6/28/10 – Monday

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. … Continue reading “6/28/10 – Monday”

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?”




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.