While I completely understand your desire for us to keep Beulah and while I was leaning in that direction for a little while, I’ve decided that we’re not going to keep her. Really, Theresa said it best in my comments yesterday when she said
There is a point where one has just has too many cats. If you foster, there is always going to be another cute kitten who will win your heart. I know this viewpoint is not a popular one with your readership, but I vote to adopt out Beulah. She is adorable and someone will want her for sure.
Hopefully, no one thinks I am a troll or contrary. I simply think ten cats is plenty for one household and a cutie pie like Beulah has a high chance of being adopted by a good home
I honestly think we hit the “too many” cats limit about two cats ago – not only are 10 cats a lot of cats to stuff into one household (though it’s a little less crowded during the summer when Maxi and Newt spend most nights outside), it also gives me less time to give our cats one-on-one attention. I try to check in with each cat at some point during the day
(I’m imagining Sugarbutt in a suit and tie, passing me in the hallway. “How ya doin’, Suggie?” “Great, Lady, thanks. I’ll get the TPS Report to you by noon.” “Let me know if you have any problems.” “Will do.”)
and give each of them one-on-one attention. But there are some days when Stinkerbelle doesn’t get her morning ear-scritches or Joe Bob doesn’t get to whine his creepy high-pitched whine at me, and I don’t realize it ’til I’m getting into bed, and it makes me feel guilty. I just honestly don’t want to add another permanent resident to Crooked Acres.
That said, I do love the hell out of Miss Beulah, and I’m glad that she’ll be here for at least a little while longer (would you believe she STILL hasn’t hit two pounds yet?). It will be hard to let her go, but I always know that my babies will go to good homes. The adoption counselors for the shelter are really good at their job, god bless ’em. I don’t doubt she’ll be adopted out quickly to a loving family.
It’s okay to be disappointed that y’all won’t get to see her grow up – that’s the hardest part of this fostering thing – and it’s okay to not believe me when I say we’re not keeping her. Just don’t be all shocked and surprised when I announce that she’s about to go to the pet store, okay?
(And Theresa, there was nothing remotely troll-like in your comment, worry not!)
Of course, if any of y’all are seriously interested in adopting her, let me know and I’ll give you the shelter manager’s name and number.
Probably I’ve mentioned in the past that I have a bad habit of eating lunch (well, and breakfast and dinner too, for that matter) in front of the computer. Generally I sit and read blogs while I’m eating (I know, you’re not supposed to read while you eat. WHATEV.), and it’s been fine. I’ve actually never had a problem with any of the cats trying to eat off my plate (though if I’m eating something Spanky thinks he might like a bite of, he sits and gives me the pathetic “I am starving, Lady, why you hate me?” look.)
But since last week when I brought Ezra and Elijah home for the weekend, the two of them and their sisters have all been all up in my face every time I sit down in front of the computer. They are FASCINATED watching me mouse around and click on things (both the girls have been known to “chatter” at my monitor when they see anything moving around on the screen) and trying to eat in front of the computer? Forget it. They are SUPER interested in anything I might think about eating.
In self-defense, I had to do the unthinkable.
I had to start eating at the dining room table.
I KNOW! The horror!
So far, it’s working really well. I sit at the table with my plate of food and a can of compressed air by my hand, and when one of their little heads pops up, as if they’re thinking of climbing up onto the table to see what I’m doing, I send a blast of air in their direction, and they run off.
I had hoped that once Ezra and Elijah went off to the pet store and I was down to just the girls again I could eat in peace in front of the computer, but when I sat down with my lunch yesterday, Beulah was all “Howyadoin’? Whatchagot? Might I dip my paw in that plate of food and see if I’d like some of it too, please? “No,” you say? Well howzabout I just do it anyway!”
I fled to the table to eat my lunch, and I guess that’ll be my default place to eat for now.
Brats.
The last time I made Chicken Pot Pie, I had leftover pot pie “filling” that wouldn’t fit in the pie dish. I put it in a plastic container and froze it. The other day I took it out and looked to see just how much filling there was, and decided that it wouldn’t make an entire pot pie, but that I could make a couple of small individual-size pot pies with what I had. The only problem was that I didn’t really have anything to make individual-size pot pies in.
Yesterday, after I dropped Ezra and Elijah off at the pet store, I swung by Old Time Pottery in Madison. That store has got just about every kind of kitchen dish you could want, so I figured they’d have something I could use. I picked up a couple of different kinds of baking dishes, but then put them back after I found small white casserole-like dishes – much like these – for $1.49 each. I grabbed four.
I picked up a few more things, and then went to check out.
As the cashier rang up my purchases, she picked up the dishes, and said “Going to make some souffles?”
“No,” I said. “I’m going to make some individual-serving casseroles.”
And she gave me the oddest look, like that was the weirdest thing she’d heard all day. As soon as I left the store, I wished like hell I’d asked her what the look was for, because now it’s bugging me. Is using souffle-type dishes for individual casseroles THAT strange an idea?
Stinkerbelle has picked up the nickname “Dinky Doo” lately. Don’t look at me like that, I don’t know. It just kind of rolls off the tongue, y’know?
Previously
2008: Here’s a hint: Mister Boogers? Not the man.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: Oh, it’s FUN to be a girl, ain’t it?
2004: Am I not stylin’?
2003: Like I repeatedly said to him yesterday, “I’m GLAD you’re ENJOYING my pain!”
2002: Momma don’t do food-related or cleaning-related stuff on Mother’s Day!
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.