How in the world do you come up with all those names!?

Usually we try to come up with a theme and start coming up with a list of names that go with that theme, then check them against the list of names that have already been used by the shelter. We’ll often hit a snag when we have a list of names that will work and haven’t been used, and then find that one of the names has been used in the past. For instance, we started out naming Stinkerbelle’s litter after characters from Gilligan’s Island (Maryann, Gilligan), but “Ginger” had been used, which is why we named her “Tina Louise.” If we come up with a name that has been used, we’ll add a surname to distinguish it (thus “Eddie Dean” in the Ka-Tet litter).

I still can’t believe that the Steel Magnolias names hadn’t already been used and we were able to use them.

I have a folder in Gmail entitled “Kitten names”, and when someone suggests a name or a theme, I file the email in there. Then if we get a litter and are having a hard time coming up with names, I look through those.

I always think that SURELY one day we’re going to run out of names, but so far it hasn’t happened!

 

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I’m curious as to how the cats who go out react to the chickens and to the pigs (and George and Gracie too). Have the chickens ever had to prove themselves to the kitties?

Maxi, Newt, and Coltrane don’t really go near the back forty, though if they venture too close to the fence, George and Gracie will bark at them. They don’t bark at them in a “GO AWAY I WILL KILL YOU” way, they bow to them and wag their tails and bark in a “Come play with me!” way, but since the cats don’t speak dog, they rarely cross the ditch.

George and Gracie will occasionally catch sight of one of the cats in our back yard (usually Tommy) and bark at them – there’s about 80 feet between the back of our back yard and the beginning of the back forty – but the cats in the back yard don’t really pay attention to the dogs at all.

Maxi and Newt pretty much ignore the chickens – they’re used to them – but on the rare occasion we get a chicken in the back yard, the cats go all wide-eyed and flat. I think Jake or Elwood followed one of them around the back yard a few months ago, interested but not QUITE willing to attack.

 

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Can’t you just see in her eyes that she’s a little troublemaker? But OH so squeezable!


::THLURRRP::


“Who, me? Makin’ trouble? NAH!”


Into everything, this one! She’s all “What’s in HERE?!”
(Please note the green bean on the right side of the picture. The Bookworms LOVE green beans fresh from the garden, and they steal them right out of the bucket to play with.)


Elwood’s all “Nope! No room in the basket! No room for a little kitten! Sorry! Move along!”


Lieu, on the arm of the chair, sits and watches Sheila, who has climbed onto the box of pictures on the top shelf, and is batting at the charger cord for Fred’s phone.


They adore hanging out in this box. Why do I spend so much money on beds and toys, again?


Corbett and Bolitar, flanking Crazy Jake.

 

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Spanky’s the biggest ‘niphead in the house. If there’s a toy filled with ‘nip, he’s there licking it.

 

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Previously
2009: “What up, bitch?” he said, his 73 eyeballs glittering at me.
2008: I know, I’m lame. But you’ve gotta have priorities!
2007: Three times in the course of an hour, the same conversation, word-for-word, I swear it.
2006: No entry.
2005: I’d say this country is going to hell, but that handbasket sailed a loooooong time ago.
2004: Yes. Robyn DID recently learn how to do popup windows. Why do you ask?
2003: Do I LOOK like an outside kinda gal?
2002: Which is when I realized that I’d actually dreamed the conversation and hug and kiss.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

6/24/10 – Thursday

by @ Thursday, June 24th, 2010. Filed under Crooked Acres, Fostering, Life

Sights from around Crooked Acres.


Quintessential Crooked Acres.


Jeez. How long have these pictures been sitting on my hard drive? The pigs are way bigger than that now!


You guys have any idea what this is? It smells fantastic.


Happy pups.


Nothin’ angrier than a broody hen.


The eggs under one of the hens hatched, so we moved her to the maternity coop. I carried the chicks in a basket.


“Is this our new home?”
“I guess so, sonny.”


“I suppose this is okay. Plenty of room for me and all the kids…”


“Huh. Ceiling’s a little low. But it’s cozy. It’ll do. My neighbor’s kind of a bitch, though.”


“YOU BETTER KEEP THOSE KIDS QUIET OVER THERE. I KEEP MY KIDS QUIET, YOU DO THE SAME WITH YOURS, YOU HEAR ME?!”


Momma and babies, strolling around the yard.


We have mice around the big coop. Or I guess I should say, we HAD mice. Fred put out humane traps to catch them. Then when the mice were caught, he relocated them to the other side of the back forty. They don’t seem to be making their way back to the coop, oddly enough.


I know they’re awful disease-carrying vermin, but they certainly are cute.

 

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What, if anything, do you guys want to see pictures of? Other than kittens, of course. I’m likely going to make Thursdays “Sights from around Crooked Acres” day here at Bitchypoo, at least for the summer, so tell me what you want to see. I’m not guaranteeing I’ll take a picture of what you want to see, but I’ll certainly consider just about anything within reason.

 

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Sheila drives me crazy and makes me laugh because she is SUCH a little wild thing. I eat at my desk, and she’s always all up in my face, “Whatcha got, huh, can I have some, well, I’ll just TAKE some, you don’t mind do you, I knew you wouldn’t NOM NOM NOM.” I spray the compressed air at her, and she goes flat and her ears go out to either side, but the instant I put the air down she’s all back up in my face again. Yesterday she peered around the can of compressed air at my plate of food, and I almost choked on my lunch because she was so cute. Such a little character, she is.


“Uhmmmm. Hanging off the carrier. Why? What are YOU doing?”


I can’t get over what a gorgeous little guy Lieu is.


Lieu, getting an eyeful of Sheila.

 

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Bolitar (who we are calling “Buster” and sometimes “Buster Brown” constantly these days)


Corbett (AKA “Bad Boy”, even though he really isn’t)

 

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Newt on the left, Coltrane on the right.

 

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Previously
2009: I don’t mind telling you that I’m ready to burn the goddamn house down.
2008: No entry.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: For the record, that’s the sort of thing that gives me a fucking stroke.
2004: Oh, Rayford Steele, you manly stud.
2003: Now, do I look like the kind of gal who enjoys hiking?
2002: Some people have wild sex dreams. I dream that I’m chatting with my husband and kissing him goodbye for the day. Somebody stop me!
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

6/23/10 – Wednesday (kittehs!)

by @ Wednesday, June 23rd, 2010. Filed under Fostering, Life

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.

 

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

 

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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.

6/22/10 – Tuesday

by @ Tuesday, June 22nd, 2010. Filed under Fostering, Life

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.

 

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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!

 

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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.

 

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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!

 

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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?

 

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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?

6/21/10 – Monday

by @ Monday, June 21st, 2010. Filed under Fostering, Life

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.

Molly is a sweet and affectionate teenage cat. She is a trusting former stray who brought her three babies to our doorstep a couple of weeks ago. She loves to be petted, brushed, and held. She would make a good pet for someone who wants a cat who is still young but past the wild kitten stage. We have had her spayed and checked out by a vet.

We like her very much, but we need to find her a new home. Our cats and she started off on the wrong foot. Though young and inexperienced, she was a devoted and caring babymama to her kindle, and her maternal hormones and instincts to protect her babies made her and our merely curious cats instant enemies.

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.

 

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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.

 

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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!

 

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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.

 

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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.

 

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

 

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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.

6/18/10 – Friday

by @ Friday, June 18th, 2010. Filed under Life

Here’s a word of wisdom from me to you: when it’s been intermittently raining all day and you need to take a large armload of stuff out to the garage, a trip that requires a journey down some wet steps?

It’s best not to wear Crocs on your feet.

I slipped and skidded down the side steps last evening – my foot flew out from under me and I fell so fast I had no time to think “Really, are you kidding me? I’m FALLING?!”, and the next thing I knew I was laying on the steps surrounded by everything I’d had in my arms the moment before.

I’m okay, I’m just really stiff and sore. I wrenched my shoulder, and banged the hell out of my elbow. It hurts like hell to bend my left arm, so sitting and typing an entry is out of the question.

I’ll be back on Monday, but here’s a question you can ponder ’til then:


Who’s THAT?!

6/17/10 – Thursday

by @ Thursday, June 17th, 2010. Filed under Fostering, Life

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?

 

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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.

 

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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?

 

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


Bolitar says “Okay, then. ::CHOMP::”

 

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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!

 

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

 

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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.

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