Fostering – Page 66

7/17/09 – Friday

With Mister Boogers being gone for more than two weeks, there’s been a slow shift in the way the cats act toward each other and toward us. Stinkerbelle has come down from her perch atop the bookcase in the front room to demand love from Fred. Every evening when we watch TV, she slinks back and forth, jumps up on the couch, and rubs her face against him. He pets her for a few minutes (sometimes even only a few seconds), and then suddenly with no warning, she gets overwhelmed and bites him (sometimes even does that lovely move where she bites and then moves her head back, attempting to tear the flesh from his bones). It appears that she and Fred need to learn each others’ signals, or I’m going to wander into the front room one day to find that she’s torn out his throat and he’s bled to death while she sits there looking bitchy.

(She would likely allow me to pet her if I attempted it, but that cat scares the SHIT out of me. I might give her a quick pet in passing, but attempt nothing more in-depth.)

Spanky‘s gotten more vocal than he was. He goes off every morning around five, sitting in the upstairs bathroom or hallway just singing and singing and singing at the top of his lungs. I call it the “Spanky alarm”, and usually if I yell “Spanky! SHUT UP!”, he does. The other night Fred and I were laying in bed and Spanky started singing, then we heard the angry sound that Kara makes, and Spanky shut off in mid-song.

“She hit the snooze button on the Spanky alarm!” I said.

You should see it in this house at Snackin! Time! It used to be that Kara and Stinkerbelle would both get so excited that they’d each rub up against Mister Boogers (who would take it with rare good grace). Now with no Mister Boogers to rub against (and Tommy in his Snackin! Position! atop the counter), Kara just randomly slinks back and forth and Stinkerbelle goes and tries to start a fight with Spanky, who just sits there and looks at her.

Without Mister Boogers around, they’re trying to figure out who’s in charge, I guess.

On what I’m sure is a completely unrelated side note, we have not had one single incidence of random cat pee anywhere in the house in the past two weeks and two days. Now, THAT I do not miss at all.

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I got some of the floors in the house cleaned yesterday, but I totally blew off the organizing of the bureau in the foster kitten room. I pickled some jalapenos for Fred and canned them, canned some green beans, and canned some gherkins for myself. We’ll see how those turn out.

I also sliced more pattypan squash and zucchini to dehydrate. By the time I’m done with the dehydrated and freezing of all this summer squash, pattypan, and zucchini, we should be all set for the next year. I think we’re about there, actually!

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My God! Snake. (going back inside very quickly) Do you get a lot of them on Crooked Acres?

Actually, not really that many. I think I could count the number of snakes we’ve seen in the past two years on one hand (if you don’t count the water snakes Fred and my father rescued when we were having the pond filled in). I’m sure there are a lot more that wander across the property than we see, but luckily most of them tend not to come across the back yard, and thus we aren’t alerted to their presence by the cats.

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The dogs look so grown up. If that’s George on the right, he looks tall and lanky and not so puppyish.

It’s amazing how they’ve grown, isn’t it? Here’s a picture from shortly after we got them (actually, might be the day we got them, I don’t remember):

And now:

(George on the right, Gracie on the left.)

It blows me away to see how puppyish they looked when we got them, I swear I thought they looked like full-grown dogs to me then.

They turn one year old on the 23rd. I guess I better plan on some sort of celebration for them!

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What the hell were you thinking? Getting that close to a snake to take a picture is nuts! I hope you ran away fast after the picture was taken. That is scarrrryyyyy!!!!!!

I used the zoom. I was nowhere near that snake, I swear it!

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Are black rat snakes good snakes (like gopher snakes, which keep the varmints down) or bad snakes (like rattlers)? Or are they generally good snakes that become bad snakes when they eat baby chicks and/or chicken eggs? (Yes, writing this is easier than hitting google. Don’t ask me why)

The snake that was in the back yard (I’m pretty sure it was a black ratsnake), according to this page, They feed almost exclusively on warm-blooded prey such as mice, rats, shrews, voles, squirrels, chipmunks, rabbits, and birds. They have been known to raid bird nests and devour the eggs. I’m not too concerned about them going after baby chicks or chicken eggs, because I’m pretty sure the roosters, if not George and Gracie, would take care of them.

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Now, I’m no farmer or rancher or chicken keeper. So I have to ask, Is glad trash bag the preferred method of chicken transport?

I have seen chickens transported in all sorts of things – usually when we go to the flea market, if people aren’t just carrying them around by their legs they’ve got them in pillowcases. Actually, I’ve seen more chickens in pillowcases than anything. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen one carried around in a trash bag before, but I guess it’s okay for short distances. We prefer to transport our chickens in cat carriers, but I’ve also seen them in wire cages. The few chickens we’ve sold, we’ve offered cardboard boxes to the buyers to transport the chickens in.

Really, chickens aren’t terribly picky about what they’re carried around in. I don’t know that I’d recommend trash bags, though – that seems like you’re just asking for the chicken to peck through the plastic and escape, doesn’t it?

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I am sooo glad that guy made a video about his experience…just wish I had the talent to do so everytime an airline screwed me over. Any response from United??

Apparently United customer service contacted Dave Carroll and have offered him some compensation. At this point he’s not looking for compensation, and has suggested that they donate the money that they’re offering him to a charity of their choice.

I’m looking forward to song #2!

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There is no love lost with me where Palin is concerned but that baby Father is a dumb one is he not? I think they follow him because he will say things like that. Someone does need to shut him the hell up.

I can’t believe the media is giving Levi Johnston (and it irks me that I know that boy’s name off the top of my head) any airtime at all. I highly doubt that Sarah Palin tends to give him any kind of inside information, and anything he has to say about what’s going on with ANYTHING comes, I do believe, directly from his ass.

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Your story has touched my heart. Today, in memory of mr boogers and the 4 precious kitties that you took such loving care of, I took the largest bags of Purina Kitten and Dog food that I could find out to our Second Chance Rescue center. It was a small thing to do, but just my way of saying thank you to both you and Fred, for the loving care you give to your animals. You are an inspiration.

I think that’s an absolutely lovely way to remember Mister Boogers and Hamilton & Jefferson and their brothers. Thank you!

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If this is a test, did I pass? I sure didn’t have advanced notice to study!

It was a pop quiz! And not only did you pass, you got an A Plus! Plus! Plus! Plus!

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My friend did dialysis at home on her cat w/kidney failure for 18 mos. She lost her a few weeks back and said she may never replace her because of all the work/expense/emotional stress involved. I hope she changes her mind in time. They want to travel a little this summer and a sick in-law means more stress down the road. I don’t think there’s one right answer but I’d let the sick cat go and give a new cat a home. (I doubt we could afford the vet bills and I’m too squeamish to do IV treatment on anyone). What do you think? I do not make my friend feel judged nor she I. We respect each other’s difference of opinion.

and

My cat has had “terminal kidney failure” for 4 years. I’m really a wimp, and even I can give the cat fluids. It’s really not hard since you don’t have to hit a vein or anything. I’ve heard people say it’s cruel to the cat. The way we figure, he’s uncomfortable for about 5 minutes, and the next 47 hours and 55 minutes he feels great.

Giving cats fluids is one thing I’ve never done – YET. I’m sure it’s something I’ll have to do at some point in the future. I think that as long as the cat is happy and seems to be feeling good most of the time, I myself would likely keep on doing it as long as it needed to be done.

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My cats do NOT stay off the counters or the flat top stove, so whenever I am done cooking I fill a pan of water and leave it on the burner until the burner is cool. I had to train my husband to do this as well. It works like a charm.

BRILLIANT.

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Since you love it when readers have Crooked Acres dreams I’ll tell you one I had a few months ago. I was napping on the couch and dreamed I was napping on the couch (I AM CREATIVE). I woke up (in my dream) because Tommy had walked up to the couch and was rubbing his face on mine. I was so happy to see him! And I was saying things to him like “Oh, it’s my Tommy Toms!” and giving him face kisses and telling him how happy I was to see him and what a beautiful boy he was. Then I woke up for real and wondered in that just woke up thinking about your dreams way why it was Tommy. Then I told myself indignantly “Of course it was Tommy! He’s the Ambassador! The Ambassador of Love!” Now whenever I see his picture, even in the sidebar, I whisper “It’s the Ambassador! The Ambassador of Love!” It made me smile to get a “visit” from M-O-O-N.

HA – he is totally the Ambassador of Love! I love that you dreamed about Tommy, it doesn’t surprise me that he visited you and gave you some Tommy Love. He’s a luvah, that one.

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Just wanted to ask you a question about the picture with the squirrel in the suet container. Is that a mouse tail hanging at the bottom? It sure looks like one.

Nope, that’s a leaf. You can see the picture larger here.

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Huh. Given the big “No dumping of household garbage” sign, I’d have thought that they were employees and they were getting the name of a particularly egregious offender, the better to send him/her a citation. My second thought, upon hearing that they were opening mail, was that someone had thrown away something very important and they were hoping against hope to find it. Sifting through discarded junk mail is probably only a fractionally more effective means of stealing someone’s identity than ringing someone’s doorbell and saying, “Hi, I’d like to steal your identity, can you fill out this handy form with all your personal information?”

Coincidentally, Consumerist.com just did an entry today: Identity theft hysteria overblown; watch your debit card instead. It’s hideously transcribed, but interesting nonetheless. There are so many more things to worry about.

No, they definitely weren’t employees – they eventually got into a car and drove away with a box of stuff they’d purloined from the dumpster (a couple of people suggested they were perhaps looking for coupons – which I think is the most likely possibility).

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Those are some sort of stinging things ’cause your closeup is on a little hive! (and I don’t think they are makin honey!)

They pop up in all sorts of odd places on our little farm and then all of the sudden you’ll see a huge hive – and have to call the exterminator (not my husband!). Yesterday I found 4 wasps in a little hive – inside the passenger side door of my car.

Kill’em. Kill’em Dead, now, while you can.

I actually didn’t have to do anything – Mother Nature took care of ’em yesterday. It rained, the bucket got a few inches of water in it, and voila – dead floating stinging things!

Thanks, Mother Nature. You’re a pain in the ass sometimes, but occasionally you help a sister out!

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I found some pictures of Dwight on my hard drive, ones that I haven’t shared. He sure is a sweet monkey. I hope he gets adopted this weekend!

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Also on my hard drive, I found a couple of pictures of Mister Boogers, ones that I took a few months ago. I was saving them to use in a story wherein Stinkerbelle was a hard-hitting reporter who exposed Mister Boogers as being a poser who PRETENDED to hate everything, but secretly had a marshmallow-soft center of LOVE.

I’ll put them up here sized tiny so as not to upset anyone, and if you want to see the full-sized version, you can click on it and see more detail over at Flickr, ‘k?

I sure do miss that Boogs.

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Previously
2008: I repeat: GODDAMN CHICKENS.
2007: My day in motherfucking pictures.
2006: No motherfucking entry.
2005: No motherfucking entry.
2004: No motherfucking entry.
2003: The motherfucking shit fit continued unabated.
2002: I guess I’d better keep these motherfucking babies to myself.
2001: Ever found yourself being a total unreasonable motherfucking bitch for no good reason, and even though you know there’s no reason for the bitchiness, you can’t halt it, can’t stop it, just have to sit back and let it happen?
2000: ‘Cause that’s just the kinda lazy motherfucker I am.

7/14/09 – Tuesday

Jesus christ – can’t someone get this kid to shut the fuck up? * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Thanks, all of you, for your kind words yesterday – they mean a lot. You … Continue reading “7/14/09 – Tuesday”

Jesus christ – can’t someone get this kid to shut the fuck up?

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Thanks, all of you, for your kind words yesterday – they mean a lot. You guys are pretty freakin’ awesome, if I might say so.

Yesterday was particularly hard for me – every time I thought about Hamilton, I burst into tears. It got to the point where I’d start to say something to Fred about the fact that I was bursting into tears at the drop of a hat, and then I’d start crying, and then I’d laugh at the ridiculousness and throw up my hands.

(The worst part about bursting into tears is the inability to TALK without the wobbly voice. Also, the swollen eyes.)

We buried Hamilton and his brothers under the big pecan tree by the garden, and as I wrapped Hamilton in a soft pink blanket, he looked like he was sleeping, and I kept wishing I could touch his back and feel him arch against my hand one last time. That, of course, brought on more crying. I’m telling you, I was a mess yesterday.

Part of the problem, I’m sure, is that I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a week and a half, including Sunday night. I decided that last night if I couldn’t turn my brain off and go to sleep, I was going to take a hydrocodone. Luckily, that wasn’t necessary. I got a good eight hours of sleep, and I’m feeling a lot better today.

I’m only taking a short break from fostering – I told Susan I’d be ready to foster again at the end of the month. Maybe not bottle-fed kittens again right away, but I am absolutely willing to try with tiny ones again in the future. As painful as this experience was, it taught me not to be scared of the idea of tube feeding, and I think that’s a valuable skill to have. When I emailed Susan to tell her about Hamilton, she emailed me back to remind me what she’d told me at some point in the past: A local Abyssinian breeder once told me that with these teeny ones, “If they’re going to die, they’re going to die no matter what you do and if they’re going to live, they’re going to live no matter what you do.” I think that’s probably pretty good advice. We do our best to save them but sometimes we just can’t. I know that they were warm and safe and loved while they were here, and although we couldn’t save them, I believe we offered them some sort of comfort before they passed on.

It’s so quiet around here with only our nine cats – no little fosters running around or needing to be fed. We talked seriously last night about adopting Dwight, who is the sweetest little guy on earth (we always called him Fred’s “boyfriend” because he loved to snuggle with Fred at TV-watching time), but ultimately decided that it wasn’t what we wanted to do. I know that Dwight will end up in a great home. Anyone who spends one minute with him is going to know what a sweetheart he is.

I kept busy yesterday, and there was plenty to do. I’d let a lot of stuff fall by the wayside while I was taking care of those kittens, so I spent a good part of the day taking care of produce from the garden that needed to be frozen or dehydrated or whatever. I ended up roasting 7 spaghetti squash over the course of the day so I could freeze them, I put cayennes on to dehydrate (when they’re dehydrated, I’ll grind them into powder), I put yellow squash on to dehydrate, and chopped more yellow squash up to freeze. I started a batch of gherkins (which will take a few days to finish), shredded zucchini to freeze. I’m sure there’s more I did, I’m just not remembering what it was.

Oh! I did laundry. I had a ton of laundry to do, mostly towel, cleaning rags, baby blankets. I swear to god that I generated more laundry every day with these kittens than Kate Gosselin does in an average day.

I also got out the sewing machine and made a couple of covers for the heating pad. The cover that came with the heating pad is ancient and ugly, so I used a baby blanket to make one of them, and some fleece material I had for the other. They look okay, but I was reminded anew that I cannot sew a straight seam to save my life. Probably if I messed with the sewing machine more than once a year, I might improve, ya think? I also took some baby diapers – ones that I bought back when I had Maddy and dyed purple – and cut them smaller. One of the many things I wished while I had Hamilton, Jefferson, and their brothers was that I had some smaller cloths to wash their faces (and back ends) with. It kind of seems overkill to grab a huge cloth to wipe their faces with, you know? So I cut three diapers into quarters, and ran seams around the cut edges of the cloths so they won’t unravel. Black thread on purple cloths. Someone really needs to buy more thread, I’m thinking, because my choices at this point are black, red, or white.

Today, I have groceries to get, recycling to take to the recycling center, and a house to clean. I have literally not vacuumed this house since last Monday, and I can’t even look at my floors, they’re so horrifying. Not to mention the bathrooms that desperately need cleaning, and the dusting.

Oy. I hate the dusting.

I still have more squash (pattypan, this time) to dehydrate, and a chicken to boil ’cause I’m going to make a Quesadilla Pie for dinner. And speaking of pies, I made a Zucchini Pie with dinner the other night and it was very, very good. One of the things I’m going to try with my dehydrated zucchini this winter, is to rehydrate it and see if I can make a decent Zucchini Pie with it. It’s worth experimenting with. The only thing is that the bottom of the pie crust was a bit doughy, so next time I’m going to prebake it before I fill it, and we’ll see if that reduces the doughiness.

Okay, I’m off to clean. Wish me luck!

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Cats do control humans, study shows.

That right there is what we call a “no-shitter.”

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This video is AWESOME.

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Tommy was laying in this cat bed, and Sugarbutt decided it was time for snugglin’. I love how he’s all stretched out, taking up more than his allotted space.

And Tommy is clearly pleased about this turn of events.

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Previously
2008: All in all, a very good weekend.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: It doesn’t have that ring of finality to it, that “I’m ending this goddamn email, see?” air.
2004: Why the fucking hell shouldn’t men cheat on beautiful women?
2003: Could I be more boring, yammering on about my email address?
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: I guess I should clean under the couch a little more often, huh?

7/13/09 – Monday

If you’re looking to start your week off with some light and happy reading, this isn’t it. Seriously. If you’ve got the Monday blues, skip this one. You’ve been warned. & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & … Continue reading “7/13/09 – Monday”

If you’re looking to start your week off with some light and happy reading, this isn’t it.

Seriously.

If you’ve got the Monday blues, skip this one.

You’ve been warned.

& & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & &

Soooooo.

There might have been some goings-on around here last week that I didn’t exactly write about. (No, I’m not pregnant. No, we’re not separating or divorcing. No, Fred didn’t lose his job.)

Mister Boogers, you’ll recall, died on a Tuesday.

(I feel very Forrest Gump right now. “You died on a Saturday morning. And I had you placed here under our tree.”)

(No, this is not about another one of our cats dying.)

On Friday, the shelter manager sent out an email asking if anyone wanted to take four 4 day old kittens. I exclaimed “Oh! Baby kittens! This is EXACTLY what I need to take my mind off missing Mister Boogers!” I had a brief discussion with Fred, who shrugged (as he usually does in the face of my desire to bring more cats into the house) and said that if I wanted it was okay with him. I sent an email to the shelter manager offering to take them.

I didn’t hear back from her that day, so I figured she’d found someone else to take them. When I got back from cleaning at the pet store on the morning of the 4th of July, I had an email from her accepting my offer. I called and made arrangements to get them right then, and headed out.

The woman who had them lives 10 minutes or so from the shelter, so I swung by the shelter first to pick up the shelter manager, and off we headed. The kittens, it turned out, came from an animal control facility in Tennessee. Where they are not, shall we shall, fans of cats. The mother to these kittens gave birth to them, and was euthanized before the kittens could have any time with her at all, not one minute.

The mother was euthanized because she had an upper respiratory infection. Before they could put the kittens down as well, the woman who works there had snatched them up and brought them home. By the time I got them, two of them – the smaller two – weren’t doing so well. The two larger ones seemed to be okay, though. I knew there was a good chance that one or both of the smaller two wouldn’t make it. I was going to do everything in my power to make sure that didn’t happen, but when it comes to tiny baby kittens who weren’t allowed to have that vital time with their mother, it’s kind of a crap shoot.

I got home and got the babies set up in a large carrier lined with a towel and baby blankets over a heating pad. After a little time passed, Fred suggested that we feed them. We did, and while the two smaller ones weren’t interested in eating, they did eat some, and the two larger ones ate pretty well.

I began feeding every three hours. As Saturday bled into Sunday, the two smaller ones seemed to be struggling at feeding time. Once they refused to even suck on the bottle, we began using (needleless) syringes to put formula into their mouths one drop at a time. They seemed… not flourishing by any means, but okay. We were getting some food into them, they were peeing okay, they’d occasionally wake up from their dozing in a pile to do a lap around the carrier.

I didn’t want to name them until I knew they’d survive, knew them apart, and knew what sex they were (they all looked like boys to me, but at that age it’s hard to tell), but we started calling the larger two “The Porkies”, the larger of the two smaller ones “Marty” (he had what looked like it was going to be a bulgy sort of eye, thus his expected resemblance to Marty Feldman), and “The runt.”

By Monday, Marty and the runt were being fed exclusively by syringe. The Porkies were starting to fight the bottle. And all of them were starting to sound congested. Fred took on the runt as his special project – it was a challenge to him to force the little guy to survive. I’d bend down to check on them, and the runt would have crawled off the heating pad, so I’d put him back on it. A while later, he’d have crawled off. Monday night, Fred took a long time feeding the runt and when we went to bed, he was feeling pretty hopeful that the runt would make it.

All four of them, Sunday or Monday (I don’t remember which). The Porkies are on the right; the runt’s in the back, Marty’s in the front on the left.

When I got up at 3:30 Tuesday morning, the runt was dead.

I had been expecting it, and I got teary-eyed, but wrapped him in a paper towel and set him aside to be buried later. Fred was disappointed when he came downstairs a while later, but all we could do was concentrate on the three remaining kittens.

At this point – or perhaps shortly after – all three were being fed via syringe. The problem with feeding via syringe (and with bottle feeding, for that matter), is that you can put the formula in their mouths, but some amount of it will dribble out one side or the other, and end up matted in their fur. So you can feed them a certain amount of food, but you really don’t know how much is actually going into them.

As Tuesday went on, Marty started to fade. He seemed to rally that evening at feeding time, but mid-morning on Wednesday, I did a periodic check (which I did approximately every five minutes) and found him dead. Again, I’d been sort of expecting it. At a certain point when you’re syringe feeding, you can put as much formula in their mouths as you want, but if they won’t swallow, you can’t force them to do so.

I stepped up the feeding on the two remaining kittens, the Porkies – who were not nearly so round and porky as they had been when I first got them. They were raspy and lethargic, and I was spending half an hour feeding each of them, not to mention giving them antibiotics to help them fight the infection (and who knew how much of that they were actually swallowing?).

In the shower one day, I was thinking about the larger of the two Porkies, the one who seemed to have a bit of sass to him. He reminded me of a hamster, and I came up with the name Hamilton for him. Then I decided he needed more of a name, so decided his name would be Hamilton J. Porks III. And because you can’t just name ONE kitten, I named the other Jefferson Porks, Jr.

(It made me laugh, and I was so sleep deprived and worried that anything that made me laugh was a good thing. The names stuck.)

Hamilton in the front, Jefferson in the back.

Thursday came, and Hamilton and Jefferson got weaker. They were eating less, they were eliminating less. Jefferson, in particular, was urinating very little, and it worried me. Fred called and asked if I’d thought about tube feeding.

I’d heard of tube feeding, but really – just the name is daunting, isn’t it? You have to thread a tube down the kitten’s throat into their stomach and push formula through a syringe and down the tube. It sounds like something I would inevitably mess up.

Fred directed me to a video of tube feeding. We discussed it. We decided against it.

The kittens grew weaker.

Fred arrived home from work, having stopped on the way home at a local area vet to pick up the supplies to tube feed. I was incredibly relieved. We got the formula warmed. He showed me how to pull the formula up through the tube into the feeding syringe. I got Jefferson, handed him over to Fred, and two minutes later we had a kitten with a full stomach.

Feeding the tube down a kitten’s throat into his stomach is almost distressingly easy. You lubricate the end of the tube with formula, put the tube in the kitten’s mouth, and begin pushing it toward the back of his throat. He responds by swallowing. You slowly feed the tube to the premeasured mark (please, for the love of god, if you’re going to tube feed a kitten, talk to a veterinary assistant, don’t go by what I’m saying) and very slowly push the plunger of the syringe until all the formula is in the kitten. Slowly pull the tube out, stimulate the kitten to pee/ poop, and off they go to sleep with full bellies and empty bladders.

If I had had any idea at all how simple the process was, we would have been tube feeding from the beginning. It very likely wouldn’t have made a difference (with no mother’s colostrum to start them off right, they had a huge strike against them to start out with), but I’d be feeling better right now, knowing that we’d at least tried.

Thursday evening, after two tube feedings, Jefferson (who’d been more lethargic than Hamilton) seemed to rally. He was perkier, he seemed to respond more when I touched him, if his eyes had been all the way open, he would have been bright-eyed. We went to bed feeling better about both of the kittens’ chances.

Friday morning, Jefferson still wouldn’t pee very much, no matter how much I tried, just one or two drops. Fred suggested that perhaps he’d been dehydrated, and his body was holding on to every bit of fluid it could. I fed him mid-morning, and he just seemed to be getting weaker.

Hamilton, on the other hand, was a fighter. He didn’t want me to make him pee and poop. He didn’t like having the tube down his throat. He didn’t like that I restrained his paws so I could put the tube down his throat. He didn’t HATE having a full belly, but he peered at me like a little old man (his eyes just starting to open) and I could tell that when he grew up BOY was I going to be in TROUBLE.

About an hour after his mid-morning feeding, Jefferson cried the saddest meow from the carrier. I went and picked him up, and he sat in my hand and cried some more. I sat at my desk, Jefferson laying on a baby blanket, and stroked him. He gagged, and then started throwing up. By the time he was done, he’d thrown up a large amount of yellow bile.

I cleaned him up and sat on the floor by the carrier and held him. I tried petting him, but every time I did, he’d cry. He just sat there, his breathing becoming shallower and shallower. He started shaking, and I talked to him, and then his breaths became further and further apart.

And then he died.

I lost it for a little while, because I had so hoped that he was going to pull through. I just knew that I was going to end up with two fat, sassy, sweet little kittens and that when the time came, after we’d been through so much with them, that there was no way on earth we’d adopt them out to someone else, that they were going to be ours and when they were 15 years old and still holy terrors, I could tell the story of how tiny and sick they were and how they’d fought so hard to live. That we’d had them every day of their lives except for the first five.

I think Fred believed that, too.

So Hamilton became an only child. He fought harder and harder at each feeding. His breathing sounded worse and worse, but since I could make sure he got his antibiotic in the feeding tube when I fed him, I was certain that he’d fight off the infection. I read somewhere that the biggest reason kittens with Upper Respiratory Infections die is because they can’t smell the food you’re trying to feed them, and thus won’t eat. We knew he was getting food directly into his stomach, and so we thought maybe between the strength from the food he was getting, and the antibiotic (and the hours of holding he was getting every day), he’d make it.

Fred and I worried that Hamilton would grow up weird, having not had siblings to keep him in his place. I suggested that maybe when he got a little older, I’d ask the shelter manager to keep an eye out for another kitten (or a few of them) around his age, and they could grow up together.

Hamilton went from 5 1/4 ounces to just under 6, and then yesterday morning he weighed in at over 6 ounces. Since the charts I’d seen said that the average 2 week-old kitten weighs around 7 ounces, I felt good that he was on track. Both his eyes were mostly open (showing up those pretty blue eyes all kittens start out with), and whenever I reached in to pick him up out of the carrier, he arched his back against my hand. When I put him on the kitchen counter after his mid-morning feeding, he crawled around a little, peering at everything. His breathing was raspy, but sounded better to both of us.

When he was in his carrier doing laps on the rare occasion I wasn’t holding him, I’d turn to say something to Fred, and in the carrier I’d see Hamilton’s ears wiggle. I referred to myself as “Mommy” when I talked to Hamilton.

I was a little concerned that he wasn’t peeing much, but he WAS peeing some. He also didn’t fight his noontime feeding much, but I theorized to Fred that maybe he was beginning to understand that having the tube down his throat meant he was about to have a full belly.

We are such optimists.

I went to a gathering for a few hours yesterday afternoon – a gathering of shelter volunteers, actually. And it was the best kind of gathering, because you knew everyone present was a cat lover, and we talked about our cats a LOT, we talked about past and present fosters and shelter residents. I told everyone who’d listen my tales of woe, that we’d lost three of the four, but that Hamilton was a fighter and I was hoping.

I lied and said I was “cautiously optimistic.” To be correct, I was WILDLY optimistic. I couldn’t wait to get home and hold Hamilton.

When I did, his breathing sounded worse to me. He didn’t pee at all when I fed him. An hour later, he vomited up a puddle of formula. He laid in my hand and gasped for air.

There was nothing I could do to help him. I could only hope to comfort him. I stroked his back and ears. I talked to him. I brought him into the living room to watch TV with us. He slept for a while, then he’d wake up and arch his back and cry, and flail around. I kept him warm and talked to him, petted him.

At 8:30, he died in my hand.

So, to summarize: I dealt with the heartbreak of the unexpected death of the most personable cat we’ve ever had, by getting super attached to beautiful litter of tiny kittens who probably had no chance from the outset, and got my heart broken again.

I treated heartbreak with heartbreak. It didn’t work so well.

I stupidly got super attached to that little guy and I really expected wholeheartedly that he was going to make it; I think I didn’t realize how completely I expected him to make it until he didn’t. I know we did all we could and I know I’m going to see that in time (I really do kind of see it now), but boy.

I’ll be back tomorrow.

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Previously
2008: No entry.
2007: Because then I’d probably poop my guts out, and that just wouldn’t be a pretty sight.
2006: I think I need a nap.
2005: Hey. What’s worse than not being able to stop yourself from crying? WHEN A MOTHERFUCKER KEEPS LOOKING AT YOU TO SEE IF YOU’RE CRYING. [I find it all cirrrrrrrrcle of life-y that it was about this time four year ago that Mia, from our first batch of foster cats, died.]
2004: She looked simultaneously confused and disgusted. “When do I eat CHICKEN eggs?” She wrinkled her nose.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: Sh’yeah. I’m sure Brad’s reallllly worried.
2000: Could that paragraph have been any more rambly and pointless?

7/10/09 – Friday! Friday! Friday!

If things look odd around here for the next few days, it could be because we’re switching servers. Hopefully by Monday, things will be running smoothly again! & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & On … Continue reading “7/10/09 – Friday! Friday! Friday!”

If things look odd around here for the next few days, it could be because we’re switching servers. Hopefully by Monday, things will be running smoothly again!

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On the issue of cats peeing all over the house, I have some advice from (unfortunately) years of experience. Don’t put the litter box there. Putting the litter box there says “Yes! Pee here!” Instead, put their food there. Cats won’t eliminate where their food is. Then put the litter box some distance away. Have multiple litter boxes, of course. When this was an issue for our cat, due to stress caused by strange cats outside our apartment, we tried everything but it wasn’t until we used the food solution that we made any progress (still wasn’t perfect, but it really helped — fortunately our cat was obsessed with peeing in corners only). We had about ten food dishes around at one point, but he got the idea after awhile. Also having a little dish of vinegar in the spot will stop them. As long as you have made sure it’s not a medical issue, it’s just a long process of behavior modification. Our ultimate solution was moving to a new house 😉 Once the stress was gone, his behavior was perfect. (I like the Valium suggestion too. For both cat and owner.)

Excellent advice!

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We have been having a problem with our cat pooping outside of the litter box. We took him to the vet and same thing, no physical problem. Eliminating outside of the litter box can be a reaction to stress and anxiety and that could be from just about anything. Anyway the vet recommended that we have 2 litter boxes (you are supposed to have 1 more than the number of cats you have so I guess Robyn and Fred have about 20 boxes:)), change the litter to plain non-scented clay and also we confined him to a small area 24/7 for 2 weeks. In our case he had the run of the laundry area so that it had his food, his litter boxes and his cushion. Be prepared for a lot of meowing and carrying on. Just don’t have his food all that close to the litter boxes. During this 2 weeks your cat is getting retrained to use the litter boxes. Also if you have the kind of box that has a hood on it take it off and watch to see if he is having trouble getting into the boxes, maybe the sides are too high. Meanwhile make sure you are thoroughly cleaning the areas where he has peed with enzyme cleaner, make sure it soaks right into the carpet and underpad. Then after the 2 weeks let him have the run of part of the house, block off the stairs if you can and only let him out when you are home to observe. When you have to go out put him back into his confined space. After 2 weeks of this and no accidents let him have the run of the house and keep your fingers crossed. Right now our kitty is on an anti-anxiety plus we are using the Feliway plus he is confined when we are not home.

More excellent advice!

And actually, we only (!) have four litter boxes – three in the laundry room, one upstairs in the bathroom (there’s a nook that’s perfect for a litter box). When the foster kittens have the run of the house, all the cats have access to the two litter boxes in the foster room, too – but those rarely get used by our cats. I scoop all the litter boxes in the house twice a day (upon rising and at Snackin’! Time!), and I’ve noticed that one of the litter boxes doesn’t get much use. I may try removing it and see if that causes any problems.

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Under $100 at Sam’s. It is a Festivus Miracle. I truly did not think that was possible.

And then! The following week! I DID IT AGAIN! I think I should play the lottery, because amazing things are happening ’round here!

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I took our 2 orange and white kitties to the vet for their annual shots this morning, and while there the receptionist mentioned (because somebody else mentioned that almost all calico cats are female) that most orange kitties are male. Have you ever heard that before? (I notice Phyllis is both orange and female, which might blow that theory.)

I’ve heard that orange tabbies more often tend to be male than female, but after I first heard that a few years ago, it seems like I’m always getting female orange tabbies. I looked around for an explanation, and found this, from this page:

Like humans, cats have one pair of sex chromosomes. These are the ones that make them male or female and they play an essential role in determining a cat’s colour. In females, both sex chromosomes are X making girl kitties XX. Males are XY, the Y making them male. A kitten gets one chromosome from Mom and one from Dad. Moms only have X’s so the variable is given by the Dad, if he gives his X, the kitten is a girl, if he gives his Y, it is a boy.

The gene which makes a cat ginger (orange) is located on the X chromosome. The gene for ginger will override all other colours. Since males have only one X, they either are or aren’t ginger – no halfway about it. Girl cats have two X’s in each cell. As far as the cells are concerned two X’s is one too many, so each cell deactivates one of the X chromosomes in a fairly random fashion . . .

Since males only need to have the orange gene on one chromosome to become ginger, and females have to have it on two, ginger males outnumber females 3 to 1.

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(Regarding Danielle from Real Housewives from NJ) While Danielle’s childhood history is horrible, it doesn’t excuse her behavior as an adult these many years later. It explains it, but doesn’t excuse it.

Absolutely! I am not a fan of the “This happened to me, therefore it excuses all my consequent asshole behavior” excuse.

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Hey Robyn, save some of those jumbo zuccs and make this: http://www.recipezaar.com/Low-GI-8220Apple8221-Crisp-12379. I made it for dessert last night and it totally fooled my non-squash eating 11 year old. FTW! It was great warm with a little squirt of whipped cream on top.

That looks really good – I may have to make that this weekend! (I’ll report back, if I do.)

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I hope adorable Creed doesn’t jump atop the stove when burners are still hot. I wouldn’t want him, or any other kittehs, burning their paws.

and

I have one cat, Snickers, and worry that he will burn his paws on my flat top stove while being his nosy self. I was wondering what you guys do, with your crew of cats, to prevent this from happening? Snickers sizzled his whiskers one morning as he checked out what was in the toaster.

Creed’s too little to get up on the stove, actually – I put him on the stove so I could show how damn big those zucchini had gotten.

I don’t actually do anything to keep the cats off the stove top – they don’t hang out on the counters or near the stove when I’m cooking (they’ve been tossed off the counters often enough while I’ve been cooking so that they know it’s a no-no). So far, we’ve been lucky!

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I’ve got a “Friday Question,” something that’s been running through my wee tiny brain of late. (Especially after the other night when I had a Robyn dream that you and Fred actually lived during the week in an apartment in some city. You only spent the weekends at Crooked Acres, and you hired me to take care of things for you at the farm during the week. I kept trying to explain that maybe I could deal with the “dispatching” of the chickens but the pigs were out of the question, and then Fred yelled at me for being a hypocrite. And that hurt, Robyn, that really hurt.)

I’ve been following your blog since long before your surgery, long before Fred lost the weight. I look at your life now, the house, the garden, the animals, the joy you both clearly take in what you’ve accomplished, and after I’m done trying to not be jealous (I would KILL for your tomatoes [uh, the ones in your garden ;-)]), I wonder: do you think that the way you and Fred live today would have been even remotely possible if you were as large as you both were when your blogs had their inceptions? And, when you began your blogs, did either of you ever imagine that you’d live this kind of life?

I ask because I’m incredibly nosy. It’s how I roll. Especially when I’m yelled at for refusing to kill pigs with hammers and my kid’s safety scissors.

I LOVE IT when you guys have dreams about us, for the record. And really, if Fred was demanding that you take care of dispatching the pigs, he was the hypocrite, since he makes someone else do that!

I honestly don’t think it would have been physically possible for us to do what we’ve done with this place, the renovating of the inside, the cutting of the lawn, the caring for the animals, the constant goddamn weeding in the garden (hee – as if I’ve done any weeding in weeks! Fred does it all!) at the size we were when we started blogging. We might have wanted to, but there’s no way we could have pulled it off.

I don’t know that having 4 1/2 acres, 150ish chickens, two dogs, and pigs is anything we were aiming for. I know we both wanted to have a house on more land than the 1/3 acre we had then – we kind of stumbled into this life, and as it turns out it’s the life we always wanted without realizing it.

(Hammers and safety scissors? That sounds like some kind of MacGuyver shit!)

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Butterfinger cake sounds great-a definite take and bake. Having pigs to feed the excess to is mighty convenient. Did Fred “take care of” them while you were gone?

Did I forget to mention this? Fred made the appointment to take the pigs the Monday after I got back from Maine, and I was supposed to go with him. But late on the Saturday before, his truck died at a busy intersection (when we were on the way to have a guy take a look at it because some kind of fluid was leaking from underneath – but then the truck completely died, and the guy couldn’t fix it, so we had it towed to our usual place in Closeville.), so he asked a coworker with a truck (and hitch) for help. Monday morning, the guy came, and he and Fred hauled the pigs off to the butcher. I stayed home and weeded!

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I had a problem with a neighbor asking to “borrow” money. For about 8 years my husband and I lived in a home converted into 4 apartments – the same people lived in all 4 units the same time I was there. Everyone was OK (and by OK I mean they pretty much left us alone) except for the front door unit, which we had to pass by every day to get the mail. The woman had no job and a big story, which inevitably led to heavy sighs about a lack of money. I would just commiserate get out of there as quick as possible, but I found out that my husband was giving her money when she directly asked. I went nuts. I think I was maddest about her taking advantage of my husband’s good nature and he agreed to stop.

Apparently she didn’t get the hint and showed up AT OUR DOOR late one evening. My car in the shop so I’m pretty sure she thought I wasn’t home at the time. She said she needed “just a little bit” of money and promised she’d pay it back. I told her to hold on, shut the door and pulled a $20 out of my wallet – my husband looked at me like I was crazy. I opened the door again, wide enough for her to see my husband in the room, handed her the $20 and cut her off when she tried to say she’d pay it back. I smiled and said “You keep it. This along with all the money you’ve taken from my husband. This is the last you’ll ever get from us, and if you ask again I’m calling the landlord.” And that was the end of that – it was great because after that she actively avoided speaking to either one of us. It’s one of the few times I’ve managed to say exactly what I wanted to say at exactly the right time.

Internet high five!

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I’m so sad to hear about Mr. Boogers. His het updates were a bright spot for me, so I will het everything a little extra today in his memory.

He would het that.

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Hey, Robyn, I’m a bit behind reading (b/c I’ve been in PARIS–eat your heart out 🙂 , so hopefully you’ll get notified about comments.

I’m all about the muffins, and since I’m single and trying to remain relatively healthy, I usually only want one or 2. I got me one of these and boy is it the bomb. Kinda like a waffle iron except for muffins. I freeze batter and make up one or 2, and it’s great and you don’t have to heat up your whole oven. It heats itself up in about 3 minutes and they take about 15 to bake and have that a nice crusty side to go along with the nice crusty top which is what muffins are all about. I (like Alton Brown) detest unitasker appliances, but this one is worth it if you’re all about muffins. Just sayin’.

Kar, you evil evil reader, I cannot find one of those anywhere online. And I WANT one!

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I first read, “Okay, I’ve got shit to do…” as “Okay I’ve got to shit…” and I thought that you were really over-sharing today!

While I do over-share from time to time, I promise to keep my bowel habits to myself!

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Did you ever think of selling your stuff at the Farmer’s Market?

Not really – between the amount of produce I’m freezing and canning, and the stuff we feed the chickens and pigs, and the occasional bags of squash we give Fred’s parents and sister, there’s really not anything left over.

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You are going to be overrun with produce! Do you have a vacuum sealer? I got one this spring because I was tired of buying packages of meat at Costco and having the last ziploc be all freezer burnt before we got to it. I highly recommend if you don’t have one. We have a new model that sort of stands up and it’s also great for sealing spaghetti sauce or what have you (as long as you’re careful to leave a lot of room at the top).

I ADORE my Food Saver. I use it all the time! I highly recommend it to everyone – when I get large amounts of ground beef at Sam’s, I split it up and use the Food Saver to pack it up. LOVE IT.

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Why oh why does the maestro have a red drinking straw sticking out of the back of his head??

That’s a zip tie behind him, holding the chicken wire to the fence.

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In the neighbourhood where I live there are quite a few feral cats..there are 2 calicos..very cute (I think one is the mom and the other the baby…about 2 & 1 years old) About a year ago the younger cat started hanging out with me when I am out in the garden or outside reading- she’ll sit under a bush watching me, lay on on the porch step … then as the months have gone by she had been sitting in the back garden waiting for me to get up in the mornings. The older one is never too far behind..and sometimes shows up first.

Then about 6 months ago I started Snackin! Time where they have come into my laundry room to eat (about an 8th of a cup of dry food once a day…I never wanted this to be their only food source) as the months have gone by 3 other cats have joined them but just once or twice a week…the 2 calico let me pet them alot each morning but only inside the laundry room, when they are outside they don’t let me get too close and always run off. When I come home they often are waiting for me and roll around on the ground, if I have no food they go away and come back the next day..they don’t seem to bothered. Sometimes I don’t see them for a day but they usually show up within 48 hours, but most days they come by twice but food is only handed once a day.

They have come right into my house once in a while and have a good snoop around but don’t stay longer than 5 minutes. They catch birds and lizards and really could care 2 hoots about how cute I think they are and how I just wanna squeeze them to death…I have picked them up, a little 2 second lift, but they don’t like it and I have been scratched badly by one of them by doing this~ DUH! (they have been spayed as their ears are clipped and the neighbour told me that someone has used to do that to the cats..take them in for fixing and clipping the ears…all 5 of the strays have clipped ears except one, a male is NOT fixed)
anyway I am moving at the end of the month to a new neighbourhood and want your advice about taking them with me The 2 calicos..do you advise it or should I just leave them alone here
The place I am moving to has a huge yard…very large but I know they won’t know where the hell they are if I take them- here they know where they are and the hood is their life.

Please let me know your thoughts.

And Val said:

My aunt is the neighborhood cat lady. She had several outdoor cats that adopted her. When she built a beautiful house out in the country, she wanted to make sure the cats were OK. So she lived trapped the cats, and took them out to the new place and let them go. It took her hubby and her over a week to move so she did it slowly after they started sleeping at the new digs. She, also, had them fixed if they hadn’t been already fixed (I think she had one sly male that she never managed to catch before the move). The cats adjusted quite nicely. I think she moved something like 3 or 4 cats.

There’s a really good page about relocating feral cats, here. I think that if you’re willing to relocate them, that’s pretty awesome – and you should go for it!

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What’s pigweed?

and

Hmm… it’s been a long time. My Dad owned a sale barn and he passed away when I was 12. I was looking at a photo this morning of MJ’s daughter and thought gosh that is how old I was when my dad died. So I was pretty young when I was around pigs which is why my memory is hazy on this. I thought pigweed was toxic to animals???

and then Fred said:

We call it pig weed because we feed it to the pigs, but I’m pretty sure it’s actually smartweed.

For the record, I did not know that it’s not actually pig weed. Fred’s always called it pig weed, so that’s what I’ve called it, too!

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How is Miz Poo doing with her affliction?

Miz Poo spends most of her time sitting around in an Elavil-induced haze. I haven’t caught her grooming her belly and legs at all except for the two days when Fred forgot to medicate her before he left for work. If he forgets to give her her pill, it’s like she’s instantly out of the haze, and begins grooming obsessively.

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You might be sorry if you contact those magazines. I don’t think you have to actively subsribe to them. Entrepreneur, in particular, goes to anyone who *might* be a small business owner. If you contact them, you’ll probably be subscribed as Robyn and then be getting 2 copies.

I didn’t actually identify myself as NOT the previous box owner, just wrote and asked them to cancel the subscriptions. Hopefully that’ll stop them from coming. Also, I think it’s odd that I keep getting the magazines addressed to the previous box owner, but am not getting any of their other non-magazine mail. It’s as if they gave up their PO Box to get the hell away from the magazines!

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My Credit Union even offers a service where I scan the fronts and backs of checks, and email them into the bank – Voila! They deposit them into my account! I always make sure to shred them after I know the deposit has been credited to my account. I truly don’t have to go to the bank if I don’t want to!

and

We do ALL our banking online. It’s awesome! I can deposit checks online then send them on to the bank (its actually a credit union) via the special envelopes they send me. The funds are even available immediately! I also never have to balance my checkbook since I can check my account balance every day and I know what checks are out. Very few since I use the online bill payer and don’t have to write out as many checks. I used to hate banking but now I can do it at home in my pajamas any time of the day or night!

Our credit union doesn’t offer that – but I’m hoping they do, and the sooner the better. That would be a dream come true!

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After your posts last summer about pattypan squash, I decided to grow some this year. LOVE ‘EM!

I LOVE the pattypans. They rank even with zucchini, as far as I’m concerned. They have a good flavor, and they don’t get as seedy as yellow summer squash does. For dinner last night, I roasted slices of pattypan, then layered them in a dish with our leftover spaghetti sauce from earlier this week, and topped it with cheese. It was REALLY good.

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I love okra but never eat it because I can’t get past the slime. Does the oven-fried okra still have that slime factor going because I would really like to try it!

Nope, I don’t find the oven-fried okra to be slimy at all. Handling it before you cook it – the slicing of it, and tossing it with the breading – is a bit slimy, but once it’s breaded and baked, it’s not slimy at all. And it’s really pretty good!

A few months ago, Gina left a recipe in my comments (a recipe I haven’t tried yet but plan to) that she swears gives you non-slimy okra. It’s worth a try!

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Some people swim with the dolphins…and other Darwins find swimming pigs…and get bit.

Ha – I love it!

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When I first glanced at #1 picture, I thought it was Gracie & George and thought “Oh Boy, they already got another kitten”. Then it hit me that no way would you replace the Boogie so quickly and I read the caption. I also thought of you, Fred Poor Boogie several times over the last week. I even got mad at him for jumping the fence. But I quickly forgave him.

No, we’re not planning to get another cat anytime soon, if ever. When Spot had to be put to sleep, we were sad but he’d been sick, so it wasn’t such a great shock. When Fred remembered Joe Bob and what a great cat he was, it seemed only natural to bring him into our house. This time, we’re still getting used to losing Mister Boogers, and the idea of bringing another cat into the family, well, it just doesn’t feel right. That might change in the future, or it might not – only time will tell.

(And I hate that Boogie was able to get out of the back yard. We’re talking about adding an electrified strand to the top of the fence so that it never happens again.)

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Question for you. How did George and Gracie handle the firecrackers? Our three goofballs did not even bat an eye but I know doggies don’t like the fireworks.

The stuff that was being set off in the distance didn’t bother them, but the kids a few doors down have been setting off bottle rockets almost every afternoon, and they bark at that. Also, someone set something off in the church parking lot the other night, and that set them off, too. For the most part, though, we’re lucky – most of the stuff being set off around here was far enough away that they didn’t pay much attention to it.

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Say goodbye to Creed, Dwight, and Phyllis, who are off to the pet store, hopefully to be adopted quickly! We’ve certainly gotten attached to the little monkeys, and they’ve really made themselves at home. They really like hanging out with us in the evening when we’re watching TV. Hopefully they’ll be adopted quickly by people who’ll be able to tell right away what sweetie pies they are!

“I wonder if she noticed I was SLEEPING before she started up with that flashy thing?”

At the sight of such a large supply of pristine cardboard, Phyllis can barely contain herself!

She finishes off her meal with a chomp of Creed’s neck.

“Hey! Guys! I don’t wanna brag or nothin’, but did you notice I’m in the box??”

Junk mail inspectors Creed and Dwight check my recycling box to be sure I’m doing it right.

Dwight curls up in the bucket with the latest copy of In Style. It’s what all the stylish kittens are reading!

Creed knocked over the trash can in the bathroom and hung out there for a few hours. He likes to curl up in the oddest places.

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Sheriff Mama performs an exhaustive interrogation of the suspect.

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Previously
2008: I’m too young to be old and frail!
2007: WHO AM I AND WHAT HAVE I DONE WITH THE REAL ROBYN?
2006: Playing with tigers.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: How to kick a sock’s ass. If it had an ass.
2002: “What’s your name?” he asked.
2001: No entry.
2000: Leave it to me to have sex dreams about the gay guy, huh?

7/9/09 – Thursday

If you don’t read Tess (and why the hell not?), you might have missed her post on Jon & Kate, an explanation of what a “flicker” is, and a discussion of “flickees”. I still think they’re both kind of douchebags, and of course I’ve felt sorry for Kate because she just looked SO devastated in the separation show, but Tess’s post did an awfully good job of explaining just why it is that Jon is ready to move on while Kate’s still trying to come to grips with the fact that her marriage is over.

I know I’ve said it before, but I really do think it’s probably time for the show to end. The constant filming and the paparazzi presence is doing those kids no good at all.

That said, you know I’ll watch every episode of that damn show and look forward to the Very Special Episode wherein one of the twins comes home and announces that she’s pregnant by her 45 year-old teacher and oh yeah, did she mention she’s addicted to meth?

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Yesterday afternoon, I finished reading Happens Every Day, by Isabel Gillies about the end of her marriage. It’s one of those books that’s technically well-written, but the dialogue is kind of stilted and she really seems kind of obsessed with appearances. That said, I have to say that it’s a really good book, honest and raw and heart-breaking, and I couldn’t put it down.

My only quibble (well, aside from the stilted dialogue and the obsession with appearances) is that she’s currently married to the love of her life – and we don’t get so much as one short stinkin’ chapter about how they met and fell in love. Just that he’s the love of her life and they’re married.

I imagine she’s saving that for her next book.

(Also, love is blind. I’m not seeing model good looks here (that’s her ex), just vague, kind of boring handsomeness. Maybe he’s better looking in person. He looks like Woody Harrelson to me.)

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Okay, I’ve got shit to do and I know you’ve been DYING for more pictures of George and Gracie, so howzabout I slap up a million of them, and I’ll see you tomorrow!

George hears something and gets all alert.

Seeing a rabbit hippity-hopping outside the fence, George and Gracie go over to let it know that they are ON THE JOB and there’ll be no stealing of THEIR chickens by any dastardly bunny.

George guesses he told THAT bunny what was what.

Racing to the back of the back forty to make sure there are no more chicken-stealing bunnies around (there aren’t).

Annnd racing back to the front of the back forty just ’cause they can.

George LOVES to grab onto Gracie’s tail. It drives her nuts.

You can really see the size difference between the two, here.

George, grabbing for Gracie’s tail again.

You might think this is the dog version of a hug. You’d be wrong. She’s actually trying to push him over, but he’s too damn heavy for that.

There’s just so much going on in this picture. Gracie’s tongue and the baleful look she’s giving George. George’s bared teeth and his back paw on Gracie’s front leg, pushing her away.

Grinning pups.

Water break.

This is what happens when you drink water and then go bury something in dirt so your brother won’t find it.

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“Hey, guys! There are BIRDS out there!”

“WHOA!”

“That bird almost got me! It flew RIGHT at me! Did you see that, guys???”

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Joe Bob takes a moment out of his busy frog-killing schedule (seriously, I’ve found three dead frogs by the back door. ENOUGH PRESENTS, Joe!) to ensure that he is properly groomed.

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Previously
2008: It just means our boobs have different needs, is all.
2007: It was quite a way to start the day, lemmetellya.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: I am smooth like a Barbie doll, and as far as I’m concerned, everyone else in the world is lacking nipples and sexual organs.
2003: Although, my father used to say to me ‘Nando, don’t be a shnook. It’s not how you feel, it’s how you look! And roo look mahvelous!
2002: Because, my friends, I am a squeezer.
2001: Any excuse to hold up the Laziest Gal in the South title.
2000: No entry.

7/8/09 – Wednesday

New month, new logo (finally)! This one was created by reader Jean, and considering the garden pics you’ll be looking at in a minute, it’s quite appropriate! Thanks, Jean! & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & & … Continue reading “7/8/09 – Wednesday”

New month, new logo (finally)! This one was created by reader Jean, and considering the garden pics you’ll be looking at in a minute, it’s quite appropriate!

Thanks, Jean!

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These pictures are from last week – someone requested garden pics, and I went out on Tuesday and snapped a bunch of pictures, and then with the whole Mister Boogers thing, the entry got delayed.

So the garden kinda looks like this, but it’s grown more. Imagine it looking less weedy, too.

We’re growing a bumper crop of Pigweed. The stuff at the other end of the row is taller than Fred. The pigs LOVE this stuff.

Bees in a squash blossom.

Fred thought the first crop of corn he planted wasn’t going to amount to much due to all the rain, so he planted more. That’s the pigweed to the left, okra to the right.

Wee okra. It’s been surprisingly mild lately, and okra prefers the heat, so we haven’t gotten much yet.

For god’s sake, tomatoes – RIPEN ALREADY, wouldya?

At least we’re getting plenty of cherry tomatoes.

Peppers in the back, cantaloupe in the front.

j
Habaneros. Helloooooo habanero jam!

Japanese Eggplant. I’m not really a fan of the eggplant.

Summer Squash. Ten minutes later it was three feet long.

Spaghetti squash!

Spaghetti squash, up close.

Beans. We’re not getting nearly enough this year.

Happy little cucumbers.

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What’s that, you say? You can’t get enough of the chicken pictures? Well, let me see what I can do for you…

Fred calls this one “The Maestro.”

Black Copper Maran rooster. I love his feathered legs.

“Who, us? Taking a dust bath? Why, we’d never!”

The one we call “The Road Runner.” Look at those legs and that tail!

Mother and child.

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From feral to allowing an ear-scratching in four short days. Those chocolate chip cookies are MAGIC.

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I got word yesterday that there’s room at the pet store for Creed, Dwight & Phyllis. I’ll be taking them down Friday morning and leaving them there, hopefully to get adopted very quickly. These three are such total love bugs and I hope their personality shines through to potential adopters!

Someone asked a few weeks ago how I could possibly let kittens go. It’s always hard, and I always tear up when I leave them in a cage (it’s especially hard when they give me the betrayed “How COULD you??” look). But I know that they’ll go to good homes, and really – I can’t keep all of them, can I? I know that they’ll go to good homes, and I know that they’ll have each other to snuggle up with and play with until they’re adopted. It certainly could be a lot worse – they could be living on the street instead of safe and fed and cared for in a cage.

I never like having to leave them at the pet store, though, that’s for sure.

I could not find Creed ANYWHERE, and started to worry that he’d gotten out of the house somehow. Then I spotted him, curled up in this bag in a corner of the kitchen. He slept there for hours.

I am annoying her. Or Dwight’s snoring is annoying her. One or the other!

Fighting amongst the shoes.

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Keeping an eye on those kittens.

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Previously
2008: Boneheaded things I have recently done
2007: No entry.
2006: Just a quick picture to let y’all know what we did with our Saturday morning.
2005: I turned and gave her the Bug-Eyed Look of Annoyance*, to no avail.
2004: “Agh!” I yelled. “I hate you kitties! I hate you all!”
2003: Do motherfuckers retain water?
2002: “Your cheatin’ heeeeeart…”
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

7/7/09 – Tuesday

Ever have one of those days when there’s ONE thing you really need to get accomplished by the end of the day, but at the end of the day, it remains undone? I had one of those days yesterday. I did laundry, then had to use the dryer instead of hanging it out to dry … Continue reading “7/7/09 – Tuesday”

Ever have one of those days when there’s ONE thing you really need to get accomplished by the end of the day, but at the end of the day, it remains undone?

I had one of those days yesterday.

I did laundry, then had to use the dryer instead of hanging it out to dry because it looked like it could rain.

I chopped cucumbers and onions to make sweet pickle relish – good god, what a time-consuming pain in the ass, but I didn’t want to use the food processor, because I like my sweet pickle relish to have those little cubes rather than shreds. I could have used my Vidalia Chop Wizard, but that died a few months ago in a tragic “GODDAMN IT, YOU WILL CHOP THIS ONION, WHY ARE YOU BEING SUCH A PAIN IN THE ASS???” accident that might have involved someone putting it on the floor and stepping on it, then bouncing up and down to force it to chop the Teflon-skinned onion someone was trying to chop. After chopping and chopping and chopping for hours yesterday, I ordered a new Vidalia Chop Wizard so that in three years when the 6 half-pints of sweet pickle relish I made yesterday AND the five half-pints I made a few weeks ago are used up, I won’t have to chop by hand (although I’m sure my Chop Wizard will have died again by then. Don’t they make a version of that thing that is NOT made of plastic?).

I paid bills and balanced the checkbook, which I’d been putting off since the middle of last week.

I ran over to the post office to drop off a box and to mail my bills.

I got home and checked my mail, to find that a book I’d dropped in the mail box at the post office on Friday was over 13 ounces, so they attached a “Bitch, I don’t even think so. You have to hand this to a person. IT MIGHT BE A BOMB AND HANDING IT OVER TO A PERSON IN PERSON WILL ENSURE THAT IT IS NOT A BOMB.” sticker to the front.

I went through the buckets of vegetables Fred had brought in from the garden on Sunday, picked out the oversized zucchini to feed to the chickens (they adore that zucchini), washed off the cherry tomatoes and put them in a bowl to finish ripening (the majority of them tend to have just a tinge of green when Fred brings them in. Sitting on the counter for a day usually takes care of that), washed off the remaining zucchini and summer squash, and looked balefully at the ONE partially-ripe tomato sitting on the counter. We have 50-something tomato plants, and have gotten just a handful of tomatoes. I suspect that in a week or two, I’m going to be awash in mostly-ripe tomatoes and I cannot WAIT. I’m planning to make my own ketchup this year!

I put laundry away and threw a load of towels in to wash.

I had to go to the bank to deposit checks and of COURSE I didn’t think to bring a magazine or book with me. And of COURSE I didn’t think about actually going inside the bank to make my deposit until after I was trapped in the drive-thru. So I sat there for 15 minutes and cleaned out my purse, used a wet wipe to wipe down the dashboard, looked in vain at my pocket calendar, checked my phone for games to play (there are no games on my cell phone, damnit, except for a trial version of Ms. Pac Man) and just generally cursed this whole fucking antiquated business where people write on pieces of paper, necessitating that you have to take said pieces of paper TO THE BANK to get your money, and what is this, 1734? Can’t they just mentally zap the money into my checking account or something? GEEZ.

Since I was in that end of town anyway, I decided to go check the PO Box. I don’t check it that often, because I’m usually not expecting anything, but it’s better to be safe than sorry, and I figured at the very least there’d be magazines I have no desire to read so that I could get annoyed by the previous owner of the PO Box for not filling out the card to have her mail forwarded. I wasn’t quite sure what my exact PO Box address is (I haven’t memorized it yet), so I called Fred and made him check my contact page so I could be sure. Then I went into the post office and my fucking key would NOT open the box.

I called Fred and double-checked to be sure I had it right. I did, I tried it again, and the key would go in, but it wouldn’t turn. I stood in line for 10 minutes, told the lady at the counter my problem. “Oh,” she said. “Your rent must be due. Would you like to pay it?” I said I would, and she went to bring up the account for me, but since I wasn’t within 30 days of the bill being due, I couldn’t pay it. In other words, the rent? Not due yet. She went back and looked at the box and checked with someone, then told me that she’d pull “the green stick” (I didn’t ask) out, and I should be all set.

I went back, and again the key went in and wouldn’t turn. I went back and stood in line for another five minutes so I could tell her that it wasn’t working. She went off to consult with someone, who eventually came out and went to the box with me, saw the nonworking nature of my key, and went back into the back to see what the hell was going on. It appears that the issue of Garden & Gun magazine that Douchey McGee, the previous box owner, was subscribed to had been pushed up so that it was under the turning mechanism, thus stopping the turning mechanism from, well, turning. I’ll be writing to those goddamn magazines (Douchey McGee also received her monthly issue of Entrepreneur as well as Parenting. Well-rounded interests, that Douchey.) to stop the subscriptions from arriving.

I had hoped to be home from my errands by noon – by the time I got home, it was almost 1:00. I went out and gave the dogs their mid-day snack (shaddup), tossed scratch to the chickens, checked for eggs, and then came inside and ate lunch. We had BLTs for dinner the other night – the bacon from our most recent pig; we took them to a different place for processing this time around, and they smoked the bacon for us and HOLY CRAP was it good – and there were two pieces of bacon left over, so I had a BLT for lunch.

It was fabulous.

After lunch, I drained the chopped-up cucumbers/ red and green bell peppers/ onion, made the syrup for the pickle relish, boiled the whole mess for five minutes, canned it all up, put it in the water canner, and then cleaned the kitchen while the canned pickle relish boiled merrily for ten minutes. I think I mentioned that I ended up with 6 half-pints of the stuff. The perfect addition to chicken or egg salad! And best of all, I think we can skip a year of cucumbers, unless the gherkins I’m going to make next week (assuming I have enough cucumbers) are so good that I need to make more next year.

Once the canning of the relish was done, I pulled the zucchini and summer squash out of the fridge, sliced up a shitload of it, dipped and coated it, oven-fried it, let it cool, and then put it in the freezer (still on the baking sheets) to freeze. Once it was frozen, I piled up all the slices and popped them in a freezer bag. This winter, all I’ll have to do is bake those ’til they’re heated through, and we’ll have ourselves a decent side dish with whatever the hell we’re eating.

We are some squash-loving motherfuckers.

While the squash was cooking, I pulled the ears of corn out of the fridge and started cutting the kernels off the cobs. Fred harvested a load of corn last week, and I boiled up a couple of ears and it was really good, so I froze the rest of it. Then he waited too long to harvest the rest of the corn, and it got past the point of being any good, which we discovered on Saturday when we were eating corn on the cob with our burgers. It was chewy and just plain gross. Since we can’t toss ears of corn on the cob into the big chicken yard lest George and Gracie snatch them up, eat them, and then require $63 million in vet care (eating the cobs can cause intestinal blockages), I decided to cut the corn off and toss the kernels in the big chicken yard, and the leftover cobs in the little chicken yard (there was enough corn left on the cobs to make it worth their while for the chickens to peck at the cobs).

I’d just tossed the cobs into the little chicken yard and the kernels into the big chicken yard when someone pulled into the driveway. I looked at the time and cursed Fred’s existence. Someone was stopping by to buy hatching eggs, and Fred KNEW that, but it was just after 3:30 (he’d told them he’d be home at 3:30), and where was Fred? NOWHERE TO BE FOUND, THAT’S WHERE. I answered the door, made sure it was the egg-buying guy (it was), then called Fred on his cell phone to find out how many eggs they were buying, and how much. When he sells eggs on eBay, he sends out 14 eggs to allow for egg breakage in shipping, so I wasn’t sure if he maybe gives in-person egg buyers 14 eggs as well. (He does not.)

As the egg buyer was pulling out, Fred pulled into the driveway. We talked for a few minutes, then he went out into the garden to make more work for me because he’s a hateful motherfucker. I puttered around the kitchen, and eventually started dinner.

For dinner last night: sausage browned with onions and chopped-up zucchini, mixed with spaghetti sauce, served over spaghetti squash. Side dishes: roasted pattypan squash (sliced too thin, as it turned out) and oven-fried sliced okra. It was pretty freakin’ good, if I do say so myself – and we’ll be eating it again tonight, this time with thicker roasted pattypan squash.

After dinner, I dealt with the produce Fred had brought inside, then sat in front of the computer and Googled pattypan squash recipes. I got a sudden brilliant idea – why not dehydrate zucchini slices, which I could rehydrate in the future to use as lasagna noodles? So I Googled around about dehydrating zucchini slices and found a bunch of information about dehydrating shredded zucchini, which you can then rehydrate and use in zucchini bread, or just toss into soups and stews. So today, I’ll be running the dehydrator!

I had enough time before I was due to do Snackin! Time! to go out and fill up the bird feeders and refill the bird baths, so I did that. By the time I was done with that, I had a few minutes to do a little more reading on Google about dehydrating zucchini slices (to blanch or not to blanch first, that is the question I am pondering), then it was Snackin! Time! I fed the cats, scooped the litter boxes, cleaned up the kitchen (the cats make more of a mess in a five minute Snackin! Time! session than I make all day long, I swear to god), and then it was Snackin! Time! for Fred and I, and we settled down in front of the TV. He put in a movie, and I surfed on my laptop.

(Side note: We’re working our way through Season 7 of CSI (Vegas), and I have to say that if Sara Sidle says ONE MORE THING that she thinks is clever and then PURSES HER GODDAMN LIPS TO INDICATE HER SEXY, SEXY WIT, I will go through the TV screen and I will throttle her.)

(Other side note: I’ve told Fred that Gil Grissom is totally the weirdo at Thanksgiving dinner. So when he goes off on one of his informative tangents, lecturing to his fellow CSIs, I say, in a whiny kid’s voice, “Mooooooooom, Uncle Gil is DOING IT AGAIN!”)

(Other other side note: It drives me crazy when one CSI finds a weird piece of evidence and says, basically “Golly, I wonder why that is?” so that the other CSI can condescendingly explain what’s going on so we stupid, stupid viewers won’t be left in the dark.)

(Last side note: All bitching aside, I really do enjoy the show. I swear!)

We went off to bed at 9, and guess what? The one thing I woke up wanting to get accomplished that morning didn’t get done. This house desperately needs to be vacuumed in the worst way.

Guess I know what I’ll be doing today!

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This rooster cracks me UP. He’s part Crested Polish, thus the mohawk. I love his devil-horns comb!

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I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before – Dwight is a sniffer. Every night while we’re watching TV, he climbs up on Fred, and he sniffs Fred’s breath. Then he tries to stick his nose up Fred’s nostril. He’s not picky, though – usually a couple of times a day he’ll approach me and try to stuff his entire head in my mouth, wildly sniffing the entire time. I don’t know if he’s doing a breath check, checking to be sure we’ve brushed our teeth, or hoping to find some food in there, or what. It’s seriously cute.

Phyllis and Creed are both sniffers, too, but not to the extent that Dwight is. They’re hobby sniffers – Dwight, on the other hand, would like to make it his career. I wonder how much a breath-and-nostril sniffer makes these days?

She is SUCH a pretty girl.

“What?”

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Note the droplets of water on his nose.

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Previously
2008: Here’s a tip: if someone teases you about being a Housewife of Doom and a perfectionist, it is difficult to refute that assertion if you’re caught in a compromising position.
2007: No entry.
2006: Damn freaky cats.
2005: “It’s cancer,” Fred said. “That’s a tumorous lip if I’ve ever seen one!”
2004: I didn’t tell her that I think scars are badass and it can scar up all it wants.
2003: God, I hate people.
2002: No entry.
2001: So the house situation, oh what a story it is.
2000: This week, the devil won.

7-6-09 (Monday)

Thanks, y’all, for your kind words and thoughts about Mister Boogers. We are missing him an awful lot these days – more than we expected, I think. With Spot and Tubby, at least they were sick for a while before they died, so it wasn’t unexpected (especially with Spot), but Mister Boogers was young and … Continue reading “7-6-09 (Monday)”

We both keep finding ourselves surprised anew by the loss – and every now and then one or the other of us sighs and says “Poor Boogie.”

Good ol’ Boogie.

It’s so strange – Mister Boogers’ personality was so large that with him gone it’s like our cat population has halved. Things are so quiet around here, and the other cats seem to know that something’s not right.

If you haven’t donated to the shelter in his memory and wanted to, there’s still time! (For that matter, if you were offended by the Boogie hetred, you could donate NOT in his memory. The shelter can always use the money, especially now that they’re aflood in baby kittens.) I suspect Mister Boogers would pretend to be horrified that people were remembering him in such a way, but secretly? He’d be pleased. He’s looking up at y’all right now IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN.

They accept donations by mail (check or money order), by phone (Mastercard/VISA), or select the button below to donate through PayPal.

Challenger’s House

112 Tristian Rd.

Toney, AL 35773

Phone: 256-420-5995

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So on Friday, after I went to the pet store and cleaned out cat cages and gave extra love to all the cats there, Fred and I set off on an errand. I know I mentioned that the pigs went off to freezer camp a couple of weeks ago. As always, once the pigs were no longer there for us to feed our kitchen scraps to, I missed having a convenient bucket to toss everything into. When we’re pigless, I toss everything into a Ziploc bag and keep it in the freezer ’til it’s full, then move it out to the garage so that when we have pigs again, we’ll have scraps on hand to feed them (they get pig chow as the main part of their diet, but we supplement it with food from our kitchen, the garden, and Fred’s mother saves their leftovers for the pigs, as well).

After a few moments of discussion (doesn’t take much to convince me), Fred decided to call the pig man and see if he had any small pigs he could sell us. He did – he just had to trap them, which took a few days – and they were ready to go. Since Fred had Friday off, we decided Friday morning was the perfect time to go pick them up.

The drive up to the pig man’s house is always a pleasant one. While Fred and the pig man went off to get the pigs (you can read more about that here WARNING GRAPHIC VIOLENCE), I walked around and took some pictures.

Great Pyrenees puppies (no, we didn’t come home with puppies!) and a kitten.

Momma cat (the slightly larger orange and white is the Momma) and some of her babies.

Kittens (they didn’t let me get close to them at ALL).

This one wanted to be friends in the worst way, but she was just a little too scared of me to let me pet her.

One of the many dogs around the place.

“Pet me! Pet me! PET ME!” (I did.)

Momma pig heard her babies squalling and came running. Right through a barbed wire fence. All I could do was stand there and stare – she slipped through so close I could have touched her. (I didn’t.)

Happy pigs.

“What?”

Guineas sure are ugly.

New pigs. Thus far, Fred has attempted to woo them with food. He hasn’t been 100% successful at getting them to connect him with food, but with the help of Piggerdoodles, he’s getting there.

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Saturday – well, what did we do on Saturday? I know I got up early and went to the pet store to clean cages again. To my utter delight, Belle got herself adopted! I cleaned out the cages and then let the kittens – and there are a lot of kittens right now – run wild. I swear to god, if I could bottle 1/100th of the energy those kittens have, I could rule the world.

I left there and went to Sam’s Club to stock up on important household items (2 gallons of white vinegar for less than $4? Yes, please!), and I think I was only in there for about half an hour. I wasted some time at Target, walking around looking at stuff ’til Michael’s opened, then browsed in there for a while before I headed back to the pet store (which was now open) and bought some cat food.

I was home a little after 10, I think, and then I did a lot of puttering around the house getting veggies (which Fred had helpfully picked while I was off running errands) cleaned and put up.

We had a pretty simple Fourth of July meal – hamburgers, horseradish potato salad, corn on the cob, and cherry tomatoes with blocks of mozzarella (always my favorite part of summer. Well – that, and the raw green beans, straight from the vine. Nothing tastes more like summer to me!).

The best part of dinner was dessert – holy MOLY was it good. I ran across a recipe for Paula Deen’s Strawberry Cream Shortcake last week some time, and printed it out. Instead of using just strawberries, I bought some blueberries on sale, and used strawberries on the first layer, and blueberries on top. SO GOOD. I highly recommend it.

(So do the pigs!)

Out of curiosity – do any of Paula Deen’s dessert recipes NOT call for a can of sweetened condensed milk? Not that I’m complaining!

Speaking of good food, I made Quesadilla Pie for dinner last Friday, and it was a big hit with both Fred and I. I did make each layer a lot thicker than I should have, so it ended up being higher than the pie dish, and lasted for several meals. Next time, I’ll make the layers shallower and see how that goes. It’s a good recipe to use up leftover chicken, extra summer squash and zucchini – I imagine just about anything tossed in would be good!

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Creed, Dwight, and Phyllis are such funny little kittens, racing around the house, jumping on each other (and us!), fighting, and then falling in a heap to sleep for hours and hours before resuming the racing around again. They’re sassy little monkeys, and Creed especially is a love bug. He adores climbing up on Fred in the evenings, sniffs wildly at Fred’s mouth, rubs his face along Fred’s cheek, and then settles in to sleep.

(Unless, of course, he hears a strange noise at the other end of the house, in which case he goes racing off to investigate.)

At this point, these three are ready to go to PetSmart, but there are so many kittens at the shelter and more coming in all the time, that it could be a while. And to be honest, I’m fine with that! They’re no trouble, and they’re certainly entertaining.

Phyllis, sound asleep with her eyes open. Kinda creepy!

On the mat by the door, among the shoes, is Dwight’s favorite place to snooze.

“We are trying to sleep. Go ‘way.”

He just REFUSED to lay so that the hat would sit on his head properly. So I hung it off his ear, and he could not have cared less.

Sweet boy.

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Stinkerbelle thinks about taking on the Mantel of Hetred.

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Previously
2008: No entry.
2007: What can I say? I’m a freak.
2006: If the vet tells me that Tommy’s overweight, I’m going to say, with great dignity, “We prefer to call him ‘portly’.”
2005: Mia.
2004: There were a couple of parts that had me laughing so hard I could barely breathe – especially the line “I see you have a little swimming mouse”.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Have I ever mentioned that I’m kind of a dork?

6/30/09 – Tuesday

The shit that is PISSING ME OFF these days. 1. A few weeks ago, Fred was home from work and I was making dinner or puttering around the house or sitting on my ass in front of the computer, I don’t remember what exactly I was doing, and it’s not important (and yet I cannot … Continue reading “6/30/09 – Tuesday”

The shit that is PISSING ME OFF these days.

1. A few weeks ago, Fred was home from work and I was making dinner or puttering around the house or sitting on my ass in front of the computer, I don’t remember what exactly I was doing, and it’s not important (and yet I cannot seem to stop blathering about it. Was I wiping down the counters? Scrubbing the toilet? Talking to a cat? IT’S A MYSTERY.). The doorbell rang, and Fred went off to answer it. I didn’t concern myself, because I figured it was someone wanting to buy eggs. A minute later, Fred came in and reached for his wallet.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Remember Woody?” he said. “The guy who moved us here from Madison? From Woody’s Moving?”

“Yeah…?”

“Well, his truck ran out of gas, and he needs to borrow some money.”

I looked out the window. “His truck ran out of gas in our driveway?”

“No, not that truck. His moving truck, it’s down the road a ways and he ran out of gas. He forgot his wallet at home, and he doesn’t have his ATM card with him.”

“Then why doesn’t he drive home and get his wallet?” I asked.

Fred responded with something that I don’t recall. He continued digging through his wallet.

“I don’t like this,” I said. “Tell him we don’t have any cash.”

“Bessie,” Fred said. “He moved us into this house!”

I misunderstood, and flipped out. “Oh, he MOVED us? So, what, we OWE him? FUCK that!”

“No, he moved us, so he knows what we have. He knows we’re not poor!”

Which, in retrospect, was a dumb argument because most of the time we really don’t have much cash around the house. But that’s neither here nor there.

Woody had asked for $40; Fred gave him $30. Woody assured Fred that he’d be back the next day, asked what time would be best (Fred told him “After 3:30.” “In other words,” I said. “‘My wife will be here alone until 3:30. Feel free to drop by, tie her up, and rob us!'”). Woody thanked Fred profusely and then left.

We haven’t seen Woody since, and it’s been at least a month. I think you can imagine my shock.

I’ve already told Fred that the NEXT time someone stops by to ask us for money, I’m going to give them the phone number for Woody’s Moving Service and tell them to get it from HIM.

Honestly, I’m not sure why this has me so pissed off, but when I think about it (and I only think about it occasionally, I don’t sit around and think about it all the time), I FUME. We’ve had people ask us for money, and have given it willingly knowing (despite their assurances) that we’d never see it again. The Walkin’ Dude (also here, here, and here; he hasn’t been back since that last one), if you’ll recall, got twenty bucks or so from us, and thought that we were his fucking gravy train. That didn’t piss me off (well, except the part where he didn’t have the good sense to be embarrassed and stay the fuck away), just annoyed me a little.

This thing with Woody, though, even though I knew we’d never see that $30 again, well – Woody better not show his fucking face around here again, because I am the shy and retiring type (stop laughing!), but I will tell Woody to go fuck himself and to get the fuck off my porch and not come back and I very well might bitch-slap him in the process.

2. Robert the egg-buying man. Truth be told, this doesn’t piss me off, just more annoys me. Robert the egg-buying man loves our eggs. LOVES THEM. He stopped by one day and bought all the eggs we had on hand, and then he asked Fred if we could have 10 dozen eggs by the following Friday. Fred told him that we likely could, and Robert tEBM said that he’d be by Friday afternoon.

We made sure to save 10 dozen eggs for him, but Robert tEBM never showed up. So we sold the fucking eggs. He showed up a week later and apologized, saying that since the weather had been non-rainy, he’d been trying to catch up on work. Fair enough, I s’pose, though I’m not sure how much time it takes to swing by and buy some eggs THAT ARE BEING HELD ESPECIALLY FOR YOU.

Then, last week Robert tEBM stopped by and bought all the eggs we had on hand (a couple dozen, I think) and asked Fred if we could save him three dozen eggs for Sunday. Because we are stupid and trusting, we did.

Never showed up. WHAT A SHOCK.

We are no longer going to save eggs for Robert tEBM unless he pays for them in advance. Fucker.

3. Back when Gmail was new and you had to have an INVITATION to sign up for it (November 2004, this was. Damn. That’s like 300 years ago in internet years!), I signed up not only for the email address I use all the time (mizrobyn), I also signed up for robyn.anderson, not knowing what I’d use it for, but figuring it’d be handy to have as a backup email. Well, I don’t use it at all, though I check it every couple of weeks just to see (I think I’ve used it in a few different places where I signed up for message boards or whatever). There was never anything much in the in box, until late last year. Apparently when you sign up for a user name with Gmail, if there’s a period in the user name anywhere, Gmail doesn’t really “count” it. So when I signed up for robyn.anderson, I also got robynanderson by default. And there are Robyn Andersons ALL OVER THE FUCKING PLACE who just ADORE giving out that email address as their own.

There’s a Robyn Anderson in Canada who’s going to school to be a teacher, and I ended up on her study group’s email loop for a while. There’s a Robyn Anderson in Illinois who’ll be attending her reunion in Dallas this summer – her mother was nice enough to forward her flight information to me. I got her email confirmation from American Airlines confirming that she’s signed up for their frequent flyer program, too. I get business emails, I got an email asking how I was doing, since I was apparently having a problem pregnancy and confined to my bed and who on earth was taking care of my two young children, anyway?

You know, I know Robyn Anderson is not an uncommon name but GODDAMN, people. When you’re giving out your email address to people, you think you could maybe double-check that you’re giving it to them correctly???

4. Assfucks on eBay that bid on shit, get the winning bid and then don’t bother to pay for what they won, or for that matter, to even so much as let you know they’re no longer interested. And you can apparently no longer leave negative feedback for buyers. That’s some fucking horseshit.

5. On Friday, Fred picked all the zucchini and yellow squash in the garden. And then he sprayed them to kill the squash bugs that have started showing up, which meant he couldn’t pick them again for two days. Yesterday when he got home from work, he went out to pick the squash and zucchini and holy SHIT that stuff grows fast. We ended up with a ton of squash and zucchini, and some of the zucchini was so big that I ended up putting it to the side to feed to the chickens. The chickens LOVE squash and zucchini from the garden, it’s one of their favorite things to eat. This doesn’t really go under the heading of things that piss me off, I guess – it goes under the heading of a win/ win situation. I didn’t have to mess with squash and zucchini for a few days, now I’ve got enough to dice and freeze AND enough to make the chickens (and dogs, for that matter) happy! Also, Fred’s started harvesting the corn and I give the ears that are half-eaten by bugs to the chickens, and they must have thought yesterday was their BIRTHDAY. I tossed several ears to them, and then had to tell George to back off because apparently dogs are rather fond of corn on the cob, too, and he was grabbing all the corn he could get his mouth on and carrying them off to his eatin’ spot, then going back for more WITHOUT EATING WHAT HE’D ALREADY GOTTEN.

Corn hoarder.

(Edited to add: Giving corn on the cob to dogs, apparently not a good idea. DAMNIT. When will I learn to Google this stuff first??)

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Someone mentioned yesterday that I hardly ever talk about Creed or post pictures of him. That’s true – but in my defense, (1) It’s hard to get decent pictures of black cats and (2) That little monkey hardly ever holds still. I snap plenty of pictures of him, they just never come out!

But in any case, today will be all about Creed. Here are some fun facts about the sweet little guy:

1. He lurrrrrves his brudder and sister. LURVES them. He loves to play-fight with them, snuggle up with them and sleep, follow them around to see what they’re doing. If they’re in a room where he is not, and he doesn’t know where they are, you can hear him calling out to them with a plaintive “Where ARE you? I’m lonely!” cry.

2. If he’s feeling playful and you bend down to pet him or pick him up, he’ll stand up on his back legs and wave his front paws around like he’s a wee boxer. It’s severely cute, and I’ve tried and tried to get it on camera, but have had no luck as of yet.

3. He’s a snuggler – there’s nothing he loves more than to curl up beside you and go to sleep. Unlike Dwight, who has to be laying on top of you to go to sleep, Creed will curl up next to you, just barely touching you, and drift off to sleep. If you pet him while he’s sleeping, he reaches one paw out to touch you without ever waking up.

4. He is both very laid-back (I put him on top of Mister Boogers yesterday just to see what would happen, and he and Mister Boogers looked at each other for a few moments, then Creed hopped down and moseyed off to see what there was to be seen) and prone to go ::FLOOF:: at the drop of a hat. Any unexpected noise, any cat running by suddenly, and ::FLOOF:: he goes.

5. He’s the current produce inspector at our house, and he takes his job very seriously.

The Creed Cave. It’s the perfect size for him!

Look how annoyed they are with me. “Okay FINE, we’ll pose together. Can you just TAKE the picture and get it over with??”

Note please that I have to put the keyboard up against the monitor when I’m not using it, because the kittens will tromp all over it.

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Really? You think you wanna mess with Sheriff Mama? Are you SURE?

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Previously
2008: I’ve warned Nance that the house is a pig sty, but I don’t think she believes me.
2007: No entry.
2006: Must be ’cause I’m so approachable.
2005: Hobbies.
2004: Fred calls Miz Poo “Musty.”
2003: He sighed. “Because everybody knows that 256 (the total number of pages in the book) is 2 to the 8th, which is 2 to the 6th times two squared, which is 64 times 4, so you should print four blocks of 64 pages.”
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Folks, it’s Dumbass Day.

6/29/09 – Monday

In the Crooked Acres kitchen this weekend: Made zucchini chocolate chip cookies. Neither of us cared for them, so after we each ate two (the second one to make sure our first impression was correct, of course) I packed them into a freezer bag ’til we have pigs again. Made St. Louis Gooey Butter Cake … Continue reading “6/29/09 – Monday”

In the Crooked Acres kitchen this weekend:

Made zucchini chocolate chip cookies. Neither of us cared for them, so after we each ate two (the second one to make sure our first impression was correct, of course) I packed them into a freezer bag ’til we have pigs again.

Made St. Louis Gooey Butter Cake (not the Paula Deen version). Neither of us cared for it, so after we each took a few bites, I packed THAT into the freezer bags for the future pigs, too.

Made Cheese Straws. We both liked them – Fred liked them more than I did, I think. I do believe that I’ll mess with trying different kinds of cheeses and more crushed red pepper, in the future. They were very simple to make, and I recommend them.

Made blueberry muffins batter. I love blueberries, and I’m always willing to try new blueberry muffin recipes, and I really liked the idea of keeping the batter in the fridge and making one or two muffins fresh, each morning (or whenever I’m having the hankering for fresh blueberry muffins). I made the batter on Saturday and then Sunday morning scooped out some batter and made fresh muffins for breakfast. I did forget to sprinkle sugar on the top before I baked, but I found my muffin just fine without the extra sugar. Fred gave his muffin two thumbs up, as well. As a note, it’s a stiffer dough* than I expected, especially after sitting in the fridge overnight. Makes a damn fine muffin, though!

Canned four quarts of green beans. Last year I froze all our green beans; this year I’m canning them so we’ll have more room in the freezer. We’re estimating needing about 40 quarts of green beans for the year, and I’ve got about 2/3 of that already.

Diced and froze ten tons of yellow summer squash and zucchini. None of the usual sites online, none of the canning and freezing books, no one nowhere recommends saving yellow summer squash or zucchini. What I’ve found, however, is that you can dice both, put them in food saver bags and then freeze them. Then you can thaw them, toss them in a pan with chopped onion and garlic, add cherry tomatoes (which you’ve also frozen in food saver bags over the summer) and maybe chopped okra (ditto), sprinkle with salt and pepper and maybe a pinch of crushed red pepper, and it’s a perfectly good side dish. Not as good as fresh, but it’s certainly good in its own right.

Also, last weekend I made a Butterfinger Cake, and holy COW was it good! Fred took one bite and declared it in the running to take for Christmas dinner this year (last year’s #1 candidate was Paula Deen’s Not Yo’ Mama’s Banana Pudding, which is not what he ended up taking, if I recall correctly). Because he can never leave well enough alone, he’s declared that it would be even better if we made Devil’s Food Cake from scratch, and used real whipped cream instead of Cool Whip. We’ll see about that. (One year when we were at Fred’s father’s house on Christmas Eve. Fred’s sister asked her son (L0gan) to pass the “whipped cream”, meaning the Cool Whip, and her son responded “That’s not real whipped cream!” Fred looked all proud that L0gan knows what fine quality food really is, when L0gan went on to say “Real whipped cream comes in a spray can!” HA.)

*Snicker.

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Saturday night, Fred and I were in the big chicken yard trying to get some chickens out from under the coop. Recently we moved a bunch of younger chickens from the maternity yard to the big yard, and about a dozen of them have taken to sleeping under the coop at night, instead of going into the coop with the rest of the chickens. We’ve been letting them sleep under the coop because we figured they’ve got George and Gracie to protect them, but we talked about it Saturday afternoon and decided that’s probably not a good habit to get into. It’s entirely possible that George and Gracie could be at the back of the back forty, and something could get inside the fence and go after the chickens. Not likely, but possible.

So when it was mostly dark Saturday evening, Fred used the hose to spray water under the big coop, and I stood at the front of the coop, waiting to herd the chickens into the coop. George and Gracie stood and supervised, and occasionally gave each other looks like “What are these idiots doing NOW?”

Fred and I were both standing in front of the coop (the herding of the chickens wasn’t going well, because the little shits would come out to escape the water from the hose, then zip back underneath the coop) when both dogs started barking their serious take-no-prisoners bark. We turned and looked, and someone was walking toward the big chicken yard.

It turned out to be one of our regular egg customers, stopping to see if we had eggs. Fred told him that we were sold out, and when George and Gracie stopped barking once Fred started talking to the guy, but they were agitated the entire time the guy was there.

Our dogs are awfully sweet and it amazes me that anyone could be scared of them, but I have to admit that when they bark with their serious bark, they can sound kinda scary.

“We was gonna mess that guy UP!”

“FIRST I was gonna jump up and down right in front of him! Then I was gonna sniff his butt! And then I was gonna lick behind his knees! He didn’t have no chance!”

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On Friday, I covered for the usual Friday morning volunteer at the pet store. When I was done there, I went over to Sam’s Club to pick up the stuff on my Sam’s list. Nothing important, just a few things I’ve been needing to pick up.

I spent LESS THAN $100 at Sam’s. I had no idea that was possible, much less allowed! I was half afraid that they’d stop me on the way out and force me to go back and buy a 30-count pack of toilet paper just to get me over that $100 mark.

They just glanced at my receipt and waved me on through, though. It’s a miracle!

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As I type this, Dwight is running around with a toy in his mouth, growling at any other feline who so much as looks in his direction.

What’s cuter than a growling kitten? NOTHING.

Phyllis gets in her recommended daily allowance of cardboard.

“Hey! Leave some for the rest of us, wouldya?”

Dwight flops down on Fred for his nightly ear-rubbing and chin-scratching.

Pretty Phyllis.

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“Someone is going to PAY for this.”

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Previously
2008: No entry.
2007: Gives new meaning to the term of endearment “shithead”, doesn’t it?
2006: No entry.
2005: I said “You shut up, motherfucker, or I’ll unleash my wifely instincts on you” and he said “Shut your unmaternal mouth, woman.”
2004: Wound report: It’s sensitive and weepy. Just like me!
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Have you ever felt like your hair looks like a really bad wig?