Category: Fostering

Attention, those of you in the North Alabama/ Tennessee area: the North Alabama Spay Neuter Clinic is having a fundraiser this weekend in the form of a Plea Market (they had one last year, you might recall.) They’re looking for donations (which are tax deductible!) – you can go here to read more about what they’re looking for, when and where you can drop off your donations, and when the Plea Market will be open to the public.

This event is sponsored by 13 animal welfare groups in the area. The money raised will be used to buy a transport vehicle to assist people in rural areas to get their animals spayed/neutered. Volunteers will be needed on Thursday & Friday (11/18-19) to help set up and also on Saturday, the day of the sale. Donations of saleable items will be accepted both days at the Jaycees Building on Airport Road.

The North Alabama Spay Neuter Clinic charges $35 for feline neuters, $45 for feline spays, $55 for canine neuters, and $65 for canine spays. The only cost above the basic charge is $10 for the rabies vaccination if you cannot provide proof that your animal has been vaccinated in the past 12 months.

PLEASE NOTE THAT ANYONE CAN USE THE SPAY AND NEUTER CLINIC. You do NOT have to qualify! There is no extra charge for weight or if the cat/ dog is in heat.

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You remember Coltrane, yes?

For those of you who don’t, Coltrane showed up here at some point in the Spring/ early Summer. Once he discovered that there was food on that thar porch, he hung around pretty regularly. At first we couldn’t even dream of touching him, but after a couple of weeks, Fred was able to pet him, and shortly after he’d let me pet him, too.

It got to the point where he’d show up first thing in the mornings, and then again in the evenings, hang around long enough to eat, and then vamoose. I truly don’t know if he belongs to someone who lives in this area or not – he certainly wasn’t neutered, and as soon as we could, we took him to the vet to be tested, then neutered and vaccinated.

Lately, it’s started to get rather cold at night, and Fred’s been concerned about Coltrane’s comfort. We have a little house on the front porch that Fred built the first winter we lived here. It has a heat lamp in it, a cat bed on the floor, and Coltrane’s been pretty content to sleep in it. But Fred wanted more. Fred wanted Coltrane to come inside.

“QUIT it!” I said, when Fred would open the door and try to coax Coltrane inside. “You are going to upset the delicate balance of cat harmony going on in this house, and we’ll be awash in cat urine!”

“She doesn’t love you,” Fred would tell Coltrane sadly before he closed the door.

“Knock it off!” I said, when Fred coaxed Coltrane six inches, one foot, two feet inside the side door. “Joe Bob and Elwood will pick on him, and we will be flooded in cat urine!”

“Sorry, buddy,” Fred would say to Coltrane as he shut the door.

Two nights ago, I was laying on the couch in the front room reading, and Fred called to me.

“You better come see this,” he said.

“I am going to kill you,” I said.

But I had to laugh – because Coltrane, who was so super-skittish when we first met him, was completely laid-back about being in the house. The other cats approached him, and Coltrane would sniff at them, and then just lay there and let them sniff him. He was not concerned about them at all. I mean, THEY were concerned about HIM, but he was all “Whatever, dudes.”

(What amazes me the most is that all that smugness is able to fit in one single cat bed.)

With no hesitation whatsoever, Hutch climbed into the cat bed with Coltrane. Coltrane seemed rather pleased to have the company, and the two of them napped together.

Fred took Coltrane into the laundry room and put a bowl of food in front of him. Coltrane bellied up to the bowl, and then Corbie wandered in to see what was going on. When he spotted Coltrane, he walked over and sniffed him, then sat and watched him for a few moments. At one point, Corbie rolled onto his back and reached his front paws toward Coltrane, who kept a wary eye on him as he ate.

Reacher came in to see what was going on. When he got too close to Coltrane, Coltrane reached out and tapped Reacher on the head. Coltrane’s a laid-back boy, but he’s not a DOORMAT, for god’s sake.

Eventually, Coltrane wanted back outside and Fred let him out. Last night Fred let him in for ten minutes or so, but after a few minutes he wanted back out.

I have no idea if he’ll ever turn into a cat who’ll stay inside with us on the coldest nights, but Fred’s opened the door and now Coltrane is at least aware that there’s a shangri-la for cats with warmth and comfy beds.

I’ll be stocking up on cat urine odor remover because I am SURE we’ll be needing it. I’m sure our cats will be expressing their displeasure beginning any moment now.

And I will NOT BE THE ONE CLEANING UP THE CAT PEE, DO YOU HEAR ME, FRED?

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Previously
2009: “I wonder if that’s the Gulf of Mexico or the Gulf of China,” Fred joked as we drove by on Sunday.
2008: Fred snorted “You should just start wearing overalls!”
2007: Hey! I was decluttering last year at this time, too!
2006: Here’s Doctor Robyn’s list of diagnoses.
2005: Cat hair on the seat of your pants! It’s the Next Big Thing!
2004: Do you suppose that cats realize that when we kiss them, it’s a sign of affection?
2003: NAS-TAY.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Thanks, y’all, for your emails regarding hamster sex.
1999: So, I didn’t get the kitten.

In my comments yesterday, devil mentioned check writers as the bane of the supermarket checkout experience.

AMEN TO THAT.

Last Saturday morning Fred and I made our usual weekend run to Publix. We usually get there on Saturdays just as they open, but Fred had processed chickens that morning, and then we had to go to Lowe’s, which meant that we got to Publix about an hour after they’d opened.

It was fucking BUSY. We’re not the only ones who want to get our shit done first thing Saturday morning, I guess.

So we went our separate ways, each grabbed a few things from the list, and then met at the front of the store to check out. There was only one lane (aside from the “10 items or fewer”) lane that was open, and there was a slow couple slowly putting the stuff from their cart onto the conveyor belt, and then the cashier slowly rang everything up, and the entire time she was slowly ringing everything up, she and the woman were chatting it up. Everything was rang up and bagged, in the cart and ready to be taken out to the couple’s car.

“That’s $83.45,” the cashier said. The woman started digging around in her purse. And she dug and dug and dug some more. Then she pulled out her checkbook.

I turned to look at Fred. Now, look – when it comes to this sort of thing, I’m pretty patient (even more so when I have my iPod with me and can play Snood on it while I’m waiting), so my impatience the other morning was unusual for me. For the most part, I figure there’s no use in getting all worked up about slow people because THEY ARE EVERYWHERE. It’s usually only when I’m running late (or haven’t eaten and am dying of the starvation and JESUS CHRIST WILL YOU HURRY UP THEY’RE GOING TO STOP SERVING EGG MCMUFFINS IN TEN MINUTES) that I get impatient.

HOWEVER.

Fred is the least patient person on earth. He is pretty sure that the Earth is his and his alone and no one should ever be in his way and he should never have to wait for anything and no one should ever require him to do something he has no interest in doing. And when he gets all princessy and impatient, it stresses me out.

So when the woman finally pulled her checkbook out of her purse, I turned to look at Fred just to make sure the top of his head hadn’t popped off and his brain hadn’t gone bouncing into the ice cream section. Which is when I saw the woman standing in line behind him lean past him to put her groceries on the conveyor belt behind our stuff, and in her leaning, she got into his space, and I saw him cut his eyes to the left, all ALERT! ALERT! SOMEONE IS IN MY SPACE! SOMEONE HAS BREACHED MY SPACE! SOMEONE! IS! IN! MY! SPACE!

And I couldn’t help it, it was like he was in his own personal version of Hell, between the check writing lady and the lady all up in his space and me with my reusable grocery bags (he HATES the reusable grocery bags because they collapse when you’re trying to put groceries in them – what the fuck?), and I laughed and laughed.

But on our way out to the car after the check-writing lady had finally written her check, he said “Do people still WRITE checks?”

So devil, rest assured that you’re not alone! People do still write checks and, as I told Fred, “Did you know that not only do people still write checks, they also can’t write out who the check is to, or the date, or sign the check until they know the total?”

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Speaking of our Publix trips, all summer long, every time we made our Saturday morning trips, the same guy was always stocking the dairy section. Every single time, there he was. He’d greet us, occasionally ask if we needed help finding something, and then go back to his stocking.

And then, two weeks ago, NO ONE was stocking the dairy section.

“Dairy guy wasn’t there,” I told Fred.

“Huh,” Fred said.

AND THEN.

We were walking down the aisle of chips and sodas and I looked up and THERE WAS DAIRY STOCKING GUY.

NOT in the dairy section!

I had no idea that was even allowed. We passed him, then I nudged Fred and said “THAT WAS DAIRY STOCKING GUY!”

“I know,” Fred said.

“NOT IN THE DAIRY SECTION!”

“Yep.” The man could NOT have been less interested, damn him.

Hmph.

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Starsky likes to pick fights with the big cats. He’s lucky they’re so tolerant of his shenanigans.

Not a great picture, but do you see how long Reacher is? He’s one long cat!

This chicken feather came in on the basket of eggs one evening, and Starsky spotted it and claimed it as his. He sat there and licked it. Then he glared suspiciously at any cats who came near, and then he decided there were too many cats around, so he picked it up and carried it into the other room and licked it some more.

These kittens crack me up – Starsky always looks like he’s suspicious of whatever’s going on, and Hutch has that sweet, open face. He reminds me a lot of Orange (aka Lorna Doone) from the Cookies, not only in temperament (sweet, willing to snuggle, friendly, and did I mention sweet?) but with the open little face. They are just the sweetest little monkeys.

(Did I say “sweet” often enough up there? THEY ARE SO SWEET SWEET SWEET.)

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Loony Jake. Here’s something I don’t think I’ve mentioned about Loony Jake: he’s a growler. If he hears a sound that he doesn’t recognize, he growls. When I snapped this picture, we were upstairs in the foster room (when the fosters are given the run of the house, our cats LOVE it, because they really like hanging out in that room, playing with the toys, climbing the cat tree. All the fun stuff they can’t do when the door is closed!). The garbage truck was going by, and the entire time they drove by the house, stopped at the driveway, and picked up our garbage, Jake was growling. It’s not a hysterical growl or a particularly loud or scary growl he does, it’s almost under his breath, a warning growl. If the doorbell rings or someone knocks on the door, you can depend on Loony Jake to growl.

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Previously
2009: Because I am such an utter badass, I ran in place and screamed.
2008: No entry.
2007: “I am NOT ‘ratty looking’ and YOU, M’dme, are a pure-d grade-a gutter slutting WHORE. Good day to you.”
2006: He’s such a know-it-all motherfucker.
2005: Elizabeth Wurtzel strikes me as spectacularly self-absorbed (pot! kettle! black!)
2004: Stuff I’ve bought.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: “Hey!” I said, shaking the cage. “Stop that!”
1999: No entry.

From Kim:

In September 2008 my son was life flighted to Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh. He/we took that flight so that he could be evaluated for a liver transplant. My son, Greyson was 7 ½ months old.

I traveled in our car. A car filled with everything I could fit of his and a suitcase for myself. I was told to pack for at least 6 months, but to be prepared for a year. I went with great medical coverage, but no job (our home was 5 hours away, I met parents from all over the WORLD). Greyson was checked into CHP and I soon checked into the Ronald McDonald House.

Ronald McDonald House (RMH) became my calm. I could meet with other parent who, if they were not going through my exact situation, they were going through something similar. We were living on a hope, we were living on small stipends from insurance (if so fortunate,), with a household of bills for our “real” home still coming in. RMH gave us food, they gave us shelter… for a measly $11 a night and in some cases that too was waived. But, that is not all that they provided. They provided parents and children (who were able) with tickets to local “sights” they provided us with donated clothes for our children. Yes, children in the hospital are allowed to wear clothes, it is encouraged. It is a sense of normalcy, even for the babes. No one wants to walk around with their arse hanging out of a johnnie gown, not even a toddler.

During our 3 month stay I was amazed when others would drop off clothes for RMH “guests” and I was extremely grateful. I didn’t have to worry about what my son was outgrowing. That worry was alleviated.

My son died December 8, 2008 while waiting for his liver transplant. Last year for his first “anniversary” I decided to give back. I collected clothes for children of all ages from friends and family and sent a care package to RMH. I would love to do the same this year. I would like your help. I will accept gently used or new clothing for kids of all ages, books, toys. Gift cards. Anything! They will be sent to RMH Pittsburgh. I thank you in advance and on behalf of the families you will be helping. THANK YOU! (Please do not send stuffed animals. they cannot be 100% washed free of germs.)

If you’d like to donate in remembrance of Greyson donations can be made directly to Ronald McDonald House Pittsburgh, here:

Ronald McDonald House
Attn: Leslie Montgomery
In remembrance of Greyson Menefee
451 44th Street – Penthouse Floor, Pittsburgh, PA 15201

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Attention, those of you in the North Alabama/ Tennessee area: the North Alabama Spay Neuter Clinic is having a fundraiser this weekend in the form of a Plea Market (they had one last year, you might recall.) They’re looking for donations (which are tax deductible!) – you can go here to read more about what they’re looking for, when and where you can drop off your donations, and when the Plea Market will be open to the public.

This event is sponsored by 13 animal welfare groups in the area. The money raised will be used to buy a transport vehicle to assist people in rural areas to get their animals spayed/neutered. Volunteers will be needed on Thursday & Friday (12/18-19) to help set up and also on Saturday, the day of the sale. Donations of saleable items will be accepted both days at the Jaycees Building on Airport Road.

The North Alabama Spay Neuter Clinic charges $35 for feline neuters, $45 for feline spays, $55 for canine neuters, and $65 for canine spays. The only cost above the basic charge is $10 for the rabies vaccination if you cannot provide proof that your animal has been vaccinated in the past 12 months.

PLEASE NOTE THAT ANYONE CAN USE THE SPAY AND NEUTER CLINIC. You do NOT have to qualify! There is no extra charge for weight or if the cat/ dog is in heat.

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Thank you so much for your donations to Heaven’s cat, Dirty Feet – and if you haven’t donated and would like to, you can click on the widget below, or visit the ChipIn page here.

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Food I made this weekend that I highly, highly recommend (I was in a cooking/ baking mood on Friday, apparently!)

Hot Cocoa Bread. It’s a wonderfully dense, chocolaty bread. It’s not super-sweet, but very very good. I think next time I make it, I’ll double the marshmallows just because I like marshmallows a lot. You could also add chocolate chips and chopped nuts and call it Rocky Road bread!

Chunky Guacamole. SO SO SO good. The only thing I’d do differently next time is, I’d actually add the entire half a red onion, as the recipe calls for. I got nervous when I was chopping the onion because it seemed like an awful lot of onion, so I only used about 1/3 of the onion, which I don’t think was enough. Also, note to myself: make sure there actually ARE baked Tostitos in the pantry before you make it next time. We ended up eating the guacamole on Ritz crackers. Which was still really good!

Individual Cream Cheese danish. Once again, I was blown away by just how good – and easy! – these things are. I told Fred I thought it was time for us to try plural marriage, because I’m bringing on Chunky Guacamole and Individual Cheese Danish as his Brother Husbands.

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Have you been sitting there just WAITING for the Cranberry-Habanero jam?

If so, it’s your lucky day!

Cranberry Cruelty Habanero Jam is now available!

Go forth and order.

(I’ve got plenty of the other flavors still in stock, and considering how many habaneros we grew this year, I don’t expect to run out anytime soon!)

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I had a hair appointment last Wednesday morning, and looking at myself in the mirror while she cut my hair, I came to the realization that I’m apparently growing out the grays. I haven’t colored my hair since just before I went to Maine in July, and I’d say my roots are about 1/3 the length of my hair.

I’m actually surprised to find that though I have plenty of gray hair, it’s not quite as gray as I’d expected. For now, I’m planning to keep on growing it out (this would be far more fascinating if I had a picture to show you, I’m aware), but it’s entirely possible that I’ll get tired of seeing all that gray, and go back to making Fred helping me color it a boring medium brown.

After my hair appointment, I stopped at the grocery store on the way home. It wasn’t ’til I was in the cereal aisle penned in by two gray-haired grannies (my people!) that I remembered Wednesdays are not only the day the new sales flyer comes out, but also senior discount day. I don’t know what the discount is for seniors, but it must be something pretty damn good, because the seniors come out in DROVES from about 7:30 on, and the place probably stays packed ’til closing (I wouldn’t know, though, ’cause I’m probably sound asleep by the time Publix closes).

There was one line with just one woman in line, and she was standing there looking at a newspaper when I walked up behind her. I put all my stuff on the conveyor belt and waited. And waited. And waited. Ever so slowly, she turned the pages of her newspaper, and keep in mind it was 9:45 and I hadn’t had anything to eat that morning, so how I did not fly at her with claws extended to yank every last hair out of her head, I do not know.

Finally, all huffy like, I said “Oooooookay”, picked up all my shit, and moved two cash registers down. I don’t know what the fuck was going on with that lady, but she was still there casually perusing the newspaper when I left.

I did not smack her.

Note to self: stay the fuck away from Publix on Wednesdays for the next 20 or so years. When the hell do you start getting a senior discount, anyway? 62?

Which reminds me – I got a GODDAMN AARP MEMBERSHIP FORM in the mail a few weeks ago. What the fuck? I’ve got a good 6 years and 2 months before I qualify, fuckers!

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This blue basket lives in a corner of the kitchen, and it’s no surprise that I got these pictures of Hutch going “Oooh, there are toys in here! I like toys! Look at the cool toys!” and Starsky’s trying to figure out how to get a good bite on the basket handle.

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::thlurrrrp::

Sweet Rhyme. I determined over the weekend that Rhyme’s personality is a lot like that of his half-brother Mike (of the Wonkas). Is he a happy boy? He is SUCH a happy boy. At night he gets up on the bed and flops right down between Fred and I and purrs and purrs and purrrrrrrs.

Bath time for Reacher.

I’ve perhaps mentioned that when I go outside, the cats – especially the Bookworms – like to gather around me. Here are three of the four – and you can see, since Reacher and Corbett are next to each other, just how thin Corbett is. He’s perfectly healthy, and he eats just fine, he’s just a skinny cat. Reacher is the biggest of the Bookworms.

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Spanky claims the basket as his own.

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Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: Happy vacuuming!
2006: When I thought of how crappy the doors would look, he gave me a long-suffering look and said in his “Look how patient and long-suffering I am” voice, “I’ll paint them.”
2005: “Fascinating.”
2004: All your frog are belong to us.
2003: No entry.
2002: I am freezing to death.
2001: I think I need to get a life…
2000: In other words, Robyn is a total spaz about her eyes, comprende?
1999: On the way into work, and the whole time I worked today, I reconsidered that reconsideration.

Happy veteran’s day, Americans!

Go hug yourself a veteran, won’t you?

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Have you seen Shae? Spread the word!

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©Heaven Mahle

This is Dirty Feet – she belongs to Heaven, a foster mum for Challenger’s House. (You guys think I have a lot of cats in my house at one time? Heaven routinely has WAY more fosters in her house at one time than I do. And she’s a miracle worker. I’ve seen kittens that don’t look like they’re going to make it one more hour when she gets them turn out to be the most beautiful, healthy cats. Which you already know if you’re Facebook friends with her!)

Last week, Dirty Feet was ill, and ended up at the vet’s where she was for most of the week. They couldn’t seem to figure out what was going on with her until Heaven took her to another vet who was able to ultrasound Dirty Feet and find the blockage causing her illness. She had surgery on Friday and as of today is recovering at home and doing well.

©Heaven Mahle

Like so many of us do, Heaven spent every penny she had to save Dirty Feet, and she still owes money to the vet. I encouraged her to sign up for a Chip In fundraiser, and I hope y’all will consider helping out. The widget should show up below, but if it doesn’t, you can go here to see her Chip In page. Thanks in advance for any help you guys can give!

And here are some pictures of Dirty Feet as a baby, because I knew you’d want to see them!

All above pictures ©Heaven Mahle

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Sights from around Crooked Acres.

(The inside-my-cupboards tour is in the next section!)

I pickled onion slices in a sweet brine last weekend. I haven’t tried them yet, so I can’t say how they’ll taste – I’m going to let them sit in the brine for a month or so before I open the jar.

I bought this spatula in Myrtle Beach at one of the outlet stores, and I LOVE it. It’s a small spatula (though you really can’t tell from the picture), and I use it every morning to scramble my egg for breakfast.

Green cherry tomatoes. I pickled half of them (in the same brine that I used for the onions), and saved the other half so that Fred can get a few more weeks of tomatoes on his lunch salad.

Black Silkie and her babies. She was the last hen to go broody this year, and her chicks are still relatively small so they stay close to her.

One of our roosters.

Rooster and his wimmin.

This next set of pictures cracks me up. See if you can guess why.

The dogs were barely moving at more than a casual mosey, and that hen was like “HOLY CHRIST, THE DOGS ARE COMING! THE DOGS ARE COMING! GET OUT OF THE WAY!!!!”

::thlurrrrp::

::thlurrrrrp::

Sweet Gracie Mae.

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Inside my cupboards.
(Click on any picture to see the much larger version.)

Not that it matters, but these pictures are done in order, top to bottom and from the left of the kitchen (if you’re standing in the doorway facing the sink) to the right.

Top shelf: the alcohol. I think we’ve got vodka, rum, a bottle of Kahlua (though maybe we got rid of it, I don’t remember), strawberry dacquiri mix, and pina colada mix. Fred stopped on his way home from work TWO YEARS AGO and bought pina colada mix and whatever the hell alcohol goes into it. I don’t like pina coladas, so I stopped at Target the next week and bought strawberry dacquiri mix. Did I mention it’s been two years and neither bottle has been opened?
Middle shelf: White sugar, brown sugar, and more white sugar in the back, I think.
Bottom shelf: Plastic containers, colanders. I think there are a couple of bags of powdered sugar back there, too.

Cereal, rice cakes, and a box o’ Triscuits (which belong in the pantry, I don’t know how they ended up there.)

These shelves pull out, which you’d think would make them perfect for holding canned goods, but I never considered that before this moment, so right now they hold sandwich bags, storage bags, tinfoil, and Saran wrap on the top shelf, and onions , storage bags and shallots on the middle shelf. On the bottom (which you can’t see) are freezer bags for chicken, and a big-ass container of those peppermint candies you can buy at Walmart. You know, the really soft ones? Love those.

Top shelf: salad shooter (for chopping up soap when I make laundry soap), freezer containers.
Second shelf down: Miracle Grow, freezer containers, pantry pest traps (to catch those damn pantry moths).
Third: Lunch bags, Advantage, and various might-come-in-handy empty pill bottles.
Bottom: Tylenol, advil, that sort of stuff.

These corner cabinets are so nice and big that you’d think they’d be really handy for storage, but they’re kind of a pain in the ass, because when you’re three feet tall like I am, you have to get a friggin’ stool to look past the very front of the shelves. So this is where the plastic storage containers go (except for the top shelf, where I put cookie tins WHICH I DO SO REUSE so shaddup, I’m not a cookie tin hoarder).

Canning pots, pressure canner pot. Hand mixer, cider vinegar, pie plates. Random shit, basically.

If I go into this cabinet as often as once a month, I’d be surprised. Random candles, plastic forks, lots of fiber supplements for the fiber impaired, popcorn seasonings, maple syrup. That sort of stuff.

Silverware drawer, which also contains various knives, lots of straws for some reason, annnnd that’s about it.

More randomness – cooking utensils, potato peelers, biscuit cutters. One thing my kitchen is not: organized.

Dish towels, dish cloths, measuring spoons and cups. Yes, I have a lot of dish towels – I use clean dish towels every day, if you must know.

The drawer of batteries, straws, filters for the water fountains, and I think there are some instruction books in there, too.

Under the sink. Would you believe we’ve owned this house for four years and have lived here three and a half, and this is the first time I’m realizing that there’s a damn fire extinguisher under there? I must have cleaned out under that sink at least five or six times, and yet never noticed the damn thing.

Cups ‘n mugs.

The other corner cabinet. Let me reiterate: it’s a pain in the ass pulling stuff out of here. Those are the bowls I use most often when cooking dinner.

Food processor, blender, dutch ovens. This is stuff I use a lot – except for that ice cream maker in the back, which we haven’t used in a quite a while. But I know the instant we get rid of it, we’ll wish we had it back, so there it stays.

Top shelf: Fiesta Ware creamer, salt and pepper shakers, and mugs.
Second: Cake pans.
Third: Cat food, cat snack plates (like you don’t go out and get a bunch of matching plates to feed your cats on. YEAH, RIGHT.), canned cat food in the back, and some of the spices that don’t fit over the stove/ in the spice drawer.
Bottom: Spices that don’t fit over the stove/ in the spice drawer.

Top and second shelf: dishes for the cats, and loaf pans (not for the cats.)
Bottom two shelves: bowls of all sizes.

Junk drawer. Scissors, cat medication, okra pods that need to be dried (and the seeds saved), you know. Junk.

Muffin tins, cookie sheets, cooling racks.

Good god, does someone like some popcorn? Actually, Fred’s the one who eats popcorn, and he does it rarely. I guess I need to stop buying popcorn when it’s on sale. Those white dishes? Dishes for the cats. A small food processor/ chopper that I rarely use and in fact probably don’t need.

Dishes. And Splenda.

Extra pot, roasting pan, glass baking dishes. And nosy kitten, of course.

The cupboard over the refrigerator. This explains why I couldn’t find my damn Christmas dishes anywhere last year. Those green dishes on the top shelf belonged to Fred’s grandmother. I need to get them out so we can use them – I really like them a lot.

On the left, spices. On the right, battery charger, labels, other crap.

Extra flour, pectin, canning utensils, lots of canning lids. Fun stuff.

Another junk drawer – screwdriver, nails, screws, the Ball Blue Book o’ Canning (or whatever the hell it’s called).

Bread machine, slicer. That tan bin holds a ton of canning rings.

Inside of the fridge (and Tommy, inspecting).

This used to be what I used as the pantry. Now it holds all the baking stuff (except for the flours and sugars, which are spread in various places in the kitchen), the rotisserie cooking thingy, the Foodsaver (the tan bin holds empty Foodsaver bags), and the popcorn popper.

The canning cabinet. Top shelf: pickled stuff, salsa, applesauce, black beans.
Middle shelf: canned chicken, stock, some jams.
Bottom shelf: canned chicken, green beans.

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Elwood, kicking some Buster butt.

One thing (of many) that I adore about Buster: he has this light spot on top of his head that I’m forever thinking is fuzz, and I go to brush it away, then remember that it’s part of him.

Elwood and Rhyme.

Corbie, keeping an eye on things.

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Starsky believes in clean toes!

“WHAT?”

Happy Hutch. And just why’s he so happy?

Mystery solved.

Snoozin’ brudders.

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Look at Reacher there, making himself at home. And look at Spanky and Tommy (but especially Spanky!) putting up with him! (And look at Fred over there in his Snuggie!)

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Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: The goddamn cats can’t go three feet without falling over a bed but, you know.
2007: Why should I answer the door if I’m not expecting anyone, I ask you?
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: That girl has some serious lung power.
2003: Not holding my breath – but a girl can dream!
2002: Let me tell you about the saga of the box.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.
1999: No entry.

©Heaven Mahle

This is Dirty Feet – she belongs to Heaven, a foster mum for Challenger’s House. (You guys think I have a lot of cats in my house at one time? Heaven routinely has WAY more fosters in her house at one time than I do. And she’s a miracle worker. I’ve seen kittens that don’t look like they’re going to make it one more hour when she gets them turn out to be the most beautiful, healthy cats. Which you already know if you’re Facebook friends with her!)

Last week, Dirty Feet was ill, and ended up at the vet’s where she was for most of the week. They couldn’t seem to figure out what was going on with her until Heaven took her to another vet who was able to ultrasound Dirty Feet and find the blockage causing her illness. She had surgery on Friday and as of today is recovering at home and doing well.

©Heaven Mahle

Like so many of us do, Heaven spent every penny she had to save Dirty Feet, and she still owes money to the vet. I encouraged her to sign up for a Chip In fundraiser, and I hope y’all will consider helping out. The widget should show up below, but if it doesn’t, you can go here to see her Chip In page. Thanks in advance for any help you guys can give!

And here are some pictures of Dirty Feet as a baby, because I knew you’d want to see them!

All above pictures ©Heaven Mahle

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This picture makes me laugh. They’re like characters in a sitcom – Starsky’s the annoying neighbor who pops over with a “Hallo!” and Corbett’s the tolerant yet annoyed title character who puts up with his pesky neighbor’s shenanigans.

Starsky’s waiting for Miz Poo to go to sleep so he can slide into the cat bed with her for a snuggle.

Occasionally, I put an egg yolk in a little dish and put the dish on the floor for whatever cat happens along. It’s like a nice little surprise for them (and yet I wonder why they hang out in the kitchen and howl at me whenever I’m in there. Duh.) Note the dried egg yolk in Starsky’s whiskers.

I guess I’m not the only one who can’t do something in this house without half a dozen cats coming to see what’s going on. Rhyme’s all “Just wanna hang out in the grocery bag LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Snoozin’ Hutch.

Corbett, looking up at Tommy, who’s hanging out on the catwalk in the back yard.

Corbie, running.

And running.

Rhyme’s all “I’m the only one around to run around here like a big goofball!”

And then Rhyme proceeded to run around like a great big goofball. The end.

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This is Sugarbutt’s favorite place -and favorite position – for sleeping, these days. I don’t know. I guess he’s got to keep the nether regions aired out IF YOU KNOW WHAT I’M SAYING AND I THINK YOU DO.

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Previously
2009: The other night, Fred said “I should go out there at night and put a “NO FISHING” sign in the middle of the garden.”
2008: The pigs gave it two (four?) hooves up.
2007: Write about your day!
2006: I guess you can teach an old Fred new tricks.
2005: Can’t a girl be a dumbass without the whole world going into an uproar about it?
2004: For once, he had no good comeback.
2003: “Oh yeah. I hate this feeling. I should have just had a Diet Coke.”
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.
1999: Can you tell this irks me?

Because I don’t have a whole lot to say today, here are some links I’ve recently fallen in love with.

1. Crunchy Betty. I happened across her blog from another blog – I truly don’t know which – and the first post I read of hers was this one, regarding the Marie Claire “OMG FAT PEOPLE EWWWW!” brouhaha. (You can read more about the Marie Claire bullshit here at Big Fat Deal, or Google it up, I know a lot of blogs have covered it in one form or another. My opinion is that it’s a desperate cry for attention on Marie Claire’s part (“Write something controversial! Sales are slipping!”) and it doesn’t make me sad that I canceled my subscription to MC a few years ago because aside from being a completely obvious bid for attention, the article is poorly written WHY IS NO ONE POINTING OUT HOW TERRIBLY WRITTEN THE GODDAMN THING IS, and I’m surely not missing anything from not reading the magazine).

I liked what I read, so I looked around on her blog, and holy crap. I LOVE THIS WOMAN. She tells you how to cover up any, uh, bathroom smells (TRY IT I SWEAR TO GOD IT REALLY WORKS!), she’s doing the No ‘Poo thing (I am seriously tempted in trying this, but I am skeered), she makes her own deodorant, she tested homemade glass cleaner to find the best recipe, tells you how to make your own hand sanitizer, and tells you how to make the best homemade bathroom cleaner! I’d tell you more, but why would I? Get your ass over there and see this fabulous woman for yourself! Did I mention that I love her?

2. Zenni Optical. I don’t know how I stumbled across this site, because it’s been in my bookmarks list for months. MONTHS, I say. You should see my bookmarks list, it is absolutely ridiculous. I come across a site I might want to check out again in the future, and so I bookmark it, and do I ever go back and look at it again? I do not – I just do a fresh Google search. Then every few months I clear out my bookmarks list, and I think “Why the fuck did I bookmark this?” three thousand times. Anyway. So I’ve been wearing these ugly, unflattering glasses for about three years now, because (a) they cost $150+ and (b) I didn’t want to deal with getting another pair. So when I saw that the glasses at Zenni Optical are dirt cheap, I figured I’d give it a try, if they didn’t work for me, I’d only be out a little money, and I’d tell y’all that they suck.

They don’t suck. I ordered the glasses – these, to be exact – and they fit really well, they’re comfortable, and what’s best is that they aren’t scratched, and I can see better out of them than I could out of my old glasses. The bad part – which is not the fault of Zenni Optical but rather my inability to figure out what glasses would look good on me – is that they are horribly unflattering. But I don’t care because did I mention they were dirt cheap, they fit well, they work great, and besides, I wear contacts all day long and only wear glasses for about two hours right before bed.

Note, though, that if you’re blind like me (my prescription is something ridiculous like -6.50) that there’s an additional charge – I think it was $19.95 extra. Also, you’ll need someone to help you figure out your pupillary distance (a painless maneuver that involves you looking straight ahead and someone else holding up a ruler to figure out how far apart your pupils are and then mockingly calling you ““Marty Feldman”).

3. Recently on Facebook, Lori mentioned Pioneer Woman’s Crash Hot Potatoes and said they were amazing. Naturally, I had to give them a try, so on Friday I bought potatoes. And then on Saturday I bought chives to put on them. I intended to make them to go with Sunday dinner. Come dinnertime, I looked at the recipe and realized I needed to boil them first. Since it was practically dinnertime, I put them off for another night. Last night, I boiled them, I mashed them (with a glass, since apparently I don’t have a potato masher. What the hell?!), and then I could not find my fucking chives ANYWHERE. I still don’t know where the fuck they are. Did you take my chives? Since I didn’t have any other fresh herbs on hand, I just brushed them with olive oil and sprinkled them with salt and pepper. I baked them for 20 minutes, sprinkled shredded parmesan (not the powdered stuff) on top, and put ’em back in the oven ’til the cheese melted.

HOLY GOD were they good. And really, once you have your shit together, SUPER easy to make. We’re having them again tonight (well, leftovers from last night, really, which I will warm in the oven) and I think they’ve become an instant favorite in our house.

4. 20 Awesomely Untranslatable Words from around the World. I was looking for the correct spelling of l’appel du vide (French, which translates to “The call of the void”), which is the instinctive urge to jump from high places. This is NOT an instinctive urge that I myself have ever felt, but Fred’s mentioned it to me before and KATG listeners, correct me if I’m wrong – hasn’t Keith mentioned it also? I don’t feel the urge to jump from high places; rather, a little voice in the back of my head says “Wouldn’t it suck if you went stumbling over the side of that mountain (or wherever) right now?” I guess rather than the instinctive urge to jump, I feel the instinctive fear of high places, or maybe the instinctive knowledge that life’s a bitch and if anyone suddenly went windmilling over the side of the mountain (or wherever), it’d be ME.

My favorite from that list: Tingo: “the act of taking objects one desires from the house of a friend by gradually borrowing all of them.” I find it highly amusing that there needs to be a word for such a thing.

5. I grabbed this picture off someone’s Facebook post (I don’t remember who, or I’d credit them) and sent it to Fred, saying “This is you” because it made me laugh and laugh. That’s Fred – he just wants to be left the hell alone, damnit!

6. I sent Fred the link to this video and said “This would your reaction if I told you we were going to Disneyland!” What can I say? He’s a homebody.

Now tell me what links/ pictures/ videos you‘ve fallen in love with lately.

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These two, I’m telling you – wherever I am, there they are. If I’m in front of the computer, they’re in the bed to my right. If I’m in the kitchen, they’re sitting at my feet howling about how they’re pretty sure they’re starving to death. If I’m on the couch watching TV, they’re sitting on me, sound asleep. They are just the sweetest little monkeys!

Starsky does not care for the vacuum cleaner.

Note that first Hutch sinks his front paws into my foot to push himself along the floor, then he pushes his back claws into my foot to propel himself along further, and THEN he grabs for the camera. Why actually get UP and walk over to the camera when you can sink your sharp little claws into my foot?

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The Reacher creature, in the back yard. All the Bookworms love to run over and flop at my feet.

And asleep atop the canning cabinet in the dining room.

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Sleepin’ Sugarbutt. About 50% of the time he’s flopped out on his back in Fred’s computer chair. 25% of the time he’s in the back yard watching for squirrels. The rest of the time is spent eating, using the litter box, smacking at kittens who get too close, and making sure there’s not another place to sleep that’s more comfortable than on his back in Fred’s chair.

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Previously
2009: We actually left the house after dark on Saturday AND I DO NOT KNOW HOW THE EARTH REMAINED ON ITS AXIS.
2008: No entry.
2007: Stupid bossy car.
2006: “Damn pansy-ass city folk.”
2005: as a customer and a HUMAN, I outrank the computer, and I’d like a little RESPECT, thank you.
2004: All this cleaning is making me lightheaded.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Little things make me happy.
1999: Guest entry by Fred.

MAN do I love turning back the clocks an hour in the Fall. I know it gets dark earlier, but it also gets light earlier. My body seems pretty determined to stay my ass in bed ’til it’s starting to get light out, so that means I’ll be up a little after 6 for the next few weeks instead of a little after 7.

Also we’ve only got, what, another six weeks of the days getting shorter before the process reverses itself?

We had our first sub-freezing night Friday night, so Friday afternoon I went out and picked the tomato plants clean. I got a bucket and a half of green tomatoes – mostly cherry tomatoes. I ended up chopping the non-cherries tomatoes and freezing them so that we can have green tomato chili at some point this winter. I put several of the larger green tomatoes aside to ripen, pickled some of the cherry tomatoes, and left the rest of the cherry tomatoes in hopes that they’ll ripen so Fred can eat them on his lunchtime salad for a few weeks longer.

Except for the carrots and radishes in the raised beds, the gardening appears to be pretty much over for this season. I have a million new ideas for next year, and I’ve written them down.

Hopefully when it’s time to start planting stuff again in four or five months, I’ll remember where I wrote everything down!

I’ve been making the hell out of chicken stock lately. For the first batch, I followed Ina’s recipe to the letter. I went a little more loose with the next batch, and by the third batch, I mostly tossed in everything I thought would work (celery, onion, carrots, rosemary, salt, peppercorns) and called it good enough. I’ve got one more batch to go, and then I’ll have used up all the chicken bones I’ve been stockpiling, I’ll have a cabinet full of canned stock, and there’ll be room in the freezer to collect more chicken bones.

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In the mornings, I listen to Bob and Sheri while I’m taking my shower, blow-drying my hair, brushing my teeth, all the usual thrilling stuff.

I was about to step into the shower, and Bob announced that the world’s most famous sidekick would be on in 20 minutes. I paused for a moment and thought “Huh. I thought Ed McMahon was dead?” and turned up the volume a little so I could hear the name of the guest, since I couldn’t for the life of me think of another famous sidekick.

Some time later, while I was still in the shower, Bob started talking about the upcoming guest again.

“The world’s most famous sidekick,” he said. “John Edward will be here in about fifteen minutes…”

Wow, I thought. John Edwards is the sidekick? Then the big cheese must be someone really famous! Who the hell…. ? Is Elizabeth Edwards going to be on, and they’re being funny calling John her “sidekick”…?

And then my brain kicked in and I realized that he hadn’t been saying “sidekick.”

He’d been saying “psychic” John Edward.

Duh.

(And yes, Ed McMahon died in June of 2009.)

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You know, I’m just never allowed to have anything nice ’round here. Someone sent us something a few weeks ago, and after I unpacked the box, I put the box (with newspaper in it) on the floor of the kitchen, intending to eventually take it out to the garage on the way to the recycling center. Of course a cat immediately jumped into the box, so OF COURSE I left the box there so that the cats could sleep in it.

All was well for about a week, and then one morning I walked into the kitchen to find that one (or more) cats had pulled some of the newspaper out of the box. I put it back in the box, and it stayed there for a few more days, and then every morning I’d walk into the kitchen and a few sheets of newspaper would be on the floor. I’d put it back, find it pulled back out the next morning, and so on.

Then one evening, the cats got together and had a newspaper-shredding party.

It’s a Bustie in a box!

Corbie, having shredded some newspaper, takes a bath break.

Starsky and Hutch watch Buster (who’s in that box – you can see the end of his tail sticking out.)

Corbie (on top of the box) and Jake (next to the box) watch Starsky kick some newspaper around. Rhyme and Hutch (at the bottom of the picture) join in on the shredding, while Buster stays in the box and minds his own business.

Newspaper: shredded. Kitchen: a mess. Kittes: happy.

When the cats abandoned their shredding project, I tossed all the newspaper into the box and took it out to the garage so that next time I go to the recycling center, it’ll be ready to go.

TAKE THAT, KITTIES!

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Stinkerbelle would like you to know that she had nothing to do with the shredding. She’s a good girl.

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Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: That is not “getting” someone a car, that is BULLYING SOMEONE INTO DRIVING THE KIND OF CAR YOU WANT THEM TO DRIVE.
2006: Y’all just shut UP. We do NOT have eight cats.
2005: It’s a fucking mystery.
2004: I seem to be a tad less fluttery today.
2003: No entry.
2002: Pictures.
2001: Fred in the dog house. Literally.
2000: I said “It’s a good thing you put your first AND last name, PLUS ‘your daughter’, otherwise I’d never have known!”
1999: Oddly, even though he’s had two doses of the antibiotic, he’s feeling worse instead of better.