Robyn – Page 112 – Bitchypoo

4-8-08

Detectives Thomas J. Cullen and Stanley J. Boogerton, on a rare day off from their grueling job as Crooked Acres’ premiere detective squad (they recently solved the infamous “Who done killed that cave cricket, ate it, and barfed it upon The Momma’s bed?” case resulting in the arrest and banishment of one Sugar J. Buttocks), … Continue reading “4-8-08”

Detective Cullen, however, spots something out of place in the grass. His detective senses go on alert and tell him that something here is terribly wrong.

Concerned, he moves in for a closer look.

After sniffing around for a few minutes on his own, he realizes that this job is more than one detective can handle alone, and he calls in the reinforcements.

Detective Boogerton, the grizzled, cranky veteran detective who has seen it all, is disgruntled that his day off has been interrupted.

As he sees the bright yellow evidence, however, he is stunned into silence.

As Detective Cullen keeps a wary eye out for the culprit, Detective Boogerton examines the evidence and has but one question.

“Who would do such a heinous thing? Who would play with a yellow tennis ball and then ABANDON it where kitties are wont to spend their time in peace and quiet? Who, I ask you, Cullen? WHO?”

No answer seems forthcoming from the evidence, and Cullen and Boogerton stand in disbelief, staring around as if perhaps the culprit will make himself known, the book can be thrown at the evil genius who has pulled off this crime, arrests can be made, and the feline population of Crooked Acres (a number widely believed to be between seven and nine) can go back to purring in the sun.

They do not, however, spot the evil culprit, for he thought ahead and is camouflaged in a way that seasoned detectives do not expect.

As Boogerton keeps a sharp eye peeled, Cullen begins nosing around for more evidence. They have a spotless record, have never failed yet to solve a case, and are determined that this will be no exception.

Suddenly, as Boogerton keeps his eyes peeled for the dastardly feline who would commit such a crime, Cullen begins to feel faint. He reaches out for the cat who has become, over the years, not only his partner in detection, but his best friend.

Cullen whispers “Boogie, I think I’ve been poisoned! There must have been cyanide on that ball! My lips are going numb! Save yourself!”

Boogerton, who loves The Tom with all the love he has (please note there is not much love in Boogerton’s heart. It’s mostly filled with hetred) is nonetheless a realist, and when he understands that Cullen is on his way to the big cat bed in the sky, instead of staying and providing a few last moments of comfort, sprints off to the other side of the yard so as to escape the – as he puts it in his tiny little brain – “cooties.”

A moment later, Cullen belches loudly and realizes that what he’d thought was cyanide poisoning was in actuality gas. He stares after Boogerton, who is trying to climb the fence and escape the yard, and knows that the cat he’d considered his best friend and life partner is, in actuality, no better than, as he whispers it sadly to himself, “a dang chicken.”

“Them’s fightin’ words, son. I say, I say, them’s fightin’ words!”

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Previously
2007: No entry.
2006: FYI.
2005: Meme.
2004: Lime green would work.
2003: I called Fred at one point and said “Maybe it’s SARS!”
2002: Well, you can just bite my coconut-scented, soft, smooth, butt.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

4-7-08

On Saturday, my nephew won an award (I won’t say exactly what it was to forestall you STALKERS) and I am SO proud of him. Also, I’d like to know how the holy hell he got old enough to get an award like that, since this was him just yesterday: Yesterday or 11 years ago, … Continue reading “4-7-08”

Yesterday or 11 years ago, same difference.

Congratulations, Brian! You make your old Auntie Rah-Bah proud!

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It’s been five years since we humiliated ourselves on national television!

Seems like just yesterday.

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I tell you what, Friday was a total shithole of a day. It was ugly and gray and just kind of blah out, and I would like to see some sunshine at SOME POINT IN MY LIFE IF THAT’S A POSSIBILITY, and I knew I had ten thousand errands to run, so I got out of bed a little after 6:00, already feeling like I was running behind.

I did all my usual morning stuff – litter boxes, kitten snack, clean up the kitchen, make the bed, shower and dress, posted an entry – and was just checking my email before I walked out the door to get my errand-running under way when Fred called.

“The [local charitable organization] will be there between 10 and 2!” he announced.

We’d needed to find a new home for the old couches as well as a bunch of other stuff (a 27″ TV, a TV stand, a chair, some baskets – stuff that couldn’t easily be given away on the giveaway page) and Fred had joined the local Freecycle group the night before and tried to send out a message. But the Freecycle group is moderated and we waited and waited and waited, and when it had been more than 12 hours and the message hadn’t gone through, we shrugged and decided “Fuck it” and that we’d see if a local charity could come get everything.

I hadn’t expected they’d be able to come so soon, though, which threw a wrench into my shopping plans. Also, I’d wanted to go get a few groceries to make a cake I’d found in Cooking Light magazine, but I couldn’t leave because it was after 9:00 when Fred called to tell me they would be here between 10 and 2, and I didn’t want to run the risk of being gone when they showed up.

And also, I couldn’t – didn’t want to – bake the cake after they left, because the casserole we were having for dinner had to cook for three hours, so I couldn’t make the cake until after 5, and by that point in the day I don’t like to bake.

Yes, they’re lame excuses but you know what? SHUT UP.

So I went from a dreading-the-shopping mood to a OH-GREAT-NOW-I-CAN’T-GO-SHOPPING-AS-I’D-PLANNED-THE-MAN-IS-ALWAYS-HOLDING-ME-BACK mood, and after I hung up the phone (Fred: “Are you in a bad mood now?” Me: “NO. SHUT UP. I HATE YOU.”) I slammed around the house and tried to decide what to do, and what I decided to do was spend some time with the foster kittens (yes, kittenS, more on that in a later section) and HG rubbed up against me and purred and rolled around on his back and told me he loved me and butted his head against mine, and that put me in a better mood. At least until I left the guest bedroom, when I was immediately back in my bad mood.

I did some cleaning, which did not involve vacuuming up the furball dust bunnies floating around the house (I love Spring; I hate the Spring shedding of the winter coat because with 9 cats that adds up to a lot of goddamn fur) and sat in front of my computer surfing the web and sat and glared out at the ugly, rainy day. Finally, I decided I needed to go out and check on the little chickens and check to see if there were any eggs waiting to be gathered in the chicken coop and I needed to take the compost bucket out to the compost heap, so I put on my boots (I finally got my new ones from LL Bean. They’re comfortable but tight around my calves THANKS FOR MAKING ME FEEL FAT, LL BEAN.) and my rain coat and headed out to the compost heap.

The pigs had been in their shelter, but they heard me sloshing across the ditch so came running out to see if I was bringing them food. I had a white chocolate candy bar for them – rumor has it they really like chocolate – so after I dumped the compost, I took the candy bar to them. The little one was a big fan of the white chocolate, he ran around in circles with melted white chocolate drooling from his mouth as he begged for more. The big one was kind of “Eh” on the white chocolate front.

I went from the pig yard to the garage, where the little chickens are still being kept in the brooder, and I stood and talked to them, and they walked around and looked curiously up at me. I’ll have to get another movie of them – they’re no longer scared by “Hellooooooo, little chickies!”, just curious. I left the garage and headed for the chicken yard and realized I didn’t have anything for the chickens. I almost always bring them a cup of cracked corn, but this time around I’d forgotten. Fred keeps chicken scratch in his workshop though, so I went in there to grab a cupful.

I looked carefully into the bag of scratch before I put my hand in there, because there are mice living in Fred’s workshop and they like to eat the scratch and I didn’t particularly want one of them climbing up my arm because I didn’t have the energy to dance around screaming. There were no mice, so I dipped the glass jar he keeps out there into the bag, filled it halfway with scratch and headed for the door.

I took one step out the workshop door, and the next thing I knew, I was half-laying on the ground.

“What the fuck?” I asked the chickens, who were standing and staring hopefully at me. There was a patch of mud right outside the door I hadn’t noticed – washed there by the rain – and I’d stepped directly into it and hadn’t even had time to think “Are you fucking kidding me, I’m FALLING?!” the way I usually do on the way down. Just, ZOOP!, down I went. Into the mud. And I hurt my knee and pulled a little muscle in my back and got mud all over everything I was wearing.

“Jesus goddamn motherfucking christ on a jumped up motherfucking sidebar I do not believe this fucking SHIT!” I informed Frick as I tossed chicken scratch into the chicken yard. I had actually managed to hold the jar of chicken scratch aloft as I fell, and I’m sure that when I’m an 80 year-old woman hobbling around with a bad back, I will greatly appreciate the unbroken jar, of which we have ten thousand or so.

Frick gave me a sympathetic look and then was all “Oh, food!” and ran off to peck at the ground with her sisters and McLovin.

I checked for eggs, then went inside, threw everything I was wearing into the washer, and put on clean clothes.

I talked to Fred briefly (and when I told him I’d fallen, he LAUGHED and THEN asked if I was okay, because he’s a bastard. It matters not that I would have done the same damn thing, he’s still a bastard.) and decided to put dinner in the oven so it could cook, and then it would be done by 2:00, and I could go get the ingredients for my cake and bake it, and we could just warm up the casserole for dinner and we would have yummy, yummy cake.

The guys from the local charity showed up a few minutes after 1:00. They loaded the small stuff first, and then when they lifted the first couch to carry it out the door, Joe Bob – who had inexplicably decided that it was time to take a nap up inside the couch – FLEW out of the bottom of the couch and somehow levitated across the room, bounced off one wall, bounced off another wall, and flew down the hallway, without ever once touching the floor.

“He seemed a little scared,” commented one of the men.

“Yeah, he’s not fond of people,” I said.

They got the couches loaded onto the truck with no issues, handed me a receipt, and left.

I called Fred to tell him they’d come and gone and Fred said “Have you done a cat count?” and so I spent the next ten minutes walking around the house and locating cats. I couldn’t find Miss Stank anywhere, and I started to worry that she’d been up inside one of the couches and when she’s really scared she tends to freeze, and I walked around the house and said to Fred “I don’t really want to pull out the big gun, but I will!” and Fred knew that “The big gun” equals bellowing “WHO READY FOR A SNACKIN’?” and if I bellowed that, I was going to have to come through with snackin’ time and I didn’t want to mess with that in the middle of the day.

I turned to go down the hallway to go upstairs and check under Fred’s bed for the third time, and Miss Stank was sauntering down the hallway from wherever she’d been hiding. She turned and glared her “FUCK YOU” glare at me, and went along her way.

All the cats having been located, I grabbed my purse and headed out to the grocery store for the cake ingredients I needed, which were as follows: chunky applesauce, almonds, light whipped cream.

I drove to the grocery store and I got my almonds. And I got my whipped cream. But do you suppose – DO YOU SUPPOSE – they’d have chunky applesauce? Would they, huh? OF COURSE NOT. So I put my goddamn almonds back and I put my goddamn whipped cream back and I said in a conversational voice “Why would they ever fucking have what I ever fucking need at this fucking piece of shit store?” (relax – there was no one around), and I left.

It was lunch time and I was hungry and all I wanted on this entire earth was a grilled chicken sandwich from Burger King, and so I did NOT go to the Burger King that’s always busy because if I have to wait longer than two or three minutes in a fast food drive-thru, I will start thinking to myself “Why should I pay this money for a crappy grilled chicken sandwich when I can go home and have a salad and grilled cheese sandwich?”, and I will pull out of line and I will drive home and eat a salad and grilled cheese sandwich and I will wish that I’d had that crappy grilled chicken sandwich. I drove, instead, to the Burger King that is always less busy, and I pulled up in the drive-thru and then I realized that there were at least 15 cars in line, and I said “OH FUCK YOU” and I pulled out of the parking lot and drove home.

I called Fred on the way home and I said “I am done with this goddamn shitty rainy piece of shit day. I AM THROUGH WITH IT. I AM FILING FOR DIVORCE FROM IT,” and I told Fred about my day and he told me about his day and then I said “Oh, and Crackhead Bob was walking by when the guys were loading up the couches, and he could barely take his eyes off of them, all loading couches on the truck, so I am SURE that in the time that I’ve been gone he’s broken into the house, killed all the cats, eaten all the cheese I’m going to make my grilled cheese sandwich out of, peed on my bed, and if I’m LUCKY he stole that big goddamn monstrosity of a TV while he was at it.”

I hung up and went home and I did not make the cake and I DO NOT CARE that it probably could have been made with regular applesauce, THAT IS NOT THE POINT. And I spent some time with the foster kittens, and I snuggled with Sugarbutt and I read some, and cleaned some, and I don’t remember what the hell else I did, but I’m sure it pissed me off.

After dinner (which was not, in fact, the casserole I’d made, but was instead a sub Fred brought home – someone at work gave it to him – and it was pretty good) we settled down to watch TV, and I threw all the pillows off the couch we don’t usually use and I laid down on the couch and covered up with some blankets, and Fred put Sweeney Todd in the DVD player.

“Did you see his hand twitch?” Fred said at some point, and I shifted around and tried to pretend like I hadn’t been sleeping.

“Um, no,” I said. A few minutes later I looked at the clock and realized I’d been dozing for at least half an hour. “I think I might have dozed off for a minute,” I said. “Who’s in the box?”

Fred wasn’t fooled, and he gave me a hard time about falling asleep, but I just really wasn’t that into the movie. I apparently am not a fan of Stephen Sondheim’s music, although there were one or two songs I kind of liked.

We stayed up a little later than usual, played with the foster kittens, and then Robyn And3rson’s terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day came to an end.

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I had Big Planz for Saturday, but it was dismal and crappy and rainy out, so after Fred and I moved the hell out of some very heavy furniture – more about that later in the week, when I have pictures to share – I spent a lot of time with the foster kittens, read some, cleaned some (very little cleaning, though), and we sat down in front of the TV mid-afternoon and whiled away the afternoon watching things we’d recorded.

Sunday morning I got up, got my morning stuff done, went and got groceries, and then was thwarted in doing what I’d planned to spend the rest of the day doing, because I didn’t have a crucial piece of equipment (more on that later in the week, too), so I cleaned the house. I finally got all those damn cat hair dust bunnies vacuumed up – and when I was done with that, I was walking down the hall to put the vacuum cleaner away, and there were already two new huge tufts of cat hair in the hallway. Bastards.

I puttered around the house for the remainder of the day, and when the sun FINALLY showed up, Fred did a little dance of happiness, and we took a turn around the back forty (after stopping to feed the pigs some chocolate) to celebrate.

I love weekends, but this one certainly could have started off a lot better – or maybe the weekend was so nice BECAUSE it started off so crappily?

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So, about a week and a half ago, right after we’d gotten Smudgie and HG, I got an email from the shelter manager. One of her other foster parents had two semi-feral cats in her house, they’d been there for a while, had been spayed and had all their shots, but she wasn’t having any luck taming them. The shelter manager asked if I wanted to give it a try. I said yes, and talked to the woman who had them, and we decided that she’d capture the kittens (who were about 6 months old) and bring them over when she could. That was last Saturday, and she wasn’t able to get her hands on them (she said they’d follow her from room to room, but if she tried to touch them, they’d run away) and said she’d keep trying and would let me know when she had them.

Meanwhile, Smudgie went to the pet store on Tuesday (she was adopted on Saturday, by the way) and HG was by himself and he was getting marginally friendlier, just a tiny bit more each day. This past Thursday, the woman called and said she’d gotten one of the kittens, and was it okay if she brought it over? I said yes, of course, and she showed up with this little black and white kitten and we put the carrier in the room with HG (who was very curious and like “Oh, did you bring me a friend?!” – he really likes other cats a lot) and opened the carrier and just left them alone.

Ten or fifteen minutes after the woman left, I went upstairs and the kitten – whose name is Splash – had come out of the carrier and moved into a padded pyramid, burrowed under the cushion on the bottom, and wanted me to leave her alone, which she communicated by looking at me in terror if I lifted the cushion to look at her.

I was worried that HG would take on her unfriendly manner, so I moved him into the guest bedroom Thursday evening, and mid-day Friday, he broke and gave up his scaredy-cat ways. He’s turned into a total lovebug – a little wary at first, then once you pet him once or twice he paces back and forth and demands to be petted and “talks” and flops against my leg and kneads and lets me pick him up.

When I went into the foster kitten room (where Splash was) Friday morning, she was hiding behind the closet door. I touched her on the head once or twice, and she stared at me and shook. I put a little plate of soft cat food on the floor and left her alone. I went back later in the morning, and she had moved to hide in the litter box. I’ll let the scared kitties do just about anything they want to do except hide in the litter box. There are plenty of other places to hide, so I lifted her out, and she ran under the dresser and hid there. I spent a couple of hours in the foster kitten room talking to her, looking at her, and reading aloud to her so she’d get used to the sound of my voice. The entire time, she stayed under the dresser. Later that day she was hiding in the litter box again, so again I took her out. I tried holding her and she allowed it, but she shook the entire time.

Pretty much since Friday afternoon, she’s been hiding under the dresser. I finally put a cat bed under there for her, because I didn’t like the idea of her lying on the cold floor. After ignoring it for a day, she climbed in, so maybe that’s progress. I know she’s been out of the bed, because she used the litter box and finally ate some of the soft food I left for her (there’s dry food available all the time) and at one point I heard the sound of a cat toy jingling. Any time I go in there, though, she’s under the dresser.

HG continued being perfectly friendly toward me (a little less friendly toward Fred, but I suspect that’s because Fred hasn’t spent as much time with him) and mid-day Saturday I thought that maybe if I put him back in the foster kitten room with Splash, he’d kind of lead by example. I did that, and she continues to hide under the dresser. I got her to eat a kitty treat, and she hissed at me, which I consider a step forward, because at least she’s not just sitting there looking terrified.

At this point, all I can do is spend lots of time in there and try to get her used to being around me and hope she comes around.

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The mighty hunter Sugs hunts down a place to nap.

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Previously
2007: No entry.
2006: You WISH you were me.
2005: Off to Gatlinburg.
2004: Our palates are too immature, I suppose.
2003: Now I know why, when the camera and sound guy were setting up and I chirped “Oh, is this the camera that’s going to make me look like Ashley Judd?”, everyone laughed so hard.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Then he and the spud went swimming yesterday, since the pool’s up to a sultry 66.

4-4-08

A few years ago, when we needed new couches, we got these big, cheap brown couches that have recliners in each end. (flickr) We had issues with something breaking under one of the recliners and had a guy out a few times to fix it, and I think we even had one of the couches … Continue reading “4-4-08”

A few years ago, when we needed new couches, we got these big, cheap brown couches that have recliners in each end.

(flickr)

We had issues with something breaking under one of the recliners and had a guy out a few times to fix it, and I think we even had one of the couches replaced at one point. A few months ago, I noticed that my end of the couch was getting to be pretty uncomfortable, and I started talking about buying new couches in the next few years and Fred would cover his ears and chant that he couldn’t hear me, because HIS end of the couch was perfectly comfortable.

Tuesday, Fred called.

“My Dad called and asked if we want their old couches,” he said. “I told him no, but then I thought I’d check with you.”

Fred’s parents, unlike us, buy good quality furniture when they buy it, and although I couldn’t remember what the couches looked like (I remembered them being blue), I knew we wanted them. Anything would be better than the instrument of torture I was currently spending my evenings perched upon.

So Wednesday, Fred’s father and stepmother came over and delivered the couches to us.

(flickr)

They’re old couches, but they are SO MUCH BETTER than the ones we had. When you sit down, you’re not sitting on saggy old springs, but springs that have a lot of life left in them. I do miss the reclining function of the old couches, but I’m going shopping later today and I’m going to be looking for a couple of ottomans, which should solve that problem.

I actually think the new (old) couches look a lot better in the front room than the ones we had. Two thumbs up to the new (old) couches and parents who buy quality furniture!

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After a year of living in this house, I finally have a shelf in the computer room upon which I can put all the little things that make me smile. I wanted to just buy a shelf at L0we’s, but Fred decided he could make me one a lot nicer than we could buy, so we bought a piece of wood and some brackets.

When the shelf was done, it turned out that the brackets were too big for it. What is a homeowner who doesn’t want to make yet another trip to L0we’s to do?

Make his own brackets, of course! Which turned out way nicer than the store-bought brackets.

And now my shelf is in place and I love it.

(flickr)

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Have you seen this? Cat adopts chicks.

Yeah, I’ve seen it. It’s about the cutest damn thing on earth!

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Does anyone know how to get a cat to stop spraying in the house? Toby was a stray, but has been part of the family for over four years with two cats who were here before him. When Toby first came in the house he sprayed sometimes and I put him back outside. I never hit him, I just picked him up, told him NO!, put him out on the porch, and closed the door. He stopped spraying in the house. Now, years later, he has started again.

Nothing has changed in the house. No new animals, no new furniture, no new boyfriend — nothing! If anything, the other cats get along better with Toby; I’ve seen Mischa walk up to Toby and rub his head under Toby’s chin so Toby will lick his ears and head.

The vet checked him out and he’s healthy.

Has anyone used Feliway for spraying? Did it help? Petco didn’t have it, and I haven’t gotten around to ordering it on line. Any other suggestions would be greatly appreciated.

and

The Feliway hasn’t worked too well for us. We took in an adult male, who apparently had not been fixed early enough, so he wants to spray to mark his territory. Feliway was supposed to help with that, but it didn’t make much difference. I used it for about a month and then quit. While the little shit does not spray as much as he used to now, he still does it when we are not looking. Why, oh why, do I always have to take in any stray that comes along????

and

Apparently the Feliway Diffuser works or you wouldn’t be getting a refill. Is that the reason why you never write anything about any of your cats spraying? I have six cats and have had to isolate a couple of them for a while to calm them down because of spraying. I have hear of Felway before but hesitate to buy it because it’s expensive and if it doesn’t work. But I want us to be one big happy family so I’m willing to buy it on your good recommendation!

I’ve actually never had a problem with a cat spraying, but I can’t really credit the Feliway because we have a diffuser upstairs and downstairs, but they’d both been dry for about six months now. I got the refill because I thought it might help chill out the kittens.

When I use the Feliway, it might make our cats a little calmer, or I might just be seeing the behavior I want to. It’s never been a matter of the cats being assholes, plugging in the Feliway, and the cats turning into little angels. If there’s a difference in their behavior, it’s more subtle rather than really obvious.

So I consider it worth a try, but I can’t guarantee it’ll make a difference for anyone else!

Readers, your experiences with Feliway? And suggestions on stopping a cat from spraying?

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I forgot about this…a few months ago, we bought the 20th annual “Bathroom Reader”. I have only read the first 20 pages or so, but it is very entertaining! I picked it up for 10$ at Sam’s Club.

I was clearing off the bookcase where Fred keeps his books that he hasn’t read yet, and came across one of the Bathroom Readers. They’re interesting books, even if you’re not the sort of person to read in the bathroom!

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I’m so glad you ended with what windows you had open, since until then, I thought you were talking about windows in your home and while I also love open windows (I’m sitting next to one right now!), it seemed a bit…odd to me that you and your sister would have to jump up from the computer and go open windows at random.

My sister is spazzy enough that it wouldn’t surprise me to find that she often jumps up from the computer and runs to open a window. HEE.

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I got to thinking about all the tomato plants you have and was giggling about the mountain of tomatoes you will be buried under, when I realized that I just put in 36 watermelon seedlings and if I get one watermelon off of each vine I will have approximately 1440 pounds of watermelon. I’m not laughing anymore. Want to set up a trade?

Oh, I suspect the pigs and the chickens would be MORE than happy to take some watermelons off your hands!

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In other comments, I am glad to see that most of us are “normal” and do read on the potty. Not normal would,um, be that woman that was in the news a few weeks ago.

Is it wrong that I read the story about that woman and thought “That must have been a REALLY good book!”?

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Does anyone have a local or in-depth story, like with pictures and all the “gory details,” of the woman who was stuck to the toilet for two years? My mother has formulated the idea that the woman was OBVIOUSLY massively obese (like, “needs a flatbed truck and a Becker sling to leave the house” obese) because there’s “no other way” that could have happened. I haven’t seen or read anything to indicate that the woman’s weight was in any way a contributing factor, just that she stayed put for so long and.. well.. yeah. Anyway, I want to make her shut up about “OMG just think about how HUGE she must have been!!” but I don’t want to be wrong. Anyone?

As far as I can see, they appear to be keeping her anonymous and there don’t seem to be any pictures available of her. Readers?

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My husband has been finding marbles in our front and back yards for the last twenty years, whenever he turns over the earth to plant something.

DUDE. Seriously, what’s up with the marbles? We find them every once in a while in places you wouldn’t expect. I mean, it seems kind of normal when we find them in the chicken yard, because the chickens are always digging stuff up (especially pieces of glass), but they’re all over the damn place. I can explain the golf balls – the children of the previous owner liked to hit balls into the back forty – but the marbles, I just don’t get.

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I posted this site on Fred’s blog on where to buy humanely produced eggs and meat in their own neck of the woods….

Readers, you wanted to know where you could get humanely produced eggs and meat? There you go!

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A question for Friday: My friend has a cat that loves to eat cantaloupe. In fact she and her husband prepare a separate dish for the cat every time they have some. She wants to know if any of your cats have a similar passion.

I once had a cat that ate grapes but only after he played with them for a while.

and

Hey Mary Ellen, we had a cat long ago who not only loved cantaloupe, but loved corn and *peeled* lima beans. The kids would always leave one row of kernels on their corn cob for her. In the summer, she’d even drag home corncobs out of the next door neighbor’s trash. Current furball loves yogurt–will climb up on you and get in your face when you’re eating it. All our other cats could not care less about people food.

and

My cat goes nuts for peanut butter sandwiches… We can’t eat one without him going bonkers – we usually give him a taste of PB just because it’s funny. He also loves cooked beans – I guess they taste meaty???

and

We had a kitty that went ape shit over bologna and Popeye’s chicken – the spicier the better. He also loved chips, especially Doritos. For any one of those, but especially the chicken, he’d literally try to take it out of your mouth as you were taking a bite. He’d get soaked with water for a bite also. Unreal.

Sugarbutt always dives face-first into the dry oatmeal container when Fred’s making his breakfast in the morning, and he likes to share Fred’s cottage cheese, AND he enjoys the occasional egg yolk. Tubby once ate a piece of broccoli. Other than that, I’ve got nothin’. None of our cats appear to care for fruit, but I’ll have to start testing them to make sure one of them isn’t quietly pining for a raisin or a strawberry!

Readers, what weird things do your cats like to eat?

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I have this mental quirk where I always feel like you can’t have everything. For example, if you have a loving husband and healthy kids but issues with money; then you win the lottery or you get an inheritance and you don’t have issues with money anymore, then possibly something will happen to your marriage or your kids health or your health? Weird, I know and probably pretty stupid too. I just know that when things are going good in my life, which they are most of the time, I always have this sense of gloom and doom, like I’m waiting for the shoe to drop!

Yeah, if things go along too well, I expect something to happen to kind of balance it out. I’m glad I’m not the only freak out there!

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I love that you are sharing your open tabs! How neat is that. I saw that Sideswipe blade in Real Simple this month and I think I have to have it. Do you (or any of your readers) know of anyone with one and if it is really all its cracked up to be? I just made the bigtime and finally got the fancy schmancy Kitchenaid from Santa and do not like how you cannot stick the spatula in there at all lest it get ripped from your hand. I had a nice Sunbeam one and I think I still like it better in some regards, but it wasn’t heavy duty enough to do 2 batches of cookie dough, which the Kitchenaid scoffs at and stirs it like the pro that it should.

Actually, the entire reason I was looking at the Sideswipe blade is ’cause I saw it in Real Simple and tore out the page to check it out online. I love the hell out of that magazine!

Has anyone out there tried it? I think I want one, but I don’t want to spend the money without knowing that it’s worth it!

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Are you now reading Baby Proof? Thoughts? Is it going to piss me off when the wife finally relents and has a baby to please her husband/ex? This situation mirrors my life closely, except that so far my husband hasn’t given any ultimatum. I never ever ever want kids. Never have.

Warning: Possible Baby Proof spoilers in this section. Don’t read this if you plan to read the book. I finished Baby Proof last week (MAN I need to update my reading list!) and while the end was left kind of open-ended, yeah – she was willing to have a kid, in the end, to be with him (though to be fair, he was willing to give up the idea of having a kid to be with her, too). There’s a part near the end where someone tells Claudia to have a baby to get Ben back, and when she says that’s an insurmountable issue, he says well, then, I guess y’all aren’t soul mates, are you? and she buys into the idea that true love conquers all and after a stupidly OBVIOUS plot twist to keep them apart a little longer and make her very sad, they get back together, but whether or not they’ll have a kid (or try for one) isn’t really resolved.

It’ll probably make you cringe and get pissed off; it annoyed me more than a little, but I have to say that I think Emily Giffin’s books are getting better and better. The first one I mostly liked, the second one I liked more (I like to think that Emily Giffin wrote Something Blue to see if she could make a character who was very unlikable in Something Borrowed become likable) and Baby Proof, despite the too-obvious plot twist toward the end, is the best of the three, I think.

Heads up: she’s got a new one coming out in May!

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HG is coming along, very very slowly. Last night when Fred and I were hanging out with him, he actually lowered his head for a pet, and it’s the first time he’s done THAT, so that’s an improvement. And then he stood and let me pet him for a long time. But, best part, I had him kind of cornered at one point and I started rubbing his ears and back, and finally FINALLY he purred for me.

One day he will sit in my lap, I promise you.

“YEOW! I feel GOOD!”

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“Ah hets Spring and ah hets pollen. Ah hets grass and ah daffodils. Ah hets sun and ah hets rain. But what ah really hets more than anythin’ are porky black kitties, TOMMY, who jump on me and bite mah neck and run away before ah can kick their porky little butt.”

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Previously
2007: 002. Do you have a pet? Six cats. Six. NOT EIGHT.
2006: “Brrrrrrrrrrp!” Mister Boogers said with great displeasure.
2005: E’gar comes home.
2004: No entry.
2003: “Hi. What R U doing to loose weight and how much weight have U lost?”
2002: Burned fucking beans.
2001: No entry.
2000: Diane Sawyer is so uncomfortable around kids, it’s laughable.

4/3/08

So, in cleaning my room the other day, I found my old journals from high school and beyond. I decided I’d read through them one last time and then burn them, because believe me, there’s nothing in there that needs to be left to posterity. Last night I was reading the last one, the one … Continue reading “4/3/08”

Last night I was reading the last one, the one that ended sometime in 1994, and there’s a lot of crap in there, but there were a few decent bits of writing that interested, at least, me. Since I have nothing else to babble about, here’s a blast from the past for y’all.

July 25, 1994.
Not much going on here. I finished the latest John Grisham book, which probably should have been shortened by about 200 pages. But I liked the ending. It, basically, was about this lawyer’s last-ditch efforts to save a man on Death Row, who by the way was his grandfather. It’s funny: I consider myself to be an intense liberal, but when it comes to the Death Penalty, I’m all for it. I think Charles Manson should die, as well as his flunkies who performed the murders, and I think Jeffrey Dahmer should die, and basically anyone who, with malice aforethought (if that’s the term) killed someone. In fact, I think people who are legally insane should still be sentenced to death, because what are we going to do? Medicate them and send them out on the streets to stop taking their medication and go psycho again? If I were Jeffrey Dahmer, I’d want to die. In fact, I’d kill myself.

If I were ever sentenced to life in prison (and this is harmless speculation, because I’d never do anything to get myself that kind of sentence, unless it was kill Linda Gray [I do not know why I wanted Linda Gray dead.]), I would, one way or the other, kill myself. I can’t believe people can even make it through a couple of years, let alone decades, in prison. I’m given to introspection, but even I don’t want to know myself that well.

I finished reading Dave Barry’s latest book. The guy cracks me up, although I don’t think his books are the kind you should concentrate on reading all at one time, because the utter silliness of some of his stuff tends to overwhelm you. It’s the kind of book you should leave next to your bed and read one chapter at night, to make you laugh before you drift off to sleep. The thing that kills me, though, is that he’s as good at writing serious stuff as funny.

One of the last columns in the book dealt with the time his son was hit by a car, and how from the time your child is born, you’re overwhelmed with love for him or her. And it’s true. Sometimes when I look at Danielle – and she’s only five – I think, who are you? Where did you learn this and this? I’m your mother, and I’m supposed to know you, but there are times, kid, when you take me so much by surprise that it scares me. I don’t ever want to make Dani feel worthless. I don’t ever want to make her feel like her sense of worth in my eyes is tied to her appearance or how she performs. I want her to feel unconditional love from me, always. I want her never to feel less-than.

July 27, 1994.
I just finished reading Shot in the Heart by Mikal Gilmore [Gary Gilmore’s brother; you may remember the book/ movie about Gary Gilmore, The Executioner’s Song], which I bought because I read an excerpt in Rolling Stone, and a couple of really good reviews. When I finished The Chamber, I was still staunchly in favor of the death penalty. Now I’m not so sure. I’m the same age Mikal Gilmore was when they executed his brother Gary, and I just can’t imagine it. His book touched me in a way very few books ever have, and by the time I finished reading it, I was in tears. I’m even tearing up just thinking about it. It’s so sad.

Mikal seems to hold so much guilt over the whole thing, like the responsibility lies in his lap. I hate it that even though he couldn’t have stopped what happened, he still suffers for it every day. He believes ghosts haunt his bloodline, and that the Gilmore bloodline stops, and that’s how it should be. I wonder if everything he does and feels will always be overshadowed by the fact that Gary Gilmore is his brother. He said that people wrote to him and walked up to him and told him he should have been killed along with Gary. Forget about the sins of the fathers… what about the sins of the brothers?

According to Mikal, Gary felt there were several points in his life when his headlong rush toward self-destruction could have been stopped if only someone had tried a little harder to help him. But could anyone really have stopped him? What if he’d been loved, been adored, been cherished the way Mikal was by his father? And the most horrible aspect about the whole thing, I found out at the end of the book is, Gary ended up earning his father’s enmity for someone else’s sin. How many future Gary Gilmores are being formed right now, under our noses?

Sometimes I feel like I have not suffered enough in my life. I’ve been in the hospital several times for several different reasons, but overall, I feel as though my life has been strikingly lucky. I have siblings and parents who are all still alive. Nothing horrible has happened to them, the only grandparent I’ve shared some semblance of closeness with is still alive, and my nephews, niece, and child all live with no life-threats. I worried when [my brother’s first ex-wife] became pregnant again, my thinking being that with every grandchild brought into the family, the chances of something horrible happening to one of them increases.

I sometimes get this sense of foreboding. Like, because my life has had no real suffering, it’s still in the future. When I hear about children dying of Leukemia, I feel almost a sense of recognition. I have almost a knowledge that Danielle will be stricken with Leukemia, and it scares the shit out of me. Every time she starts to look pale and gets sick I think, this is it. This is the time they run a hundred tests and tell me she’s got it. This is when I start to lose her. But the truth is, I’m already losing her. She’s growing up and away with every breath, and I wonder if I’m numbing myself against the pain of losing her to the world by worrying about her death by a disease taking her life. Something I heard on TV a few weeks ago hit a chord with me:

“It sounds like you covet the struggle.”

Do I? Am I wishing for a struggle to come along and strengthen my weaknesses? God, that sounds horrible.

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I want to climb into my wayback machine and pat myself on the head and tell me to shut UP, Robyn, GOD.

I find my complete lack of understanding about mental illness kind of funny. Like I thought that Jeffrey Dahmer was totally normal, with just this weird urge to kill and eat men, and if I were just – like – sitting at my desk one day and I was overpowered with the urge to kill and eat people, I’d just kill myself instead. God! So simple! Like, duh! Kill ’em all! Load up Death Row and charge up Ol’ Sparky and let’s get the bad guys gone!

Good lord.

I don’t remember a whole lot about Shot in the Heart, but reading my journal entry about it makes me want to re-read it. That whole thing about Gary Gilmore feeling like his rush toward self-destruction could have been stopped if someone had tried harder pisses me off. What a goddamn useless load of guilt to lay on someone else. I have no fucking patience for people who blame everyone around them for everything that goes wrong and take no responsibility at all for the shitty road their life has gone down.

I might just have personal issues with whiny little bitches who can’t bother to shoulder the responsibility for their own actions, though.

I don’t, for the record, covet the struggle anymore. I don’t think I really ever did. I do still have that sense of foreboding, though. It’s a low buzz in the back of my brain; I’m waiting for the second shoe to drop, and I suspect that I believe at some level if I expect the shoe to drop, it never really will.

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HG’s improving little by little. He actually let Fred pick him up a couple of times last night and hold him before jumping down and running off. He hadn’t done that before (unless you forcibly grabbed him and picked him up, and even then he just went still and frozen in terror), so that’s a step. When we went up to visit at bedtime, I picked him up for a minute and he didn’t fight me. He hasn’t purred for us yet, but hopefully that’s not too far away.

This morning when I took his morning snack in to him I sat down with him, and he let me pet him. He wasn’t crazy about it, but he put up with it.

I wasn’t able to spend much time with him yesterday because I had an appointment and then ran errands and then the refrigerator repairman showed up and then Fred’s parents were here and then we went out to dinner and then it was TV time. Today, I’ve got plenty of time, so I’m going to go up and hang out with him a lot and maybe he’ll warm up to me and flop over and let me rub his belly and promise to be my BFF for always.

A girl can dream, no?

CHOMP.

Such a sweet boy.

Poser.

~~Foxfire~~ Firefox tabs open: 9.

Gmail, Google Reader (those two are always open), Bitchypoo WordPress edit page, Sideswipe Mixer Blade, this picture of Newt, Chickens in the Road, Facebook Scrabulous, Sparklit poll results from 2002, Hulu.

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Newt has a slurrrp.

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Previously
2007: At least the floors are clean.
2006: Fred was no help, because he was standing there laughing his ass off.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: Nothing, by the way, pisses me off more than the crap that gets installed with the program you really want – Office 2000, I’m looking at you and your crappy Outlook friend.
2002: Mother Nature is getting ON MY NERVES.
2001: No entry.
2000: So if rainy days and Mondays always got me down, I guess I’d have been suicidal today.

4/2/08

I’m glad to know that I’m not the only freak who worries, upon spotting money laying on the street, that when I pick it up a Dateline NBC crew will spring out from behind the bushes and Chris Hansen will tell me to take a seat and have a cookie. Dateline would never set up … Continue reading “4/2/08”

Dateline would never set up a trap for mere pennies or nickels or EVEN quarters, though. And I also doubt that they’d just leave money lying there. No, what Dateline would do is send a doddering old lady out to dodder up the street, spilling money all over the place and then film what people did when it happened. Chris Hansen would be all “You saw her drop that twenty, but you picked it up and kept on going!” and the thief would be all “I didn’t know where it came from! I just saw it sitting there!” and Chris Hansen would be all “You SAW it fall out of her pocket! Does she or does she not look like a woman on a fixed income who can barely afford to feed herself, let alone easily lose twenty dollars? She might have to eat CAT FOOD to make it through the month because she lost that money!”, and then we’d find out that the doddering old lady is actually a teenager who looks particularly old for her age.

Years and years and years ago – I was living in Rhode Island and the spud was a baby – I was down to two dollars in cash, it was a week ’til payday, and I just HAD to have a bottle of Coke, because of course you’ve got to have priorities, don’t you? I went to the nearest convenience store and grabbed my bottle of Coke, and I was standing in line to pay, and the old man standing in front of me was shedding dollar bills all over the place and I could SORELY have used a little extra cash and no one else seemed to be noticing what was going on and I’ll admit, I hesitated for a moment, but then I came to my senses (and also, I suspected I had a hidden camera pointed at me) and I said “Sir, you’re dropping money all over the place!” and he thanked me and I helped him pick up the money he dropped, and he went along his way.

These days I doubt I’d even hesitate before I told him he was dropping money, but these days I’m very rarely down to my last two dollars with a week ’til payday.

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Last night Fred and I were laying in bed talking, and we heard the sound of a cat meowing.

“Is that Miz Poo?” Fred said.

“No, it’s coming from outside,” I said, and got out of bed. “That’s that cat I’ve been telling you about!”

Some nights when I’m lying in bed reading or trying to go to sleep, I can hear a cat outside my bedroom window meowing. I never get up and see what’s going on when I hear the meowing, because Fred sets the alarm before he goes to bed and I don’t know the code and I’m usually too lazy to dig for the remote. Also, it sounds like a cat talking just to hear himself talk rather than one in distress.

So I got out of bed and went to see if I could see the cat. It wasn’t Maxi or Newt because they were inside for the night. When I went onto the front porch, I could hear it off to the side of the house meowing. I called and called and it would meow back, but wouldn’t come close. All I could see were little white paws. Fred saw a gray tabby with white feet the other night, so I’m assuming it was the same cat.

When I looked at the food bowl on the front porch I saw that it was empty, so perhaps this was the cat’s way of letting me know. I filled up the food bowl and opened the front door to go inside.

Tommy was right inside the door, and before I could grab him, he went shooting by me. I yelled “STOP!”, shut the door, and went after him. He went off the porch to the left, and I went into the yard to grab him, then he disappeared. Luckily, Fred came out a moment later and could see where he was. Naturally, as soon as I went after him, he squirted by me and headed off to the yard on the other side of the house. With Fred and I both in hot pursuit, Tommy ran across the side lawn of our next door neighbors, headed for the road. I had visions of him running out into traffic, so I pulled out the big guns.

“Who ready for the snackin’!” I called in a loud whisper. “Who ready for the snackin’!”

I try not to do the snackin’ time call unless it’s really snackin’ time, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Tommy paused and looked thoughtfully at me, then headed back in my general direction. Fred went inside to grab a flashlight, and I tried the snackin’ time call again.

I cannot imagine what our neighbors would have thought if they’d heard us and glanced out their window. I was standing there in my red Big Dogs nightie, blue Crocs on my feet, bellowing (quietly) about snackin’.

Fred came out with the flashlight, I yelled about it being snackin’ time a few more times, and Tommy ran over to the bush outside my bedroom window and touched noses with Newt, who’d run outside when Fred came out. Tommy ran toward the yard next door, but this time Fred caught him and picked him up, handed the flashlight to me, and we went back inside.

And I never did get a good look at the cat who’d been meowing.

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Smudgie has gone to the pet store. I set up the guest bedroom and put her in there yesterday morning and left HG in the foster kitten room. I left them alone for a couple of hours and then went to check on them. HG was like “Oh, it’s you. Whatever. DON’T TOUCH ME. Okay, maybe a little. Now let me nibble on your finger. Now go away. BYE.” Smudgie, on the other hand, ran over to me, meowing, purred, rubbed up on me, climbed up in my lap, and was just a big love slut. Since there was room at the pet store, I took her last night, because I don’t think they necessarily need to be adopted together. I think his reliance on Smudgie is keeping HG shy and skittish and if he gets lonely I’ll let Tommy or Newt in to keep him company (or Mister Boogers can go in and act like an ass – HG doesn’t seem particular about which cat he follows around and flirts with).

When I put Smudgie in her cage at the pet store, she sniffed around and went right into the litter box to hide, as the shyer ones always do – but in no time flat people were looking at her and exclaiming over how beautiful she is. She’ll be fine.

Last night there were small inroads with HG. He let Fred pet him several times and didn’t run away at the very idea. This morning, he greeted me with a meow when I came in with his morning snack and to clean out his litter box. He didn’t want me to pet him, but he also didn’t run and hide from me when I walked by, either.

Baby steps.

She’s not sleeping. She’s considering the best way to kill that mouse.

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I found this picture of Tommy from last summer. He’s such a sweet boy.

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

Previously
2007: When one mows the lawn on a windy day when it hasn’t rained in a long time, one gets a lot of dust on one’s face.
2006: No entry.
2005: I am not pregnant, and I’m especially not pregnant with twins. I’m sorry to disappoint – some of you got REALLY excited, didn’t you?
2004: I can totally see the Bean clinging frantically to the top of the Jeep while I cluelessly drive around.
2003: But you’d better believe that if I had a penis, it’d be a big swingin’ one.
2002: “Walmart eating ass” will be the name of my seventh novel, in case you were curious.
2001: No entry.
2000: Well, I’ve got magazines to read, and naps to take.

4/1/08

New month, new logo! This was created by reader Christine and it includes allllll the cats who are currently permanent residents of Crooked Acres. DAMN I’ve got too many cats. Thanks, Christine!!!! (Note: You might need to clear your cache (in Firefox it’s Tools – Clear Private Data – make sure “cache” is checked – … Continue reading “4/1/08”

New month, new logo! This was created by reader Christine and it includes allllll the cats who are currently permanent residents of Crooked Acres.

DAMN I’ve got too many cats.

Thanks, Christine!!!!

(Note: You might need to clear your cache (in Firefox it’s Tools – Clear Private Data – make sure “cache” is checked – hit “clear private data” button) to see the logo at the top.)

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Happy April 1st, fools!

No April Fool’s Day jokes from me. I still don’t think I can top the year I claimed to be pregnant with twins and pissed off a bunch of people.

Good times.

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I went to the pet store yesterday for my usual Monday morning stint, and after I was done there, I had about an hour to kill before the pet store was opening – I needed to buy a refill for my Feliway diffuser – so I went over to Target to poke around. It was about 8:10, so I knew Target was open, but as I went to go inside, the automatic door didn’t open, so I just stood there like, Duh. What now?

Tip for my fellow dumbasses: The automatic doors can be PUSHED OPEN.

A woman walking out with her husband saw my long hesitation before I pushed the door open laughed at my dumb ass, as well she should have.

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As if in payment for making me feel like a dumbass, Target left me a penny in the parking lot. I must be super lucky these days, because it seems like every where I’ve gone over the past three or four days, there’s been a penny waiting for me to pick it up. Hell, Fred found two pennies in the chicken yard yesterday. I don’t know what the deal is with the people who used to own our house and land, but we’ve probably found $2 worth of pennies laying around in the dirt in various places since we moved in here.

Fred never used to stop and pick up change on the street until I gave him a hard time about it. I don’t believe one can refer to oneself as “frugal” (as he likes to do) and then ignore found money.

Not that I think we’re going to get rich from the pennies we find on the street, but it kind of seems like a dare, assuming there’s a god, to say “Oh, I’m not going to pick that up. It’s just a PENNY.” Like god will say, “Oh, not interested in that penny? Howsabout I take ALL your pennies away, interested NOW?”

However, I don’t subscribe to the “only pick it up if it’s heads up!” theory of thought. If it’s a penny (or nickel, dime, quarter) I’ll pick it up, whether it’s heads up or tails up, luck be damned.

How about you – do you pick up coins you find on the street? And what’s the largest amount of money you ever found on the ground? I found a ten dollar bill once when I was a kid. As you can imagine, I was pretty damn excited.

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The other day, Fred and I were going for a walk around the back forty. As we walked by the pig yard, the pigs tracked us from the other side. They clearly know that when a human approaches the pig yard there’s food to be had, so they were hoping we’d stop and give them something good to eat.

I had a Jolly Rancher in my mouth* and I said to Fred, “I wonder what they’d do if I spit my Jolly Rancher over there?”

Fred shrugged. “Try it.”

I leaned close to the fence and spit the candy into the pig yard. In less than three seconds the little pig had located it, scooped it up in his mouth, chomped it to bits, and swallowed it.

Answers THAT question.

*I like Jolly Ranchers, but only the Wild Strawberry flavor. This means that I buy bags of the Jolly Rancher “Wild Berry” mix, pick out the Wild Strawberry ones, and rehome the other ones. Fred’s not as much a Jolly Rancher fan as I am, so the Jolly Ranchers tend to build up. I wish I could buy single flavors in bulk, but apparently you can’t. Hmph.

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I think today’s the day I’m going to split the foster kittens up. She’s gotten a lot friendlier – I plugged in the Feliway diffuser and went away for a couple of hours, and the next time I went into the room, she stood up and chirruped at me and ran over to get some love. He, on the other hand, will come over and lick and bite my fingers, but he’s not crazy about being touched. Maybe splitting them up will encourage them to be friendlier; I’m going to put him in the guest bedroom (after I get the bookcase back in its place and the books on the bookcase) for several days and see how it goes. I’ll spend some extra time with him, too, and maybe he’ll decide I’m not all that bad.

I love the way her tail is all corkscrewed.

Such an intent little face.

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Number of Foxfire tabs (is that better than saying “windows”?) open: 11.

Gmail
Google Reader
Sugarbutt picture
Flickr, Taming Feral Kittens
How to make a non-toxic cleaning kit
Round Butte Seed Growers
Doctor Sweet Tooth on eBay
Zorb Smoky Mountains
World Vets
Bitchypoo wordpress page

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Fred’s got some really good pictures up over at his site. The “Jazz Hooves” picture, especially, makes me laugh my ass off. I think we very well might have to frame that one.

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It’s such a tragedy when a cat overheats and melts right out of the bed. Poor Sugarbutt. He was so young!

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Previously
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: There’s a saying that men make plans and god laughs.
2004: No entry.
2003: Won’t be happening in my lifetime, thanks.
2002: No entry.
2001: I get the weirdest freakin’ referrals to my site.
2000: No entry.

3/31/08

Regarding the bathroom reading: I think what y’all are misunderstanding, you non-bathroom readers, is that I don’t sit in there for HOURS and read. I’m generally in there for less than two minutes (estimated; I don’t time myself, FREAKS) and read a page or two while in there. If whatever I’m reading is compelling enough (ie, NOT The Washingtonienne) I might read to the end of the chapter. Which is why it took so long to finish The Washingtonienne, despite being a relatively quick reader. I’d read a page or two of the book and have no desire to keep on reading.

And now I’m going to shut up about my bathroom habits, because you already know more than you ever wanted to know about that particular subject. YOU’RE WELCOME.

PS: According to Friday’s poll, 69% of Bitchypoo readers (who took the poll) read in the bathroom.

* * * * * * * * * *

While in the bathroom yesterday, BRUSHING MY TEETH, I glanced down at the bottle of lotion sitting next to the sink. On the front was a proud proclamation that the lotion contains Shea and Cocoa Butters.

Shea Butters would be an excellent stripper name.

For that matter, Cocoa Butters would work pretty well, too.

“Annnnnnnd NOW welcome to the back stage, twin sisters Shea and Cocoa Butters!”

* * * * * * * * * *

Stuff White People Like got a book deal. That is for SURE one of the blogger-books I’ll be buying, because that site just cracks me UP.

(Note to myself: Update links page.)

(Reply note from myself to myself: Yeah, I’ll get right on that.)

* * * * * * * * * *

So I had my consultation with the plastic surgeon on Friday. I mentioned, perhaps, once or twice or six thousand times, that I was NOT looking forward to this appointment, didn’t I? Not because I thought the surgeon would be an ass or anything (this surgeon comes highly recommended by other local women who’ve had weight loss surgery – he’s considered the best at what he does AND has a good bedside manner, is what they say) but the idea of standing fatly naked in front of a strange man is never an appealing one.

It went fine, though. Once the surgeon came in and introduced himself, the fact that I was sitting there covered in thin paper garments (and a classy string bikini provided by the nurse!) didn’t really bother me. I figured, this guy’s seen a lot of naked women who want to have their saggy skin removed, I don’t have anything he hasn’t seen before, what the fuck, let it all hang out. Despite the fact that I was standing there mostly naked in front of the surgeon, the nurse, and Fred (who has possibly seen me naked once or twice), I wasn’t self-conscious in the slightest.

The surgeon had the good sense to be good looking, but not so good looking that I was super-aware of it, making me self-conscious. He definitely has a good bedside manner, and spent plenty of time making sure that I understood how each surgery was done and what the possible complications would be.

Almost more important than a doctor’s manner is his support staff, and I have to say that this guy’s got a really good staff. No one seemed rushed or brusque, and the nurse was careful to make sure that I was comfortable and covered at all times despite the fact that I was okay with being mostly uncovered.

I wish like hell I could remember how the surgeon termed it when he was looking at my backside, because both Fred and I translated it in our heads into “You have a nice ass.” Something about how I had good volume or it wasn’t saggy or something. He also said that I have good skin tone on my face, and I didn’t have the signs of aging he’d expect to see in someone my age, like the brackets around my mouth or… something else. Fuck if I remember. In any case, he made it clear enough that I looked youngish for my age that I wanted to ask just how old he thought I was, because I think I totally look mid-40s. Maybe he was just buttering me up.

During the entire exam, I was very, very careful not to look at Fred because I knew that if I did, it would be ALL over, because we’d start snickering like frat boys. He said he started laughing once or twice, but managed to get it under control.

So where we stand now is that I’m waiting to hear back from the surgeon’s office with a quote for the lower body lift (belt lipectomy – some lower body lifts include thigh lifts, but mine won’t; I might be interested in that at a later date, but not at this point) and unless the price is far more than we expect, they’ll submit to the insurance company for partial coverage. It’ll take 4 – 6 weeks to hear back from them, and depending on the surgeon’s operating schedule, I don’t see anything happening until the end of May, beginning of June at least.

There’s a more detailed write-up of the visit to the plastic surgeon over at OneFatBitchypoo, if you’re interested.

* * * * * * * * * *

Boy, this weekend went by fast. I didn’t do a lot on Saturday, just cleaned and straightened the house, put away the 60 pounds of bird seed I ordered online (I like to use no-waste bird seed and I can get it cheaper online, but the box is heavy as hell, so it takes me a few days to summon the energy to lug the bags over to the garage), checked on the chicks, spent time with the foster kittens, and took a short nap.

I talked to my sister Saturday night for an hour or so, and we confessed our ADD tendencies to each other. Neither of us, it appears, can just sit and do one thing at a time while sitting in front of the computer; we both have like 16 windows open, do one thing for a few minutes, switch to something else, switch to yet another thing, and so on. This would probably explain why it takes so long to write an entry, because I can’t just sit and write it, I’ve got to write some, flit off to another window and then another, and then think “What was I doing… oh, right!” and write a little more before the ugly cycle begins anew.

(Right now, I have six windows open. That would make a good ending to each entry, a confession of how many windows I have open, and a link to each page.)

After I got off the phone, Fred and I watched the first hour of The Assassination of Jesse James (a movie I enjoyed more than Fred did – and I reiterate that Casey Affleck has got the flattest, deadest eyes I’ve ever seen), spent time with the foster kittens, and then went to bed. (We finished watching the movie last night. I thought it was interesting; Fred thought it was less so, but he at least watched the whole thing with me, bless his heart.)

We live the high life, we do.

Sunday morning I was up fairly early. I’ve instituted a new rule for myself – I have to scoop the litter boxes, clean up the kitchen, and take a shower before I sit down in front of the computer, because it turns into such a time suck sometimes that I don’t get my ass into the shower until late morning, and I always feel like I’ve wasted half the day away. So I got all my morning stuff done (though I did cheat and check my email, but I did it from a standing position SO IT DOESN’T COUNT), put laundry in, and then made my grocery list and headed off to get groceries.

I was gone about an hour to get groceries (I drive the 15 minutes to Yuppiesville to visit the good grocery store; we’ll be getting our own good grocery store hopefully in the next few months), then I got home, put them away, ate breakfast, did laundry. I puttered around on the computer for a little while longer, then changed into my “work” clothes and headed upstairs with my supplies.

We have two white bookcases that Fred’s father made for him as a birthday gift years ago. I don’t know exactly how old they are, but Fred owned them before I moved down here, so it’s been 12 years or so. They’re painted white and over time the paint has yellowed and there are marks on the bookcases that won’t come off. One of the bookcases is in the garage, so the fact that it’s a little marked up isn’t an issue. The other one is in the guest bedroom, and I decided that it was time to repaint it.

It took me about an hour and a half to repaint it, but it certainly looks much better (sorry, I didn’t think to take pictures).

Once that was done, I went off to run errands – recycling center, returning a couple of movies, the dollar store – then by the time I got home, it was time for lunch.

Lunch, snuggling with foster kittens, checking to see what Fred was doing, looking at the chicks, and the next thing I knew, it was time to make dinner.

Dinner (steak and salad), more foster kitten quality time, a little more time in front of the computer, and then it was time to watch TV.

Next thing I know it’s bed time, and the weekend is over.

Why can’t all weekends be three days long, maybe four? I mean, yeah – every day’s a weekend day for ME, but I sure do like having Fred around. He’s always got something interesting going on and if I get bored I can track him down and let him entertain me.

* * * * * * * * * *

The foster kitties are improving, bit by bit. Smudgie has gotten to the point where she’ll come out and be petted and ask for love every second or third time I go in the room. HG will come over and sniff and lick my hand, but he’s still not up for a good vigorous petting session – in fact, he’s got a one-pet-only policy that I honor because I don’t want to scare him off.

He spends a lot of time watching Smudgie to see her reaction or what she’s going to do. If he doesn’t come around in the next few days, I’m probably going to separate them – put him in the guest bedroom by himself – to see if splitting them up changes their level of friendliness. Obviously if they’re miserable apart or they don’t get friendlier, we’ll reunite them.

I let Tommy in to visit with them Saturday afternoon, and they were very interested in him, followed him around and sniffed at him. They’ve been well socialized with other cats, obviously, because there was no hissing or spitting or fluffing on their part (maybe a couple of small hisses, but that’s it). I’ve never seen foster kittens react so well to new cats.

They’re such sweet little things; I hope they warm up soon.

Note that he’s carefully watching her to see what she’s going to do next!

HG poses prettily.

“Tryin’ to eat here, lady.”

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

Sugarbutt and his dry, scabby nose. (It has since improved and is back to pink perfection!)

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Windows currently open: 6. Gmail, Google Reader, LL Bean, MSN Lifestyle, and a blog I won’t link, because it’s kind of boring (not one of my regular reads, and don’t worry – it’s not one of you!).

* * * * * * * * * *

Previously
2007: No entry.
2006: It was so friggin’ cute I made Fred listen to it, too.
2005: I have my finger on the pulse of pop culture, apparently.
2004: A day in the life.
2003: What makes me crazy.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Okay, enough of the wallowing.

3-28-08

Your comments, my answers! so, seeing that the Washingtonienne is rancid marshmallow fluff, how about dishing on some of the books based on blogs that ARE worth reading, if only in the bathroom? The books that come to mind – that I’ve read, that is; I have one or two written-by-bloggers books on my bookcase … Continue reading “3-28-08”

Your comments, my answers!

so, seeing that the Washingtonienne is rancid marshmallow fluff, how about dishing on some of the books based on blogs that ARE worth reading, if only in the bathroom?

The books that come to mind – that I’ve read, that is; I have one or two written-by-bloggers books on my bookcase that I haven’t yet read – that are worth a read are as follows:

Crazy Aunt Purl’s Drunk, Divorced, and Covered in Cat Hair: The True-Life Misadventures of a 30-Something Who Learned to Knit After He Split

The Amazing Adventures of Dietgirl

Bitter is the New Black and Bright Lights, Big Ass

It’s not out yet, but I’m looking forward to Half-Assed.

Tales from the Scale (though I might be just a teeny bit prejudiced about that!)

And of course, what kind of wife would I be if I didn’t mention the very enjoyable From Chunk to Hunk?

I’m sure there are other blogger-written books that I’ve read and enjoyed, and I’ll add them to the list if I think of them; those are the ones that came immediately to mind.

* * * * * * * * * *

I think I have found Miz Poo’s doppleganger

I can’t deny I see the resemblance, but Frankie doesn’t have that frantic, needy love-me-love-me-please-please-please-love-me look that Miz Poo has.

* * * * * * * * * *

Your fosters are adorable. But not as adorable as my new fosters! That’s not fair, though, as mine are only four weeks old and are Persian mixes, so they look like fuzzy tennis balls with legs and funny looking tails. I don’t have pictures yet, but I hope to get some soon.

Did I mention that I almost got me some bottle-fed babies, but I just missed out? Wah!!! I’m getting me some itty-bitty babies this summer at some point, if it kills me! (Also, TEASE. You cannot bring up adorable bitty baby fosters and not provide pictures!)

* * * * * * * * * *

Have you read the Stephenie Meyer series? I love them and now I have to wait until August for the 4th! I couldn’t believe how they sucked me in, it has been a long time since an author could do that.

I have not – but I have Twilight in the queue. Because of its position in the queue, it’ll probably be a couple of months before I get a chance to read it, but I’m looking forward to it!

* * * * * * * * * *

After nearly seven years of kissing frogs (I’m happily divorced), I’ve finally found me a terrific, smart, funny, wonderful guy, and we’re in wuv… TWUE wuv. But there’s a problem (isn’t there *always* a problem?): he’s an avowed dog person. This is not an issue for me, as I quite like dogs. But I also love cats, and I’m finally ready to get another (having lost my beloved kitty Ophelia three years ago).

My honey doesn’t dislike cats, although he strongly prefers dogs. The challenge is, he’s *allergic* to cats. It’s a mild allergy, but an allergy nonetheless.

Making things worse, a coworker of mine has found the most ADORABLE stray kitty (he looks like a Siamese), and she’s trying to talk me into taking him. And I wanna! But the SO and I will probably be cohabiting within the next six months, and I don’t want to adopt a kitty only to turn around and give him to someone else.

Are there any successful treatments for cat allergies that aren’t ridiculously expensive or filled with side effects? Or am I doomed to finally have found love, and never have a pet cat again?

Honestly, I don’t have a clue – I’ve always said that if I developed a sudden allergy to cats, I’d take something for it, but I have no experience with that at all. I’m tossing this one out to the readers – readers, your opinions/ suggestions?

* * * * * * * * * *

I thought I had heard that if a white cat has blue eyes they could probably be deaf. Have you heard anything like that?

I’ve heard that there’s a possibility of deafness in white cats, and after Googling around, I found this:

* 95% of the general cat population is non-white cats (i.e. not pure white) and congenital deafness is extremely rare in non-white cats.
* 5% of the general cat population is white cats (i.e. pure white). 15-40% of these pure white cats have one or two blue-eyes.
* Of those white cats with one or two blue eyes, 60-80% are deaf; 20-40% have normal hearing; 30-40% had one blue eye and were deaf while 60-70% had one blue eye and normal hearing.
* Of the 5% of white cats in the overall population, 60-80% had eyes of other colors (e.g. orange, green). Of those 10- 20% were deaf and 80-90% had normal hearing.
* Deaf white cats with one or two blue eyes account for 0.25 – 1.5 of total cat population
* Total number of cats with white coat and blue eyes account for 0.75 – 2.0% of total cat population

There’s a long explanation that explains deafness in white cats, here, if you’re interested.

In any case, our (mostly) white foster kitty is not deaf; that was one of the first things I checked (out of curiosity), and she can hear quite well.

* * * * * * * * * *

Um ok, so this is a weird and probably stupid question so feel free to ignore it but… Why does one ever need reading material in the bathroom? I’m honestly just asking cause I know people do but I’ve never known why. How long does it possibly take and how can you read and…go at the same time? Or is it for…after? I’m so confused!

Sometimes it takes a minute for things to get going, and that minute is long and boring if there’s no reading material!

I think this calls for a poll, don’t you?

* * * * * * * * * *

What do you think of “The Housewives of New York City”? I think they are so catty! OMG that Ramona just plucks my last nerve!!! I think it is so funny that they call LuAnn “The Countess”. Your thoughts??

I wrote about RHoNYC two weeks ago, here.

Ramona is utterly unlikeable, and she can insist all she wants that her kid is talented and desperate to do commercials and act in movies, but I saw that child’s face when the idea that she might miss some school sank in, and that child WANTS TO BE IN SCHOOL, not out swanning around trying to win her mother’s approval. There’s nothing about Ramona I can stand at ALL.

When Bethenny said about Alex (I don’t remember if it happened during this week’s show or the preview for next week’s) “She’s insecure and she compensates for it by being pretentious”, she absolutely hit the nail on the head. Alex and her creepy husband are completely over-the-top pretentious and that whole “Francois has to sing “Farmer in the Dell” in French every night before bed”, or whatever the hell it was, was just totally eyeroll-ville. Also, girlfriend looks frazzled and if she’s that desperate to claw her way up the social ladder, she needs a haircut.

I like Jill, though like someone I know in real life, if there’s no drama going on in her life, she works very hard to manufacture it. Also, her daughter is a DOLL.

The Countess seems like the most well-adjusted of the bunch, but I think I said before that when you’ve attained the social status you want, you can be a lot less desperate and grasping about it. Whoever it was that was all “I can’t believe she TALKED about her kids having lice!” totally missed the point. That woman’s status is secure enough (and I suspect she doesn’t give much of a shit about social status, ain’t it always the way?) that she could probably talk about something truly nasty and she wouldn’t end up sobbing outside the fashion shows in last year’s Galliano (Galliano still design?) any time soon. Also, the Countess’s daughter is adorable. I wonder if Rosanna, the Count and Countess’s housekeeper/ raiser of their children, will catch any shit when the footage where she expresses her wish that the Countess would bother to hang around and spend some time with her children airs.

I still love poor little overworked Rosanna. I hope she’s well compensated.

Bethenny is too damn desperate to rope that boyfriend of hers into marriage, and she’s freaking him out. Wanting to talk about whether she’s going to move in with him while she’s a bit sloshed and the cameras are breathing down his neck? Good for him for refusing to do so. Also, he looks like Jeff Bezos to me, only a bit better looking. If next week’s previews are anything to go by, it kinda looks like they broke up.

* * * * * * * * * *

So did you see the Jon and Kate Plus 8 show that was all about her plastic surgery? Pretty detailed and interesting…..

I did, actually!

And speaking of Jon and Kate, that bit of the show I was talking about earlier this week that makes me laugh out loud? I made a little movie of it so I can watch it at my computer whenever I want. It’s not very good – it’s just me, filming the TV screen – but you get the general idea of it.

* * * * * * * * * *

I, too, will be watching the FRJ [flab removing journey] avidly – especially the lifting part. I am okay with the size, don’t want bigger, but I wouldn’t mind a lift (like I’ll ever be able to afford plastic surgery! HA!) – except I’ve heard that they apparently… move things around. Certain things. You know. Those. That they take them from one place and reattach them somewhere else, a little bit higher maybe.

and

Hope this is not too much info but I had reduction one one side at the same time I had a mastectomy on the other side. Things do get moved around but end up where they are supposed to be. I do have scars but they are very light and very thin, kind of like a pencil line. Really was not that bad pain wise thanks to the vicodin.

This reminds me of years and years and YEARS ago when Roseanne and her then-husband Tom Arnold were on Phil Donahue, and they were discussing her plastic surgery, specifically her breast reduction (or maybe it was a lift, I don’t remember), and Tom talked about how they cut off her nipples, and Phil said “Yes, so her headlights wouldn’t point at the floor”, which made me laugh and cringe. But yes, I believe they cut around your nipples and move them around (who’s screaming and clutching her chest now, hands up!), but they keep them attached to the nerves and such. Or maybe I’m just making that up to make myself feel better!

* * * * * * * * * *

What, exactly, are you thinking of having done [plastic-surgery-wise]?

I’m considering a tummy tuck or lower-body lift, breast lift, and whatever they can do to get rid of that damn wattle I have. It’s all going to depend on the cost and whether insurance will cover any of the cost.

* * * * * * * * * *

120 tomato plants?!!!!! When my mom had a garden, she’d plant about six, and have tomatoes stacked on the counter and in bags and baskets to take to people at work or give away to anyone who came over. And that was from SIX plants. Y’all are going to have… four, carry the eleven, divide by eight… TWENTY TIMES as many plants! Holy cow!

I swear to god, I thought we had like 100 tomato plants last year, but after asking He Who Knows, I found out that we had 30. So, um, yes. I will be dealing with a damn lot of tomatoes this year! It’s okay with me, because we didn’t get nearly enough tomatoes last year (I didn’t get to make enough tomato sauce or any ketchup at all), so hopefully I’ll have more than I want this year. Whatever we don’t eat or can or freeze can go straight to the pigs or the chickens.

* * * * * * * * * *

Did you read about this? 800 dogs seized from mobile home? Lest you think my finger stuttered, that’s eight H-U-N-D-R-E-D. Dogs. In a mobile home. And they were breeders. (Elderly who might have had a dementia and/or hoarding problem, but breeders.) My stomach lurched when I read that. I would say, “How can people get a license to breed and sell animals without anyone checking up on them,” but hell, I guess if we don’t even keep a sharp eye on the people we’re fostering our nation’s KIDS to…

Honest to god, the fact that you can even fit 800 animals in a mobile home (even a triple wide!) is stunning. I cannot even imagine that.

* * * * * * * * * *

I have a request. I was looking thru the virtual house tour and I was saddened you haven’t done pictures with your furniture in it. I would LOVE to see house pictures from now. Would you consider it? Thanks!

Yeah, I plan to do it. It’s just a matter of getting around to taking the pictures and putting the pages together. Maybe by the time we’ve lived here for two years I’ll get it done!

* * * * * * * * * *

For those of us who don’t have cable, http://youtube.com/user/RIPLeuchtenberg has uploaded lots of full episodes of “How Clean is Your House?” Love that show.

I’m going to have to check that show out so I can look around my own house and say “Hey. This isn’t as bad as THAT ONE! I can totally put off vacuuming for another day!”

* * * * * * * * * *

Is Ohio really that bad? *tears* I wuv Ohio.. and I live in it

Ohio wasn’t so bad in and of itself – it just seemed nonending. I thought we were never ever going to get out of Ohio. And then we got out of Ohio and were in Kentucky forEVER.

Of course, by this time next year I’ll have forgotten the long, long ride (which honestly wasn’t all that bad) and I’ll be all “Road trip, Nance?” and she’ll be all “Um… ‘kay!”

* * * * * * * * * *

I think a manipulation of “shoots out a poo of displeasure” would be a great tagline in one of your logo banners, one of these months.

I’m a little afraid of what the design to back that up might look like. 🙂

* * * * * * * * * *

I have a *huge* thing for orange kitties. Can the orange kittens come to live with me, please? We’re down to 4 old cats and one blind dog Chez Cathovel and must find fresh blood … uh … new babies to cuddle.

The orange kitties went to the pet store last Friday, and as of Monday morning, one of them had been adopted – another one (or both) of them may have been adopted by now, since Tuesday nights are also adoption nights at the pet store.

But as I’ve mentioned before – the foster kittens aren’t mine. They belong to the shelter, so any adoption requests would have to go through the shelter manager. Also, the adoption fee for any cats from the shelter is currently $150 per cat.

* * * * * * * * * *

Ok, what is the Crooked Acres stand on teeth cleaning(s) for the kids of the feline persuasion. My vet has been wanting to do my siamese for a while now, but I’m scared as he’s around 12-14 years old. There is so much conflicting advice out there! Help!

We’ve really only had one cat that needed his teeth cleaned – Spot, a couple of years ago, had his cleaned. They put him under to do it (I don’t know if they do that for all cats or not – I would suspect they probably do) and had to pull one tooth because the decay had gotten so bad. If your vet really wants to do it, you trust your vet, and your cat is in decent shape, I’d say go ahead and do it!

* * * * * * * * * *

Now that you are a professional chick wrangler, you must be in the know about all things chick-ery. Is it typical to lose a certain number of new chicks? Do experienced chicken ranchers, such as yourself, generally order more than they hope to raise, in anticipation of losing some?

Fred’s really more the chick expert than I am. I would hazard a guess that when ordering chicks you can expect there to be some loss, but the kind of loss we’ve had (almost half of what we ordered) is unusual. I don’t think we thought to order extra chicks, but I guess we should have!

* * * * * * * * * *

Are you watching the Biggest Loser, and if you are, could Mark touch and fondle his beard a little bit MORE because I am not nearly creeped out by it enough. I just want to say… Mark, you and your beard go get a room!

It’s been a couple of seasons since we’ve watched Biggest Loser. We lost interest because the thing they do where something happens, they go to commercial, and then when they come back from commercial, they recap the last 30 seconds of what happened before they went to commercial really drives me NUTS. However, your description is making me want to start watching it!

Morbid curiosity here, what do you do with those dead baby chicks… tell me it doesn’t have anything to do with the piggies, right?

No, you’re not supposed to feed pigs meat, but in any case, we wouldn’t feed dead baby chicks to them anyway. The chicks go into the trash can and out with the trash, poor things.

* * * * * * * * * *

POSSIBLE SURVIVOR SPOILERS IN THIS SECTION.

Are you still watching Survivor? Who are you pulling for? Wasn’t it crazy to watch the fans attack each other from within? What a bloodbath.

We are still watching (and enjoying) Survivor. I have to say that I’m still rooting for Ozzy, because I just love him to death. You’d never know by looking at him how gifted he is, physically, but he’s just a little powerhouse, and he plays the mental game, too. LOVE HIM.

* * * * * * * * * *

Have you seen this??!!

I had, but I don’t think I’ve linked it before. That is a seriously cute video, isn’t it?

* * * * * * * * * *

Do you find you’re having any qualms, or feelings of sadness about slaughtering the animals? I ask because – well, I grew up on a farm, so I know how these things go – will it make it more difficult since you’ve bonded with them, named them, discovered personalities, and spent time with them? I think I wonder mostly because you’re new to farming, not long time old folks!

I’m not really feeling qualms, but I’m certainly not looking forward to it, and I expect it to be pretty difficult. It’s probably not any coincidence that I don’t spend any time with the pigs at all – Fred’s the one who feeds them morning and night, and while I look out to see if they’re hanging out in their yard during the day, I don’t go out and talk to them, and you may have noticed that there haven’t been a lot of pictures of them recently. I’m kind of distancing myself from them so that when they’re gone I won’t miss them that much. I worry that it’s going to be really difficult for Fred, but he assures me that he’s got the right mental mindset.

I fully expect that the first time we kill a chicken I’ll be crying like a big damn baby. But I’m not particularly attached to any of the chickens – except Frick – so maybe that will make it a little easier. Did I mention that I’m not looking forward to it, though?

* * * * * * * * * *

Has anyone used a product called Feliway? It is a Feline Behaviour Modification Pheromone Spray & Diffuser. My 14 year old cat was pooping outside the litter box because I think he was constipated. He is no longer constipated but has gotten into the habit of pooping wherever. I took him to the vet, he is fine, so she thinks it is behavioural, that is upset about something. This Feliway stuff apparently is phermones that help to alleviate anxiety. Just wondering if anyone had ever used it and how well did it work or not work?

We’ve used Feliway a few times, and it did seem to calm the cats down a bit – to be honest, I’m not sure whether it really calmed them down, or I just wanted to believe it was working.

Readers, your experiences?

* * * * * * * * * *

Years ago when I first bought baby chicks ,the “chick people” told me that you had to clean their butts while they were little or they could “get clogged up and die” well, my husband actually did spend plenty of time ,making sure all the little chickens had clean ,clog free butts. Do they not say that any more? Have your chicks that died, had clog free butts?

Pasty butt, you mean? I myself avoid looking at the business end of the chickens as much as humanly possible. Fred, however, is all up on what to watch out for, and has been known to wipe a chicken butt or two. I had to help him clip a clump of chicken feces from the behind of a baby chicken a few weeks ago.

None of the chicks who died had pasty butts.

* * * * * * * * * *

Yesterday morning, after I announced that I’d gotten love from Smudge Bunny, I went upstairs into the foster room, and the little brat hissed and ran and hid from me. Apparently, the trick is that you have to pick her up and hold her for a minute, and then the light goes on in her head that “Hey! I like this petting stuff!” and she turns into a love slut. If you just try to coax her over, you won’t have any luck.

HG still isn’t up for the petting, but he’ll chase the toys I toss for him, and he doesn’t hide from me, so that’s an improvement over the first day.

You can see the streak of orange on her tail.

GORGEOUS blue eyes.

The foster kitties over the past couple of years have done some serious damage to this guy.

“Hellew.” (You can see the hourglass shape on his stomach.)

A wee bit high.

HG plays with a straw, while Smudge Bunny looks on disapprovingly.

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

Fred put this cat bed up on top of the bookcase in the kitchen. Joe Bob claimed it as his own, but this morning when I walked into the kitchen, the bed was on the floor, and Joe Bob hasn’t been back up there since – but Stinkerbelle has. Hmmm.

* * * * * * * * * *

Previously
2007: Turns out Maxi had found herself a desiccated frog and was chewing on it.
2006: Whereupon Nick Stokes, Ace Detective and CSI Genius jumps in and says, a dark scowl upon his face, “What is that, some kind of nickname?”
2005: Because there’s nothing worse than having your eyes scooped out with a spork when you’re not quite dead yet, believe you me.
2004: No entry.
2003: Your “shit” discussion is now over. You may move on.
2002: “Momma!” he cried “Momma, I’ll be good! Let me in Momma, let me in!”
2001: “Owowowowowow,” I whined, hand over my eye, and then stomped my foot in frustration.
2000: When I saw it in the theater, the ending so disturbed me that I sobbed all the way home from the movie theater.

3-27-08

It’s been a little over two weeks since we got the new chicks. They’ve zoomed right through their tiny-and-fluffy state into the beginning of their goofy-and-gawky stage. The goofy-and-gawky stage lasts long time, if the last batch is anything to go by. Another chick died last week, another two on Tuesday, and another two … Continue reading “3-27-08”

Another chick died last week, another two on Tuesday, and another two yesterday and the last meat chicken last night. Apparently McMurr@y, the big hatchery, had an issue with a batch of “hot” vaccine at the end of February and beginning of March, so we’re hoping that’s what that was about, and not something we’re doing. The rest of them look fine and perky. I hope the dying is over, because a dying baby chick is a sad thing to see. Out of the 12 meat chickens (white orpingtons) we ordered, we were shorted by 4, one died in shipping, and the rest have died since. Of the chicks who’ve died since we’ve had them, only one was not a white orpington.

One of the Ivanas (ie, white-crested black polish). I love the way the fluff on top of her head is turning into individual feathers.

I think this one is going to grow up to look just like Frick.

Don King, there in the center (ie, golden polish), is also getting individual feathers on top of his head like the Ivanas.

The chicks are getting athletic enough that I’ve told Fred he needs to build a lid for the brooder sooner rather than later, because some of them are getting up on the board that the warming lamps are clipped to, and from there it’ll be a short jump to the side of the brooder, and then the floor. We’ve lost enough chicks now that it would really suck to lose any more by driving into the garage and accidentally running over an escapee.

Fred’s considering ordering more chicks from a different hatchery – possibly the one where we got last year’s batch. We’ll see.

Oh, and there’s a new chick movie. It’s not the best movie, but about 10 seconds in, the Ivanas (puffy white heads) sashay into view and glare angrily around the brooder (perhaps they’re looking for the maitre d’?), one shoots out a poo of displeasure, and they stomp off (or are scared off by me). Also, right at the end the golden polish (puffy brown head) comes into view, fixes the camera with a piercing look and then runs off, hopping over the feeder.

YouTube link

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Yesterday I couldn’t go anywhere (not that I wanted to, really), because I had to wait for the repairman to come and take a look at the refrigerator in the laundry room. (Note to those late to the game: we have a refrigerator in the laundry room; it was the one we had at the other house, and it was too big for the space allotted in the kitchen we have now, so we put it in the laundry room and it has come in very, very handy since the smaller refrigerator we have in the kitchen is way too small for all the crap we need to refrigerate.) After waiting all day, he showed up right at 3:00 (I’d been hoping he’d show up after 3:30, so Fred could deal with him, but no such luck.), took about 10 minutes to inspect, and then told me it was the “damper door”, which needed to be replaced and he’d have to order the part.

So it may be the end of this week or the beginning of next before the refrigerator’s fixed, but I’m not complaining, since it’s been needing to be fixed for at least three months, now.

I am complaining about the fact that I have to deal with the workman again, but eh. I suppose that’s what I get for not having a job, ain’t it?

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The fosters continue to be skittish. I spent a couple of hours in the foster room yesterday and got to the point where HG (the black and white) would come around and skirt around the edges of the room. Smudge Bunny (the white) would sit in the closet (where the litter box is kept) and peer out at me, but if she thought I was headed in her direction, she ducked behind the door and hissed.

Last night, I sent Fred up to hang out with them for about ten minutes so he could have time alone with them – it tends to make new fosters a little bit nervous with both of us in there. When I walked in, HG was hanging out near the food, and Fred grinned and said “It’d probably piss you off to know that he’s been letting me pet him, wouldn’t it?”

Braggart.

Turns out that HG really likes the feather-on-a-stick toy, but not the feather end – the stick end. He likes to chase it around, bat at it, and chew on it. I played with him a little, and was able to pet him once or twice. Fred went out to check on the chicks (which he does every night before bed, along with 300 times during the day), so I kept playing with HG, and eventually Smudge Bunny couldn’t stand it anymore, and had to come out and chase the stick a little. Before I left the room, she sniffed my hand and licked me.

This morning when I went in to take a little soft food to them (we woo them with food, of course. Fastest way to a kitten’s heart is through its stomach), HG came right out and sniffed at the food. Smudge Bunny was hiding behind the closet door, so I went in and when she didn’t hiss at me, I took the chance and picked her up. After a brief pause, she started purring.

I put her down in front of the food and then sat down. She sniffed at the food, looked at me, and then came over and started rubbing against me, purring to beat the band. I stayed in there for about 15 minutes, and the entire time she rubbed and purred and climbed in my lap.

One kitten down, one to go!

“Who, me?”

(pic) You can see the gray smudge on top of her head. That angry, suspicious glare could burn holes in your soul.

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I put one of the cat beds I bought at Big Lots in Pennsylvania on the floor near the door in the computer room. The bed has a pad in it that’s attached at two points. Sugarbutt burrowed under the pad and napped there for an hour or so.

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Previously
2007: I think you can imagine how very fucking thrilled I was.
2006: It’s a little-known fact that the butt is the tenderest and most flavorful part of the cashew.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: I’d have to have a mind before I lost it, wouldn’t I?
2002: Luckily, I’ve perfected the mental art of putting my hands over my ears and humming very loudly should my mind ever try to wander in that direction.
2001: While we were on the way to the movie store this afternoon, she turned to me and said “For my birthday” which is in October, by the way, “Can I get another kind of pet?”
2000: Since then, Fred and I, predictably, have referred to smoking pot – when seen in movies – as “Smoking the wheat.”

Test

Test post, just checking something out. Nothing to see here, move along….