Category: Fostering

The Bradys meet Alice.

“I’m BORED!”

Alice and Bobby touch noses. Bobby almost never has his tail down – he’s a ridiculously happy boy – so you know he was a bit freaked out by this introduction.

She’s only slightly bigger than Greg, who’s the second largest Brady (Marcia’s the largest).

“This will do nicely.”

Fred put Alice on the cat tree so she could check out the view, and Greg made like King Kong.

Marcia said ::FLOOF::

Then Greg said “Is someone ::FLOOF::ing around here? I’d better do the same!”

Alice flopped down on a cat bed in the sun, and Cindy said “Hi, lady! How you doin’? Wanna be my friend?” And Alice said…

::whap::

The baleful look on Cindy’s face is cracking me UP.

“This sunshine,” said Alice, “Is my kinda stuff.”

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Sheriff Mama keeps an eye on the goings-on in the kitchen. I don’t know what was going on, but she clearly disapproved.

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Previously
2010: Eviction notice.
2009: Meet George and Gracie.
2008: No entry.
2007: Oh look! It’s been two years since the last time we adopted a dog.
2006: Home again, home again.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: How we met.
2000: And that’s all I have to say ’bout that.

So, yesterday I said that today I’d tell y’all about my visit to the plastic surgeon. I went for my consult, and before I could see the surgeon they had me watch a couple of movies. Then they got a full history, I got undressed from the waist up, and the surgeon came in.

Long story short, I’ll be going in for surgery on February 11th. I’ll be getting a breast lift (no implants), upper arm lift, and neck lift.

I’m not going to lie – I hesitated to write about the fact that I’m going in for those surgeries. Because let’s be honest, JUST HOW FUCKING VAIN AM I, AFTER ALL?

It’s a lot of money, and Fred was out of work for 7 weeks last year. The money could be used to, you know, clothe the homeless, care for more cats, provide clean water to those who go without, or on a personal level we could renovate the kitchen, finish out the top floor of the garage, the list is endless.

But in the end, I wanna do it, Fred is okay with it, we’re not going into debt to pay for it – the money’s been set aside for a while now – and when it’s all over I won’t be able to sling my boobs around my neck like a scarf.

(I can’t really sling my boobs around my neck like a scarf. I think. I haven’t actually TRIED to sling my boobs around my neck, if I’ve gotta be honest. I’ll give it a try and report back.)

Y’all have my permission to vehemently disapprove of this non-essential plastic surgery business. Hell, I vehemently disapprove of it, even though my heart skips a beat of excitement every time I think about it. I’m a shallow bitch, what can I say?

(Fred said “Next you’ll be going for the full Lara Flynn Boyle, won’t you?” Nope. After this, I’m done with nonessential surgery. NO more surgery, thank you. I can feel my appendix preparing for battle as I type.)

February 11th. Which will be one year and one day after I had my hysterectomy! This time around, instead of the hospital I’ll be recovering at a fancy plastic surgery center, which is pretty damn nice.

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Those of you who’ve asked about Fred’s site: it’s gone for good. When we moved my sites to the new host (before our current host, we were hosting the sites ourselves, and what a fucking mess. Every time our internet was down – and it was down A LOT – our sites were down too.), he made the decision not to move his site over. When I asked him last week what was going on, he told me that he’d decided it was best if he just killed the site.

Now that he’s an employee rather than owner of his own business, he didn’t relish the idea of any of his coworkers stumbling across his site. So down it is, and down it’ll stay.

(I kind of hope he changes his mind in the future, because I loved wandering around his site, but I’m not holding my breath.)

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I think I mentioned, in the rambling monstrosity that was yesterday’s entry, that I made a batch of Meyer Lemon marmalade and it boiled over and burned to the stove top. What I didn’t mention was that once the marmalade was done and canned, I gave that marmalade a try, and while it’s tasty, I have a gripe.

It just doesn’t taste very lemony.

Now, I know that Meyer lemons are a cross between lemons and oranges, and I shouldn’t be surprised by the fact that marmalade made from them isn’t all that lemony, but I was disappointed all the same. Saturday, I picked up a bag of regular lemons, and I’m going to try making marmalade from those. I love me some lemony tasting stuff.

I don’t know why I’m so gung-ho on making marmalade that’s super lemony because how often do I eat jam and marmalade? Pretty much never. Which is ironic, given the number of jams in this house (hell, this ROOM). But it’s become a challenge, and if I make a batch of marmalade with regular lemons and it sucks, I’ll likely give up and tell all lemonkind to go fuck itself.

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So, the new girl. Here’s her story:

On December 16th (Thursday), I was scooping litter boxes when Fred came through the door. He’d walked out onto the side porch, and as he did, a small shape ran down the steps and toward the front of the house.

“I think that’s a kitten!” he thought to himself. “Or maybe a small possum.” Then he followed the small shape to the porch at the front of the house. By the time he made it to the front of the house, the small shape – definitely a kitten – had settled in the heated cat house on the front porch. When she saw him come closer, she darted out of the house, paused at the other end of the porch, meowed at him, and then ran under the huge boxwood on that side of the house.

He came inside to get a flashlight and tell me about her, and I put on a jacket and followed him out. She was still under the boxwood, and we circled around the bush until we could get a good look at her. She appeared to be a little bigger than Marcia Brady, and we called and talked to her, but she was supremely disinterested in what we had to say. We couldn’t reach her, because she was so far under the bush.

Fred went off to find a trap, and I stayed and kept an eye on her. We discussed where to put the trap and what to bait it with (mackerel, of course). Finally, he set it on the front porch, put a big plate of mackerel inside, and we went to Blockbuster to rent some movies.

By the time we got home, she was inside the trap.

It’s my own personal rule that cats do not come inside the house until they’ve been tested, so Fred set up a heat lamp in the blue coop (the first coop he built, which used to be our chicken coop until he built the big one in the back forty), and we put food, water, and a litter box out there for her. She was one scared little girl, and kept going into the nest boxes to hide. The real trouble came when we wanted to put Advantage on her (I didn’t see any fleas, but that’s another rule of mine, and so far we seem to be flea-free in the house), and she was so wild we couldn’t get hold of her.

Friday morning, we got her in a carrier, put her in the garage, and dismantled the nesting boxes. We moved everything out of there so that when we were done, there was nowhere for her to hide. She seemed less frantic than the night before and allowed Fred to pet her a few times, but she didn’t really like it. When we went into the coop and sat down, she’d run over to the corner and glare at us. Fred went out there a lot and spent a lot more time with her than I did because he has a love for the intense, crazy-eyed girl cats (examples: Kara. Maxi. Stinkerbelle.) I wanted to get her up to the vet for testing, but Fred preferred that instead of traumatizing her, we wait a few days and I could take her on Monday.

By Saturday evening, she was letting Fred pet her.

By Sunday evening, she was letting him hold her for brief periods of time. I had Fred take the scale out to the coop and weigh her. She weighed 2 pounds, 11 ounces, which was only a few ounces more than Marcia. We guessed that she was probably 10 weeks old, or thereabouts.

Monday I took her to the vet and dropped her off for testing. The shelter manager happened to stop by the vet’s, and took a look at her. She called me.

“She’s six months old,” she said. She suggested I take a look at the Bradys’ teeth and then look at the new kitten’s teeth for comparison purposes.

When I brought her home from the vet’s office, we installed her in the downstairs bathroom. She stayed in there exclusively for several days, and then Fred started moving her to the guest bedroom – so she’d have room to run around – during the day, and then put her back in the bathroom at night. Last week, after getting the okay from the shelter manager, we introduced her to the Bradys.

It’s so hard to believe, given her size, that she’s more than twice as old as they are. She’s bigger than they are, but not by much. She doesn’t hesitate to wield the Paw o’ Doom if they get too close, and Cindy is a little afraid of her. The more time she spends around them, the more comfortable they all are, though, so I’m hoping that they’ll end up as friends.

I named her Alice Nelson because, well, we already had a Brady Bunch theme going on – she’s certainly not the motherly type, and I couldn’t think of any other Brady names (though I did suggest Kitty Karryall – Cindy’s doll – to Fred).

She’s still a tiny thing, but she’s got a definite appetite and loves her snack time. When we had the Bradys spayed and neutered last Thursday, Alice went and was spayed, too.

I took pictures of her introduction to the Bradys, of course, and I’ll share those in tomorrow’s post.

We asked around, and of course no one who lives around here has any idea who she is. Given her age, Fred thinks it’s likely that she’s from the same litter Martin came from. I’m pretty sure, given how quickly she came around and allowed Fred (and eventually, me) to pet her, she has definitely been around people before (Fred, of course, would prefer to believe that he’s a magic feral kitten wrangler, but I DO NOT BELIEVE that a feral 6 month-old kitten would come around that quickly. Ergo, she’s been around people!)

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Have I perhaps mentioned that Peter Brady is one beautiful boy?

Greg’s not so bad, either.

Jan and her huge ears.

Marcia Marcia Marcia!

Bobby’s tail across Marcia’s eyes cracks me up.

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::slurrrrrrp::

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Previously
2010: Robyn’s Super-Tasty Black-Eyed Peas
2009: No entry.
2008: I really haven’t had any desire to eat squirrel (yes, I’ve eaten it, but it’s been many years. Tastes like chicken, right?).
2007: Awww, it’s been three years since we first met Joe Bob! (He was Moon Man back then, though.)
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: No entry.
2002: Links.
2001: What sad, sad lives y’all must have led, to never experience the delight of whoopie pies.
2000: I’m feeling like total crap.

Happy New Year, everyone!

Thank you VERY much to Kristen, who let me know that my picture of The Seven made it into the Cute Overload calendar! That’s what I get for opting for the Bad Cat page-a-day calendar this year, isn’t it? I’ll have to remedy that – who says you can’t have two page-a-day calendars, right?

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Didya miss me? Here’s what happened while I was gone:

1. Christmas Eve morning – Fred’s mother and stepfather came to our house. His sister and her husband were supposed to come, too, and her son, daughter, and son-in-law. His mother and stepfather showed up 20 minutes early. 40 minutes later, after his sister and her husband were supposed to be here, he called Fred’s cell to let us know that she had woken up sick and they wouldn’t be here. The kids showed up a few minutes later. We had a scaled-down meal, since we didn’t have the food his sister was going to bring, but our girlz pulled through, and we scrambled 1 1/2 dozen eggs to add to the meal.

We weren’t supposed to exchange presents with Fred’s mother and stepfather, but Fred’s sister had declared that we should get her a router, and so we did. Fred’s mother was some kind of annoyed with us, and kept saying “We said we weren’t exchanging presents this year!” That hadn’t stopped her from giving us a big bucket o’ cookies and some dish towels, though. We gave them some cookies and jams, too.

2. Christmas Eve evening – we went to Fred’s father and stepmother’s house for dinner. The email from his father had said that we’d be eating at 5:30, and according to Fred “You don’t SHOW UP when it’s time to eat!” We left the house a little later than we’d intended, and the entire way there, Fred fretted “We’re going to be the last ones there! Everyone’s going to be waiting for us to get there so they can eat!” In return, I snarled “We’re going to be the first ones there by at least 10 minutes.” Well, hello. Who do you suppose was right? Fred’s father answered the door and seemed surprised to have us there AT FIVE FUCKING FIFTEEN, given that he’d expected everyone to show up at FIVE FUCKING THIRTY. I’m 93% sure that the same goddamn thing happened last year, too, now that I think about it. Fred’s such a fucking weirdo – if we’re ever NOT the first ones to show up on Christmas Eve, I’ll likely fall over and die from the shock.

3. Christmas food – We had a breakfast type meal in the morning, which included cinnamon rolls made by Fred, sausage balls made by his mother, and Strawberry Jello Salad made by me. For Christmas dinner at his dad’s house, we brought broccoli casserole, and we also brought sweet potato casserole. We made a change to the sweet potato casserole, though. The recipe calls for a heavenly topping of brown sugar, pecans, and butter, but we were pretty sure that Fred’s stepmother was recently diagnosed with an allergy to tree nuts. So I made the sweet potato part the same, and topped it with marshmallows instead of the pecan topping. As it turned out, she can’t sit and eat handfuls of tree nuts, but the incidental eating of tree nuts – as in, say, the heavenly pecan topping on sweet potato casserole – is fine.

And, as it turns out, she hates marshmallows. His father hates turkey, his stepmother hates marshmallows. HOW DO THEY MOVE THROUGH THIS WORLD HATING SUCH AWESOME FOODS? We had smoked turkey, Boston Butt, and various other side dishes. They’ll probably run me out of the South for saying this, but I cannot stand cornbread dressing. I have never had any EVER that was worth a second bite, and from here on out I AIN’T EATIN’ IT TO BE POLITE NO DAMN MORE. So there. We ended up bringing home 3/4 of the sweet potato casserole, but the broccoli casserole was such a hit that there was none left over, and Fred’s stepmother asked for the recipe.

Fred’s stepsister made a torte, and when I took a bite of the piece I’d cut for myself, I knew immediately that it was the torte Fred wooed me with wayyyyyy back when I first moved to Alabama. It was FABULOUS, and I loved it, and then he lost the recipe and never made it again. Despite my many requests over the years, he never got around to asking his stepsister for the recipe. It was just as tasty as I remembered, and guess what? I got the recipe from his stepmother, and I WILL be requesting that he make it for me for my birthday on Sunday!

4. Christmas morning: We woke up to snow. I slept in, got all my morning stuff done, made some mandarin muffins, watched the snow, puttered around the house, and opened presents from my sister.

The ditch by the back forty.

Looking toward the back forty.

Snow does not keep the cats in the house – instead, they like to go outside, tromp around in the snow, then come inside and track footprints everywhere.

We had decided the day before that we’d have pizza for lunch on Christmas Day (last year we ended up driving into town in a desperate search for food, and ended up buying food from a deli in a gas station. I’m not kidding.), so Fred started the dough and when the dough was done, he turned on the oven.

Annnnnnd as it turned out, all the butter and cinnamon that had dripped from the cinnamon rolls he’d made for breakfast the day before had dripped onto the heating element and after I made my muffins, the element died. So we ended up with a half-cooked pizza (he put it under the broiler to cook it that way) for lunch, and it sucked. But oh well, whatcha gonna do?

The day flew by in a blur of Xbox games (Fred) and laying under the electric blanket in my bed, covered in kittens and reading (me), and it was all very nice and relaxing. We ended up getting several inches of snow.

5. The day after Christmas: We got up and going pretty early, dithered over whether the roads were too bad to attempt the drive into town, and decided to give it a try. The roads weren’t too bad as long as we went slow.

(Aside: Fred loves to tell me what it’s like to drive on icy, snowy roads. Really, slippery is it? Super slippery on the overpasses? I had no idea. I’d certainly have no way of knowing that for myself, given that I only spent the first 10 years after I got my license driving in Maine and Rhode Island.)

At Lowe’s, we looked at the stoves and chose one, then since there weren’t any sales associates around, we went over and looked at the toaster ovens. He’s been talking about getting one for some time. I’ve never had a toaster oven, but it seemed like it would be convenient to have one around, so we chose one and he went back to ring for a salesperson, and I went to the bathroom.

(The nice thing about Lowe’s: there’s never ever ever EVER a line in the ladies’ room. In fact, if there’s ever been another woman in there when I had to pee, I don’t remember it.)

This is the toaster oven we got, though apparently it’s not called a toaster oven, it’s called a convection oven, which… okay. Whatevs. I’ve never had a convection oven, either.

I got back to where Fred was, and he had the look of assholery about him. It turned out that the stove we’d picked out, there was nothing in stock but the floor model. I looked at the other stoves, and decided I could live with the floor model. We went and paid, set up delivery for the next morning (free delivery!), and went home.

Round about mid-afternoon, I was sitting at my computer, and the air unit outside my window made a most alarming death-throes sound. Fred went out and looked, came in and fiddled with the thermometer, went back outside, fiddled some more, etc. He turned the “emergency heat” on, and it worked well enough overnight to keep the house heated. When we went to bed that night, we fumed about the fact that we’d JUST had the motor replaced back in April (right after Fred lost his job), and Fred was 99% sure we were going to have to get a new motor. I looked through all my receipts, but for the life of me couldn’t find the one from when we replaced the motor in April. What’s worse is that we couldn’t remember who had done the replacement. Grrr.

6. Monday: Fred called the place that deals with heat and air conditioning units at 7:30 – the big company, not the one we’d had replace the motor in April, since we couldn’t remember who’d done it – and they were at the house by 9:00. I was walking into the kitten room when I looked out at the driveway and saw the big-ass Lowe’s truck backing into the driveway. I ran downstairs to yell at Fred for not letting me know they were on the way (they were supposed to call when they were on the way, and I still needed to pull out the drawer under the stove, empty it out, and pull all the cat toys from underneath the stove). He was out back with the guy working on the heat unit, so he went to deal with the Lowe’s guys, too, and I went back upstairs to resume litterbox scooping.

The stove was installed with no problem, and I was glad to see the ass-end of the old stove go out the door. It was old, it was crappy, and although Fred had suggested we just replace the heating element in the oven, I pushed hard for a new stove because I hated the old one so.

The amount of time the stove was in the house before a batch of lemon marmalade boiled over and burned to the top of the stove requiring me to spend an hour scraping and cleaning it: 25 hours.

The heat unit? Needed a new motor. But as it turned out, the motor we’d had replaced in April was the OTHER motor. Luckily, the guy had a new motor in his van, so now both motors are new and hopefully nothing will break down again anytime soon.

I went out and ran errands late Monday morning, stocked up on gift wrapping and boxes and cookie tins for next year at Big Lots, went to the bank, went to the pet store to buy cat food.

7. Tuesday: We went out to eat for lunch. Mexican food. It was pretty damn good.

8. Wednesday: I had an appointment in South Huntsville with my plastic surgeon for a consult (remember how a couple of weeks ago I had the appointment with him, but rescheduled due to the weather?). I’ll cover that in detail in tomorrow’s entry, ’cause this one’s getting very damn long. I was gone for the better part of the afternoon.

“Plastic Surgery Breast Procedures.” They had me watch a couple of movies before I saw the surgeon.

9. Thursday: All the kittens went to the vet for spaying and neutering. I dropped them off, then went to breakfast with friends (there’s very little I like more than breakfast out – and if it includes talk about cats, so much the better!), ran a ton of errands, and didn’t get home ’til 1:00. I ate a quick lunch, spent an hour scrubbing down the foster kitten room, then called the vet to see if the kittens were done. They were, so I made Fred go up with me to pick them up. We got home, got them settled in, played a couple of games on the Xbox, then watched the first episode of Sons of Anarchy. Fred was very NOT into the idea of trying Sons of Anarchy, and we’ve had the first disc of the first season sitting in front of the TV for about two weeks now. Finally I told him we needed to either watch it or send it back, so we watched it.

To say that it was a hit around here is a HUGE understatement. We LOVED it, of course. My only gripe is that I’m never ever ever going to be able to look at Ron Perlman without seeing him as he was in Beauty and The Beast and it’s kind of distracting. But, y’know, good for him for having a successful and busy acting career! So we’ll be working our way through the first season of Sons of Anarchy for the time being.

10. Friday, Saturday, Sunday: Xbox playing, puttering around the house, snuggling with kittens, getting laundry done, and so forth. The usual weekend stuff, and preparing to get back to a regular schedule.

It’s been very nice having Fred around for an entire week, and I would have kind of liked a second week of it, but I’ll be glad to get back to life as normal, believe me. We both will!

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The Bradys have all had their spaying and neutering, their rabies shots, and their id chips implanted. They need to go through another round of medicating for a few days, but hopefully after that they’ll be ready for the adoption center and it’ll just be a matter of waiting ’til there’s room available for them.

They are such sweet little kittens – every one of them is a serious love bug who wants to be petted and snuggled and kissed. If you pick up Cindy Brady, she flails around in an attempt to help you get her into position for maximum belly exposure. She looooooves to be cradled like a baby.

Cindy Brady is a little lady who loves to sit in my lap with her paws neatly crossed.

Likes belly rubs, chasing her tail, and great big smooches directly behind her ear.

Bobby Brady and Jan Brady, hangin’ out in the cube. (We saw this cube at Walmart and were so thrilled with the price ($3.99), that of course we threw it in the cart. As it turned out, we were looking at the wrong price, and it was actually $14.99. Still – not bad, right?)

Someone looks super guilty here, am I right?

Of COURSE they like to lay on top of the cube. They’re cats, after all.

“Hallo, I am gorgeous.”

(Those are Fred’s hairy legs, not mine.) Greg Brady makes himself at home.

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I showed this picture to Fred so he could see how gorgeous Reacher is (as if he doesn’t already know), and Fred thought it was from when Reacher was a kitten. Nope – it was from the day before!

Nappin’ time for Rhyme.

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Here’s something for you to ponder ’til tomorrow, when you’ll get the whole sordid story:

Who’s THIS, and where’d she come from?!

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Sugarbutt’s resolution for 2011: To stop working so hard and relax more.

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Previously
2010: “If you call her my ‘little girlfriend’ one more time, I’m going to cut you.”
2009: JESUS CHRIST that GPS lady is one pushy bitch.
2007: Good ol’ Jerry Ford. Remember when he… pardoned Nixon? Yep, them were the days.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: My God, I love Sam’s, have I mentioned?
2002: Why, that’s almost as exciting as the fact that my birthday’s in less than a week!
2001: Fred, being the man, is legally required to deal with all car-related crap and I, being the woman, am legally required to bitch at him until he does so.
2000: So we apparently had a 2.8 earthquake today about which I knew nothing.

So, originally Fred thought he’d be working this week – even though his company gives everyone the week off – because he thought he’d use the holiday time next year to give himself a few three-day weekends in the stretch between New Year’s Day and Memorial Day.

As it turns out, the head of the company decided he couldn’t do it, so he’s going to be home with me. Which, I know, WAHHHH, he has to take the whole week off! Doesn’t he have the most difficult life? Don’t cry for him, Argentina – he’ll muddle through somehow.

Since he has the week off, I’m going to take the week off from posting, and keep him company. By Friday, our butts will no doubt have fused to the couch.

I’ll be back bright and early Monday with lots of pictures. ‘Til then, here are some movies (nothing fancy, just stuff that I’ve had sitting on my hard drive) to check out.

Hutch (now Percy), kneading and sucking on his blanket.
It’s both unbearably sweet and a little bit heartbreaking when kittens do this.
(If you can’t see it above, view it at YouTube, here.)

 

Starsky and Hutch (now Jack and Percy) were very loud eaters,
as you can witness for yourself.
(If you can’t see it above, view it at YouTube, here.)

 

I found an old digital video camera in the closet,
and wanted to see if it still works. It does – but
I’m thinking the lens needs a good cleaning.
(If you can’t see it above, view it at YouTube, here.)

 

On that same video camera, I found this movie of
Stinkerbelle from some time ago. At least a year old,
maybe two – we don’t have that chair anymore.
(If you can’t see it above, view it at YouTube, here.)

 

From back in August, some footage of Buster (aka “Bolitar”)
being snappish toward the fosters, which made me throw
him out of the room. As you can see from his drama queen
protests, he didn’t like being evicted.
(If you can’t see it above, view it at YouTube, here.)

 

He had his sweet moments, though. You can’t hear it, but
he was purring up a storm. (Please ignore my sickening baby
talk, if you would.)
(If you can’t see it above, view it at YouTube, here.)

 

Now, if you’ll pardon me I’m going to go snuggle me some kittens. Have a great week!

If you can’t tell what’s going on here, that’s Peter on the bottom of the pile, with one of his back feet next to his face. The look of quiet desperation clearly says “Please. Halp. Me. Cannot. Breathe. GASP.” while Bobby, Greg, and Jan couldn’t be less concerned.

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Previously
2009: Snuggly Cookies.
2008: No entry.
2007: Seven random or weird things about myself.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: “Mom, you’re going to be bigger than Britney Spears!”
2003: I tossed the muffins in the trash, although it did occur to me to leave the one the Bean had had his ass upon – the assmuffin, if you will – for Fred.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Though to be truthful, I was the Monster Who Ate Alabama for a period of about 24 hours…
1999: “You must not be using the stairs at your house Freddie! You haven’t lost any weight!”

I was planning to post a picture of the postcard I sent out this year, but instead, I’m going to wait and post it on New Year’s Eve so it won’t ruin the surprise for those of you who requested the card and haven’t received it yet.

So here are a few Bookworm Christmas-themed pictures to tide you over!

“Santa! I been good! No, really!”

From all of us here at Crooked Acres to all of you who regularly (or occasionally) read, comment, and email, we hope you have a holiday filled with love, laughter, and lots of warm, purring kittens.

If for some reason warm, purring kittens can’t be a part of your life, don’t worry – I’ve got your back. There’ll be plenty of kittens for you to admire here in the new year.

Merry Christmas, Happy (belated) Hanukkah, Happy Kwanzaa, whatever holiday you observe, I hope it’s a happy one!

(And for the rest of you, have a great weekend!)

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Previously
2009: From us and all of ours, to you and all of yours, wishes for a happy, safe, healthy holiday!!!!
2008: Featherhead keeps an eye on you.
2007: I had no idea 11 years ago that Fred was going to turn into a Handyman.
2006: What a difference a year makes.
2005: No entry.
2004: Fred thought it was funny that his sister had to explain to her boyfriend, who is from France, what “French toast” is.
2003: THE DAY BEFORE CHRISTMAS AND I WAS IN TARGET! HAAAAAAAAAAAAA!
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.
1999: No entry.

Reacher, having heard the driveway alarm, is waiting to see if he needs to go hide from someone, or if it’s just the UPS guy.

I love that Corbie so.

SO GORGEOUS.

It’s Rhyme time!

Greg Brady in the sun.

All six kittens are actually represented here – you can see Peter’s whiskers at the bottom of the picture.

Stretchin’ Cindy.

I went upstairs to hang out with the kittens, and they heard me come up the stairs, so slowly wandered out of the foster room. They’d obviously been sleeping.

And then came Miz Poo (she’s usually upstairs when I let the kittens out in the morning, and I give her the choice of coming downstairs or staying with the kittens. She usually stays with the kittens, because she loves their room – when it’s sunny, all the cats love it in there.)

Notice that they’re all giving her a wide berth. I suspect she’s taught them that if they get too close, there WILL be smackin’.

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Elwood really knows how to fill up a cat bed.

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Previously
2009: CLEARLY I am filled with the Christmas spirit.
2008: It’s nice to have a clean house. I should probably try it more often!
2007: The eyes of a lover, the heart of a monster the world has never seen before.
2006: No entry.
2005: I have the best readers EVAH!
2004: Gotta love that Jack Bauer.
2003: When it’s such a noteworthy event that my child stops and stares in wonder, it’s possible I’m just not cleaning often enough, ya think?
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.
1999: That’s my girl!

If today’s pictures have a common theme, I think it would be “I haz a snuggle.”

Bobby and Cindy Brady.

Look at Bobby Brady, with the attitude, all squinty-eyed like an attitudinous little brat.

Such serious little faces.

Jan’s all “I haz a secret. My toes is dirty.”

“I cleans my toes.”

“See? All clean!” (Bobby, in the background, seems pretty unimpressed.)

“Okay, WHAT happened here? Last thing I remember…”

“…I was snorting some catnip…”

“..and when I woke up, HE was there, all stretched out and hogging the bed. I really need to cut down on the ‘nip.”

Tommy and Sugarbutt: brudderly love. (I LOVE that even at 5 1/2 years old, the brothers still snuggle from time to time.)

“You see what I put up with, here?”

Here they are from September 2005, when they were our fosters – back then, their names were Barrett (Tommy) and Sad Eyes (Sugarbutt). (They were named when they came to me.)

and later that same month:

Annnd with their brother Smitty (the orange one on the right, front – that’s Sugarbutt in the back with one eye closed), and their sister, Callie.

Okay, enough of the trip down memory lane. 🙂 Well, except for just ONE more.

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Hi Robyn,

Wow how time flies! A few months back I wrote to you seeking advice about becoming a foster mum to a mother and two kittens living in the roof of the building next door.

I’m writing to give you an update. The first good news is once I trapped them and had them off to the vet they all tested FIV free. The bad news was the mother was pregnant again. I estimated her current litter to be only 6 weeks old. The Vet said the moment she weened them she could fall pregnant again. I was devastated for her – she was probably only 8 months old herself.

I made the heartbreaking decision to have her spayed. It still tears me up, but I’m convinced she would have struggled to bring those five babies to term, and also that it was the best decision for her.

The babies will be spayed and neutered next month – my vet won’t do it until they are 6 months old. This Christmas the mother is going to one home and the babies to another while we are away to trial how they get along with the resident cats at those homes. My hope is they become their forever homes. Fingers crossed for a Christmas miracle.

Attached are three photos from when I first bought them home, and three from yesterday. They are just beautiful.

Can I say thank you for your support at the beginning of this – and your unconscious support throughout. I read your blog everyday, and it felt like a constant friend as I tried to make a home for these little souls.

Feel free to use as much, or as little, of this on your blog as you like.

Merry Christmas to you, Fred and all the furry and feathered residents at Crooked Acres.

Kallee

(All pictures below are ©Kallee)

On the roof where they were born

The male kitten at home. His eye cleared up almost as soon as he was fed!

The scared little girl

Four months later: The beautiful mum

The boy, I named him Gene

Sweet sweet Annie, the little girl.

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Previously
2009: Mike & Gus: Brudderly…. love?
2008: It was kind of a cooking-themed weekend for me.
2007: I expected to read “And after we had fabulous chocolate crepes for dessert, we moved on to Bob’s house for the key party to end the night on a high note.”
2006: It burns, Jane! The applique, IT BURRRRRRRRNS!
2005: I’m a creature of habit, what can I say?
2004: No shit, Matt. Ya think? Ya think she might like to eat?
2003: “You are NOT allowed in Maine!” I informed him.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Except for world peace and all that. Yadda, yadda.
1999: No entry.

I am just all kinds of scattered and unfocused right now, trying to get the house whipped into shape before Friday (half of Fred’s family is coming here in the morning for brunch and then we’re going to his Dad’s in the evening), so y’all are stuck with cat entries this week.

I know, I know “Really? Cat entries? From ROBYN? We are STUNNED and SHOCKED and AMAZED!”

Last week, it rained. And then the next day it was warm enough for the cats to go out into the back yard and then back into the house many many many times. I didn’t even bother to mop ’til the next day.

I love the alarmed look on Bobby’s face, like “I feel a paw on my shoulder, but NO ONE ELSE IS SUPPOSED TO BE IN THE HOUSE RIGHT NOW!”

Jean, this basket bed condo thingy look familiar? It is a favorite of the Bradys. Also, Jake is rather partial to it.

Corbie McGee and his thick, lush, raccoon-like tail.

An attempt to get a better picture of the not-a-heart on Cindy’s side. I’ll see if I can’t get a straight-on picture.

Cindy is a multi-tasker who can grab for Peter’s tail AND bunny-kick my foot at the same time.

Oh, Bobby Brady, I lub you so.

The straight-on pictures of Peter Brady don’t really show the extra-long fur at the tips of his ears, but this one shows it pretty nicely.

::thlurrrp::

The basket bed condo thingy on its way to the kitten room. Tommy gave it two paws up.

Corbie McGee, peering around the corner. I love the way his tail is around the leg of the chair.

“MOM! You ever hear of KNOCKING FIRST?!”

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Previously
2009: I was a baking motherfucker this weekend.
2008: No entry.
2007: Kismet! Match made in heaven! Fate!
2006: I said to Fred, “I know you think we have too many cats, but -”
2005: I imagine that when all three of our phones are in the same vicinity, we’ll get them confused and hijinx will ensue.
2004: Reader questions, answered.
2003: “Um, no,” I told Fred when he asked. “And not only no, but HELL no, and I’ll be out of the house whenever they come to interview you and tape you exercising and all that goofy-ass shit.”
2002: No entry.
2001: I guess he defines “tension” as “getting drunk and pawing every female in sight.”
2000: I practically woke up screaming, I tell you.
1999: Suddenly, it occurs to me that nestled next to my underwear is not the best place to put a bag of very potent catnip.

Fred worked so many hours Monday through Thursday last week, that he had enough time banked to take Friday off. So he did! And what’s even better is that he’s got a three-day weekend this weekend and next, as well. The company he works for is pretty awesome, and let their employees take Christmas Eve through New Year’s Day off. (Fred, however, thought ahead and asked if it’s allowable to bank the holiday time he doesn’t take, so he can use it during the year next year – and it’s allowable, so he’ll be taking Christmas Eve and New Year’s Eve off from work, but working Monday through Friday.)

So we didn’t do much on Friday but hang out around the house. At one point we did go out into the blue coop (the one that will eventually be turned into a kitten coop) and took the nest boxes apart. He did the taking apart, and I hauled the wood away.

At some point Friday, he got an email at some point from his company – an email sent to all the employees – letting them know that the company had done so well through the year that everyone was getting a bonus.

Now, Fred really doesn’t spend money on himself. Everything he spends tends to be for the garden or something for the chickens or dogs. It was my opinion that he should use the bonus to buy something for himself. He’s been talking for a long time about buying a Wii or Xbox 360, and he hemmed and hawed about what to do with the money. Which is funny, because I could think of about 35 things to do, and I started listing them. “We could use the bonus to finish out the kitten coop.” and “We could use some of the bonus to buy a new garden wagon (since this one has shit the bed).” and “We could buy more wood to make platforms for the cats in the front room.” and so on.

Finally – probably to shut me the hell up – Fred declared that he wanted an Xbox 360. Saturday morning we got up earlyish, and headed for Walmart. He started browsing the games, and I wandered over to the book section, then the pet section, then to the craft section, and then back to check on Fred. He picked out several games, and I looked through them, but nothing looked terribly appealing to me. If there’d been a Super Mario Brothers, I would have been all over that (I kicked ASS at Super Mario Brothers on my ex-husband’s old Nintendo), or if there’d been Ms. Pac Man or Frogger, I would have gone for that. But nothing interested me, and so we just got some boring looking war game type games for Fred.

(I should add that the extent of my game-playing consists of playing a few games of Snood on my iPod before bed. I’ve never been much of a game player.)

So, we got the Xbox and the games, bought a Kitty Kube for the Bradys, and then headed for the grocery section of the store. We usually get our Saturday morning groceries at Publix, but since we were already at Walmart and didn’t need much, we grabbed what we needed.

I was having a sudden craving for Heavenly Hash ice cream, because Fred had just said something about it a few days earlier, and I walked slowly up the ice cream aisle looking for it. I didn’t see it, but I did see Rocky Road, so I grabbed that. Then I saw a carton of Heavenly Hash, but it was yogurt rather than ice cream. I was pretty sure that Heavenly Hash and Rocky Road were about the same flavor of ice cream, so I held the Breyer’s Rocky Road in one hand and grabbed the Purity Heavenly Hash in the other, to compare ingredients.

“They’re about the same thing,” I said. When it comes down to it, if I’m going to eat ice cream I want ice cream not frozen yogurt, so I was about to put the frozen yogurt back when the Purity guy who’d been stocking nearby stepped forward.

“That’s really good,” he said, indicating the frozen yogurt.

“Oh?” I said uncomfortably. I hate it when the representative for one company is standing there and I buy from another company altogether – and now that he was offering up an opinion, I was doubly uncomfortable. (If the Pepsi guy is stocking in the soda aisle, I’ll skip that aisle until I’ve done all my other shopping, and if he’s still there when I’m done with my other shopping, unless I’m down to my last bottle of Diet Coke, I’ll just put off buying Diet Coke for a later day. I feel like it sends the “I have tried your Pepsi, and find it – AND THUS, YOU – lacking” message. I know chances are good that they don’t CARE, or possibly they’ve learned to live with the pain, but I never claimed I wasn’t a neurotic weirdo.)

“Blah blah blah,” he said. (Not literally “blah blah blah”, but I don’t remember what words of praise he had for the frozen yogurt).

“Hmm,” I said, attempting to look like I was truly considering his words of wisdom. Then he turned away to answer his phone, I tossed the frozen yogurt back in the freezer, and hauled ass out of that aisle.

We headed for the checkout. By this point, the store had started to get pretty damn busy, and we started out standing in one line, and then moved to another. The line moved pretty quickly, fortunately (see: Fred And3rson, exceedingly impatient), and the cashier rang up our stuff. The checkout process ground to a halt when she rang up the Xbox, then stepped away from her register to grab something, and then swiped a card and then swiped it again.

“I don’t know what’s going on right now,” Fred said apologetically to the couple standing in line behind us. “I’m sorry.”

The woman laughed. “That’s okay, we’re not in a hurry!”

I glanced to see what they were buying, and saw a pile of Christmas candy, some paper cups and plates, plastic forks and spoons.

“You get a gift card with your purchase,” the cashier announced. She swiped the card one more time, and then handed it to Fred.

” I guess I can’t use that to pay for the Xbox?”

The cashier shook her head. “It’s for seventy-five dollars,” she added.

The woman standing in line behind us exclaimed appreciatively. “That’s nice!” she said. “You should pay for our stuff, too!” She winked at Fred so he would know she was kidding. Then she looked down at her pile of candy and felt constrained to add that she was buying it for her church.

“I’ll take that!” I said, grinning and snatching the card from Fred’s hand and putting it in my purse.

The cashier and the lady behind us laughed.

While the rest of our purchases were scanned and bagged, Fred and I had a quick discussion. Fred paid for our purchases. The cashier handed Fred his receipt and thanked him. Fred thanked her, and handed the receipt to me.

I handed him the gift card, he turned and gave it to the lady standing behind us, said “Merry Christmas!”, and we got the hell out of there before she could get all “I couldn’t!”

I glanced back once on our way out the door to see her standing there, staring after us, mouth hanging open.

Now, that? That, my friends, has put me in the Christmas spirit for realz.

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The other things that have put me in the Christmas spirit: all the great cards I’ve gotten from y’all (pictures of them later this week, hopefully), the glass of eggnog I had yesterday (I drink 1 or 2 cups of (nonalcoholic) eggnog every year around this time, and I’m all set ’til the next year), and the cookies I baked on Thursday – I did a batch of Chocolate Peanut Butter sandwiches, a batch of Secret Kiss cookies, and a batch of Cooking Light Chocolate Chip cookies, only instead of chocolate chips, I used red and green M&Ms. They were all really good, but 99% of them went out in the mail as gifts. Those that didn’t go into MAH MOUTH, that is.

I need to make some more cookies this week for Fred’s mother and stepfather (we don’t exchange gifts with his parents, but his mother blindsided us last year with a tin of cookies, so THIS year we’re going to blindside HER with a tin of cookies AND some jars of jam. SO THERE. Then next year she’ll blindside us with a pony, and we’ll have to blindside her with a house, then she’ll blindside us with a small island, and we’ll have to give her a nation, etc etc. You know how it goes.) and get some cash from the bank for his niece and nephew (who are also getting jams from us – they like the hot stuff. Fred’s mother does not.), and I’ll be done.

Also putting me into the Christmas mood:

I can’t help it, I love the holy hell out of that song. And hippopotamuses like me toooooooooooooooooo!

Now I need to go look for “Do They Know it’s Christmas”, because it’s not truly Christmas time ’til I hear Bono’s overwrought “Well, tonight thank god it’s them instead of youuuuuuuu!”

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“Lady, hey. Lady. LADY! Pet me?”

“Is Greg Brady gonna have to cut a bitch?”

Sweet miss Marcia.

Pretty, pretty Peter.

I had hoped to get the Bradys in for their spaying and neutering this week, but Cindy refuses to get her tiny little butt over the two pound mark, so I’m going to put it off ’til next week. There’s not any rush to get them done right now, anyway.

Saturday afternoon, we closed the half-door across the end of the hallway and let the Bradys free to roam down the hallway into the bathroom and my bedroom. They think it’s pretty neat to have all that room to run. Even better, Jake and Elwood can jump over the door to visit. Elwood’s mostly interested in eating their food, but Jake likes little kittens. And the little kittens seem to like them, too. Miz Poo seems to find them somewhat entertaining – she stayed upstairs after I closed the door, and the several times I asked her if she wanted out of the upstairs, she just ignored me. Corbie, Reacher, and Rhyme all visited with the little ones, as well.

Jake was drinking out of their water bowl Sunday morning, and Jan spotted him. She crawled over to him on her belly, then rolled onto her back and gave him the Eyes of Love until he walked away. He mostly ignored her, but I know a kitten in love when I see one!

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Hello, sweet Corbie McGee.

Rhyme just has no fear. He sees a cat, he climbs in for a snuggle. Hard to believe Miz Poo put up with this – it’s always a photo opportunity when Miz Poo allows another cat within five inches of her. Rhyme’s no dummy – he waited ’til she was sound asleep to climb in.

Keeping an eye on Sugarbutt, who looked like he might be up for some kitten smackin’.

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Smilin’ Joe keeps an eye on Sugarbutt, who tries to figure out WHY there are so many pairs of shoes on the bookcase. (Answer: because that’s where I put them to keep them up off the floor and out of the way. STOP JUDGING ME, SUGGIE.)

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Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: (Also, I loves me some environment and cares tons about the world I leave behind for my child and grandchildren blah blah blah.)
2006: I wonder how often dental patients go into a screaming rage and get violent with dental hygienists, because I certainly feel the impulse every time I have my teeth cleaned.
2005: Also, if Hollabackness is a desired state of being, how do I go about achieving it?
2004: Apparently she’s a princess now.
2003: Three things.
2002: My shit list.
2001: Emailing gets me all excited.
2000: I sure whine about the weather a lot, don’t I?
1999: Disaster averted!