Category: Life

Compare that to now:

They grow so fast, don’t they? For a mushy-type entry with tons of pictures, check last year’s entry. * * * I got an email from someone this morning telling me that they were seriously interested in buying bitchypoo.com and that if I were interested in selling it, I should respond to their email with an asking price. I’m seriously uninterested in selling the domain, but I guess it’s nice to be asked. I should have said my asking price was $25,000 just to see what they said. * * * I went into Huntsville yesterday around noon, which was a big, big, HUGE mistake. I hit the pet store to buy some kitten food, and it wasn’t too terribly busy. Then I went over to Target to get something for the spud’s birthday, and it was PACKED. Not only was it packed, but it was packed with dumbasses who simultaneously did not know of the move your fucking cart to the side of the aisle if you’re going to stop and look at something rule, and were also ignorant of the concept of my personal bubble. I guess maybe because I’m fat I get less of a bubble than other people? Is that how that works? The skinny people get a nice big bubble of personal space, but when it comes to the fat chicks, it’s A-OK to be an inch and a half from my ass? I will tell you that when someone invades my bubble, it makes me extremely tense and hostile, and I have to fight the urge to turn around and scream “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you need to get a little closer? Didn’t you intend to actually be UP.MY.ASS, because it appears you’re headed in that direction. If I SIT ON YOU, will you back up about five inches?” So I got what I needed at Target and then drove through the horrendous traffic to Sam’s, where I couldn’t find a fucking parking space within half a mile of the store, and I threw up my hands and said “FUCK THIS”, because if there are THAT many cars in the parking lot, that could only mean that the lines inside were all going to be 63 people long, and I hate having to fight my way through Sam’s, get my Splenda and water, and then have to stand in line for-fucking-ever. So I went home. I guess next time I decide to hit Sam’s, I should do my best to get there right as they open, before the crowds descend. * * * “What? You’ve never seen a cat in a box?” “Happy birthday to youuuuuuuuuuuu!” “Happy birthday, dear spu-ud! Happy birthday to youuuuuuuuuuu!” Nuttin’ happier than a sleeping kitten. Jazz hands! All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2004: I hope you dance. 2003: No entry. 2002: “You want to buy STUFF faster than we get rid of it!” he accused shrilly. 2001: Well, the little bastard is home again. 2000: No entry. 1999: Boring work-related shit.]]>

This is my favorite. I’ve always known that Iceland is a beautiful country (well, “always” meaning ever since they went through there on The Amazing Race last season), but seeing Sigurrós’ pictures of her beautiful country make me want to visit that much more. Maybe when I win the lottery. Which I shall promptly do as soon as the jackpot goes back above $100 million.

* * * So I was reading this entry yesterday, and in the entry that darn Catie was teasing me with talk of Thai Lettuce Wraps for dinner, and I thought to myself “Self, I have had Thai food once, and I liked it a LOT, so perhaps I’d like something named Thai Lettuce Wraps!” I Googled “Thai Lettuce Wraps”, and I came across this recipe, and I looked at the recipe and I thought “What the hell?? What in particular makes this recipe Thai??” Then I read through the recipe again, and saw that it had teriyaki sauce in it. Well. Of COURSE putting teriyaki sauce on something will make it Thai! What was I thinking? That opens a whole new world to me. I can have Thai burgers! I can have Thai macaroni and cheese! I can have Thai scrambled eggs! All I have to do is add teriyaki sauce! I feel so worldly and sophisticated now. * * * Every time Fred’s doing something in Word or Excel and the paperclip man pops up to offer his help, Fred calls him a “goddamn piece of shit c0cksucker” and tells him to go away. Paperclip Man hasn’t gotten the hint yet, ’cause he keeps popping up. * * * The exterminator came yesterday and sprayed around the house and put some kind of granules in the yard, and told me that if we see any ants in the next month (she’ll stop by next month to make sure we’re having no problems, apparently) to give her a call. The first thing she wanted to see was where the ants were coming in, which is when I had to tell her that they weren’t exactly coming in any more, but I could show her where they WERE coming in, which is when she got to see Fred’s mad duct tape skillz. She didn’t seem all that impressed, really. For the past week or so, I’ve had the kittens’ food dish in a pie plate, with water in the bottom of the pie plate so the ants couldn’t get to the food. Every few days I’ve been bringing the pie plate downstairs to wash it out – because those damn kittens just can’t eat without scattering food everywhere, and the scattered food goes into the water (instead of on the floor), and after a day or so, it gets kind of nasty looking. Anyway, yesterday as I was carrying the pie plate downstairs to wash, I thought to myself, I thought “Self, what with it being cold, and what with them not being able to find any food for the last several days, I bet we can just stop worrying about those stupid ants.” So I left the pie plate downstairs, and left the kittens’ food dish on the floor. I’m sure I don’t even have to tell you what happened after that. At bedtime we medicated the kittens, and then I went in to scoop their litter box, which is when I saw the ten-thousand-strong line of ants to and from the food bowl. Sugarbutt didn’t seem to be fazed by the ants in the slightest, and just sat and happily ate and purred and did his little dance, while ants climbed up onto him. So we spent the next fifteen minutes vacuuming up ants, tossing out the ant-covered food, finding and sealing the hole, etc. etc. etc. “This is becoming a nightly ritual,” I said to Fred. “No kidding,” he said. So this morning, no ants. Because they can’t get to the kitten food, of course. What we should do is put a pile of cat food on the floor near the window, and then call the exterminator so she can see where they’re coming in, and do something about it. Actually, what I’d really like to happen is for the fucking guy who’s supposed to be replacing the windows and the rotting window sill, the guy who told us six weeks ago that it would take about three weeks for the parts to come in, to come and replace the fucking windows and window sill. If that stuff was replaced and caulked well, I suspect we wouldn’t have ourselves an ant problem. Why the hell do we have to hunt this guy down? Does he not want the money he’ll make doing the job we’re more than willing to pay him for? Every fucking time we hire someone – a handyman guy, a yard guy, ANYONE, really – to do something, they drag their fucking feet about it, and it pisses me OFF. Ugh. * * * Currently reading: We Thought You Would Be Prettier, by Laurie Notaro. Finished last night: Conversations with the Fat Girl, by Liza Palmer. Oh my god, this was SUCH a good book. Amy recommended it in her blog a while ago, and I ended up loving it so much that I came downstairs at almost midnight to thank her for the recommendation. If you like chick lit (even if you don’t like chick lit!), you’ll love this book. It was so good that I’m actually keeping the book, and y’all know I hardly ever do that! Very highly recommended. I think I’m going to read it again in a few days. * * * I don’t know what it is, but both Sugarbutt and Tom Cullen are absent-minded lickers. If they climb into one of the cat beds and you give them a belly rub, they’ll purr and rub their faces on your hand, and then lick whatever’s closest, whether it’s your hand or the cat bed, they don’t care. Last night they were playing, and Sugarbutt ran across the room to attack one of Fred’s slippers, and when the attack had been completed, Sugarbutt looked up at Fred, and licked his slipper. They’re so cute I just want to squeeze them ’til their guts shoot out their mouths, I really do. The quintessential Crazy Eyes. Snuggly brudders. “Wazzuuuuuuuuuuuuuup!” “Hi, lady! Whatcha doin’?” “Adopt a stupid kitten and keep another one around FOR A REALLY LONG TIME, will you? Well, EFF YOU, lady. You want some snuggles, you go see those stinky little brats. I’m sold out of snuggles. NO MORE SNUGGLES from me!” All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2004: “Bessie,” Fred said. “We used to watch TV without being able to rewind it. We can do it again!” 2003: No entry. 2002: It seems like yesterday. 2001: The term “give my feelings” cracks me up for some unknown reason. 2000: Mark my words, it’ll be back to looking crappy in three days flat. 1999: “Take credit card. Buy computer. Big monitor. Go fast. Go buy. Now.”]]>

Hanne Blank‘s LiveJournal this weekend (EVERYONE has a LiveJournal, don’t they?), this entry (a very good one) in particular, and this paragraph made me want to stand up and cheer: (And if you feel the need to have any of those rants, or start foaming at the mouth about how superior you are to “people like that” because you’re “childfree,” take it somewhere else because I don’t want to hear it. If you want there to be someone around to wipe your ass and make sure you get your meds when you’re 93 and in the rest home, someone else is going to have to do the hard work of rearing some children, so quit your self-righteous bitching and be grateful that they’re doing so.) I suspect the spud is really looking forward to when Fred and I are old and decrepit, so she can pay us back for the torture we’ve inflicted on her in her youth. It’ll be great, ’til the first time she hides in the closet and jumps out at Fred to scare him (like he’s scared her so many times) and he clutches his heart and keels over dead.

* * * The other night I was telling Fred about an episode of Oprah I’d seen that day, the one with New York Jets wide receiver Laveranues Coles, (that first name is pronounced “Luh-VERN-ee-us”) talking about being molested from the ages of 10 to 13 by his stepfather. I was going on and on about what a brave move it was on his part, and that he seemed very uncomfortable talking about the subject and yet very determined to do so, when I noticed a smirk on Fred’s face. “You are NOT about to make a JOKE about this, are you?” I said indignantly. “Of course not!” he said. Then he smirked again. “I was just thinking that Lavernicus would be an excellent name.” The room was silent as we pondered what he’d said. “That makes me want to get pregnant and have a baby, just so I can name it Lavernicus,” I admitted. “That WOULD be an excellent name.” “We could name it Lavernicus Cholulabean*,” Fred suggested. And we laughed. But not at Laveranues Coles, who is an awesome guy. And, I assume, a really good baseball player. (Please note that the “baseball player” is a joke. I was KIDDING. Even I know there are no wide receivers in baseball. Plus, they put up about a thousand pictures of Laveranues Coles playing football on Oprah.) *Fred loves to put Cholula on his popcorn, on his red beans and rice – on just about everything, really. One evening he was saucing up his red beans and rice, and he said “Cholula would be an excellent name for a kid.” He paused and considered, and added “Cholulabean would be even better.” So next time we need to name foster kittens, chances are good that one of them is going to be named Cholulabean. Or Cholula Bean. Depends on the kitten, I suppose. * * * I think I’ve injured my shoulder. My RIGHT shoulder which also happens to be the shoulder that Fred’s having problems (ie, the one he had arthroscopic surgery on) with. He thinks I’m just having sympathy pains, because he’s afraid I’ll take all the painful-shoulder attention away from him.

Actually, I suspect that his shoulder is hurting more than mine – in fact, I can pretty much guarantee it – because the pain I’m having isn’t constant (actually, I don’t think his shoulder pain is constant either), and I can move my arm in all directions without being stopped by the pain. It really feels more sore than painful, as though I’d lifted weights heavier than usual. That also happens to be the side I sleep on most of the time. So this morning when I went to the pet store, my shoulder was already a little achy, and then I had to pick up a particularly heavy cat, and I felt a twinge in my shoulder, and it’s been aching ever since. I guess I should take some Advil and see if that helps, eh? Maybe if I’m really REALLY lucky, I’ll get to have arthroscopic surgery for my 38th birthday, and then Fred and I will have matching badass scars! (I bet not, though.) * * * The exterminator from a local pest control company is coming this afternoon to spray the outside of the house and the yard to get rid of those damn ants. We finally banished them from the kitten room (with the liberal use of duct tape, because we really ARE white-trash rednecks), and the very next morning the spud found a trail of ants in her bathroom.

We know when we’re beat. We spent the weekend getting rid of the ants in her bathroom (though there were never nearly as many in her bathroom as there were in the kitten room), and I haven’t seen a single ant since yesterday morning, but we’re still having the exterminator come. We’re also buying the yearly package, so that if they need to come back and spray inside the house, it’ll be included in the yearly package. Said yearly package will really come in handy next Spring when the kitchen ants start showing up again. You bet your ass that for the next year every time I see a single solitary ant in the house, I’ll be calling the exterminator. It’s kind of like having a lawyer on retainer, only classier. The exterminator will probably become a part of the family. I’ll have to invite him to the spud’s wedding and introduce him around. “Have you met Bob? He’s OUR EXTERMINATOR!”, and people will tremble in fear. Or, you know, not. * * * Last week it was sunny and in the 80s all week long and then, just like that, it’s not going to even get up to 60 today, and the overnight temperatures are dropping into the 30s. I expect we’ll get some more warm weather before it’s all said and done, but I think this is the beginning of the end of summer. I know y’all in the cold-weather states are feeling realllly sorry for me right now. * * * Someone mentioned in my comments that they wanted a certain picture on notecards, and since I am nothing but WONDERFUL to y’all, you can get those notecards here. As always, they’re marked up by a dollar, and all profits go to the cat shelter I volunteer (and foster) for. If you look in the sidebar, you’ll note that you can get Flossie swag, Tubby swag, Stupid swag (t-shirts with a picture of General Russel Honore and the words “Don’t get stuck on stupid”, or just a plain “Don’t get stuck on stupid” bumper sticker), and now Kitten swag. Like I’ve said before, if any of y’all see a picture you particularly like and would like to see on a t-shirt or mouse pad or whatever, just say the word. It only takes a few minutes to set up. * * * Sugarbutt, I am convinced, is the second coming of Tubby. He’s got the same barrel-chested bow-legged stance, and he’s a total pig. He’s figured out how to jump up onto the table, and from the table to the kitchen counters, where he can sniff around for something to eat. And when you’re eating, you need to keep a can of air handy, or he’ll just climb up into your plate and make himself at home. He sure is cute. And no, we’re still not keeping him (though Fred does, half-jokingly, keep saying that we should put Miz Poo to sleep so we can keep Sugarbutt. At least I THINK he’s joking…). If anyone’s seriously interested in adopting him, let me know and I’ll give you the number to the shelter, and you can discuss it with the shelter manager. The sweet, innocent “Who, me?” look. The bad boy look. “Bring it ON, man. You see these claws? I will MESS you UP.” “Hey lady, you want to lower that toy a little? We can’t REACH.” “Brains. Braaaaaaaains!” * * *]]>

1. A tacky vacation picture Actually, it’s not really tacky, but it was the only one that came to mind. The spud, in Hawaii. 2. Something your kid (or pet) made A turtle, made when she was very young. It’s smaller than it looks – it fits in the palm of my hand. I keep it on my dresser. A little pot she made in art class in, I think, Kindergarten. Maybe first grade. I keep it in my desk drawer. Sometimes I keep paperclips in it. 3. Your hairbrush/s I very rarely use my hairbrush, usually only when I’m blow-drying my hair, which doesn’t happen very often. Mostly, I use the pick on my wet hair, part it on the side, and let it air-dry.

* * * The spud had a hair appointment yesterday. Back when we were in Maine in July, my sister put highlights in her (the spud’s) hair, and it had grown out quite a bit. Since she’s getting all gussied up to go to Homecoming next week, I thought it might be a good idea to take her to have her hair colored so it’s all one color, and close to her natural color. Actually, I told the spud she could get her hair done whatever color she wanted (kind of hoping she’d go for bright purple to freak my mother out), but she said she wanted to match her natural color. I ended up taking her to the hair place where my current hair doer used to work, because the sixty-three times I tried to call the new place, I always got the answering machine, and I didn’t want to leave a freakin’ message. The first time I tried the old place, someone answered the phone, so I made the appointment. The hair coloring took for-fucking-EVER, because her hair was two different colors. First, the hairdresser had to put something on the blond streaks and then she went through and put stuff on the rest of her hair, and then the color had to process for 45 minutes. When all was said and done, we were there for exactly two hours. If I’d had a clue it was going to take that long, I would have left the spud there and had her call me when she was done. But I thought surely it wouldn’t take any longer than an hour, so I sat in a nearby chair and read the entire time. She also trimmed the spud’s hair, taking maybe a quarter of an inch off the ends, since the spud’s apparently decided to grow her hair out again. Then she blow-dried the spud’s hair straight, because I wanted to see what it looked like straight. It was cute, but I think I prefer it curly. Before: After: It’s funny how much longer it looks when it’s blow-dried straight. * * * Currently reading: The Third Victim, by Lisa Gardner. It’s realllly good so far. Also, it makes me want to visit Oregon. Finished the other night: Their Wildest Dreams, by Peter Abrams. Very, very good book. * * * The weather lately has been incredibly gorgeous. It’s been sunny all week (except today looks like it’s going to be a bit overcast) and warm. Every year I forget how warm and sunny October is, and so every year I’m surprised anew. You’d think after living here for nine years (!) I’d remember, but I don’t. And I’m not complaining, believe you me. Some of y’all are already wearing sweaters, and Fred’s still wearing shorts and short-sleeved shirts to work. This is the month that makes the hell of summer in Alabama more than worth it. * * * “Hey lady. I SAID no cameras!” Cleanliness is next to Sugarbuttliness. Or something. Sugarbutt contemplates how to open the refrigerator and fix himself a burger. Flipping that burger is going to be a pain with no opposable thumbs. He wuvs his brudder. (Yes, I totally talk baby talk to the kittens ALL DAY LONG.) All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2004: I need to win the lottery so I can hire someone to come to my house every day and style my hair while I read. 2003: Which is when Stanley thought “Hey! I shouldn’t just skulk back! I should run and leap! Into the air! Like a big mexican jumping Stanley-bean!” 2002: As if he was going to say to himself “By god, she’s RIGHT! I do not, in fact, reside here. What on earth was I thinking?” and run off. 2001: No entry. 2000: No entry. 1999: “Well, she took that well,” I commented.]]>

* * * Here’s an odd question. If you’re going to the grocery store and you’re looking for a parking space, and there’s a parking space on both sides of the aisle, directly across from each other, do you always go in one direction or the other, or is it just a random choice? I always go left. I just discovered this about myself, something about going left is more comfortable to me for some reason, even though I’m right-handed. Your fascinating tidbit for the day.

* * * Meme, stolen from Jolene. 1.If you could change places with one of your friends for a day, who would it be? My friend Angelina Jolie. Not because she has sex with Brad Pitt (ick. Too pretty.), but because I’d like to know what it’s like to go through a day as someone who’s drop-dead gorgeous. (Although, have you ever noticed her hands? She has HUGE hands. They freak me out a little.) 2. What were you doing at this time yesterday? Scrubbing down the baseboards in the kitten room with white vinegar. Which didn’t deter the ants, but the baseboards sure did need a cleaning, so it’s all good. 3. What will you be doing at this time tomorrow? God knows. Cleaning or sitting on my ass in front of the computer. 4. In the past month, what was the best moment you had? Seeing the spud in her Homecoming dress. ::sniffle:: 5. When was the last time you were at a hospital? Er. Let me think… Oh! When Fred was undergoing arthroscopic surgery on his shoulder, I guess. Only that wasn’t really a hospital, it was a surgery center. I guess before that… when I went to the emergency room last year because of my achy breaky heart.

6. What kind of car do you have? A yellow 2004 Suzuki Aerio SX. You can call him E’gar. 7. When was the last time you were taken advantage of? Monday night. Three times. Ha! 8. What do you take for granted? Probably just about everything at one time or another. I try not to, but it’s tiring to go through life being incredibly grateful for every little thing. 9. What is the best thing about your job? That I don’t have one! 10. How many times have you been rejected? I.. don’t know. What kind of question is that? 11. Think of the last time you went out with friends. What was the best part of it? Laughing really hard with Debbie and Liz at Vinny T’s. 12. What was the last movie you watched? The Interpreter. 13. What do you like on your pizza? Depends on my mood, but usually sausage, onion, and black olives will do. 14. In the near future, what are you most looking forward to? Seeing the spud all gussied up for Homecoming. 15. What do you dislike about your bedroom? The height of my bed. I practically need a step-stool to get into it. 16. Describe your morning routine? On an average weekday, I get up by 8:00 (I try not to sleep later than that), work out for half an hour or so, putter around on the computer, do laundry, vacuum, whatever else needs to be done housework-wise, and eat breakfast between 10 and 11. 17. What is the one food that you have never and will never try? Organ meats don’t interest me much. I have tried frog legs, and they were surprisingly good. 18. How would you handle it if someone liked you but you weren’t into them? Avoid them like the plague. 19. What was the last thing that got on your nerves? The slowness of my site yesterday afternoon. I was swearing at my computer so loudly that Sugarbutt, who’d been sleeping like the dead upstairs, came running down to see what was going on. 20. What would your theme song be? I don’t know. I’m sure Fred would suggest No Rain. I’ll say Good Riddance (Time of Your Life). 21. Can people tell when you’re upset? I think so. I’m pretty much an open book – which makes Fred my polar opposite. He’ll look at you with a completely pleasant look on his face and announce “I’m so pissed off I can’t see straight right now.” 22. How much money did you spend yesterday?Not a single cent. Fred spent a bunch, though, getting his temporary crown. 23. Would you rather go to the doctor or the dentist? Neither. Probably the doctor. Not a fan of the dentist. 24. Tattoos are: Cool. And maybe someday I’ll get one. 25. Who would win in a fight Solid Snake or Boba Fett? I… do not know. 27. What is a special talent you have that most people don’t know about? I can wiggle my ears. But y’all knew that. 28. Growing up, who did you have posters on your wall of? MICHAEL DAMIAN. My god, I loved that man. I was going to totally move to LA when I grew up so that we could find each other and fall in love. I mean, LA couldn’t be SO BIG that I couldn’t find the love of my life, could it? Also, Donny Osmond. 29. What is your favorite thing about this past summer? All the foster kittens.

30. When you were really young, what did you want to be when you grew up? First, a vet. Then, an orthopedic surgeon. Then, a writer. Once I found that becoming a vet or a surgeon took years and years and years of schooling, I dropped those ideas like a hot potato. Good thing, because I would have been a horrible surgeon. * * * Someone (or several someones, who the hell knows which?) did many site searches on variants of “September Links” and “Who I Read Links September”. I only have one links page, and it isn’t separated out by month or anything. Recently I went through the links list and took out a bunch of journals/ blogs I’ve stopped reading, so if the link you were looking for isn’t on that list, it’s just ’cause I’m not reading that site anymore. Sorry to be unhelpful. I suspect there are probably at least ten blogs or journals I read that aren’t on that list, but as far as I know, it’s pretty complete. * * * There is nothing on god’s green earth that makes Sugarbutt happier than eating. When he’s eating, he purrs so loudly it echoes through the house. When he’s eating, he kneads while he’s standing there in front of the dish, so it looks like he’s marching in place. It’s unbearably cute. I love how they both look completely annoyed. Like “This is MY bed! What the hell is that OTHER cat doing here?” “How YOU doin’?” “E equals MC… squared? No, that CAN’T be right!” All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2004: More Myrtle Beach. 2003: It’s got to be early-onset Alzheimer’s, y’all. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: I think back on the shit I pulled as a senior in high school, and I’m flat-out amazed that I managed to graduate. 1999: Just an all-around relaxing day.]]>

But the kittens are not particularly neat eaters, and so they knock food out of the bowl to places where the ants can get to it. And when the ants can get to it, they let all their friends know, and they have a freakin’ ant party and bring their thousands of friends. Fred thought before bedtime last night that he had the window caulked so that all the little cracks under the windowsill where the ants were getting in were completely caulked shut, and yet at almost midnight the spud came and knocked on my door to let me know there were a ton of ants in the kitten room. I went in and sprayed ammonia on every one of the little bastards, and they died almost immediately, and then I had to wipe them up. This morning, more ants. For the love of god, it’s CAT FOOD. If I buy a bag of it and toss it in the yard for the ants, will they stay out of the house? PROBABLY NOT. Oh, and I spent an hour wiping down the baseboards with white vinegar last night after dinner, and the ants were not deterred. They can keep coming, but I will KEEP FIGHTING. I WILL BE THE VICTOR, DAMNIT! Also, there are little cinnamon footprints around the food bowl, because little Sugarbutt gets SO HAPPY when he’s eating that he has to dance around in the cinnamon and then drag it all over the room. I guess I’d rather have cinnamon footprints all over the room than poo footprints, though. I’m not complaining.

* * * My hand, which was bitten by Ashwin on Monday, is perfectly fine and requires no medicine. It did break the skin, and it did throb for the rest of the day, but when I woke up on Tuesday it wasn’t sore or swollen, or red. No hand amputation for me! * * * I drove up into Tennessee yesterday morning to buy Powerball tickets. The Powerball jackpot, you might have heard, is up to $340 million. And then I had a dream that I won the lottery Monday morning, and if that’s not a sign that I need to go buy lottery tickets, I don’t know what is. Anyway, I drove up across the Tennessee state line and stopped at the first gas station I saw in Ardmore. The parking lot was packed, and I parked and went in, and there were at least fifty people in the ticket line, and I said “Oh HELL no” and turned around and walked out. I knew that there were gas stations further up the road, and for that matter I could hop on the highway and head for Nashville and surely find a gas station selling Powerball tickets with fewer people in line. Two miles up the road from the first place I stopped, there are two gas stations directly across the street from each other, and both were selling Powerball tickets. I turned into the one on the right side because it didn’t have scary bars on the windows, and when I walked inside, there were only four people waiting in line for lottery tickets. So I waited less than five minutes, got my tickets, and headed for home. When I passed the first gas station I’d stopped at, the parking lot was even fuller than it had been when I’d stopped. Dumbasses. Fred and I spent a good twenty minutes discussing what we’d do if we won the lottery, which – according to the laws of Fate and all – means that we won’t even come close to winning. It’s probably more fun dreaming about what we’d do, than it would be if we actually won, anyway. If we win the lottery – exterminators for everyone! * * * The kittens are doing well. The ant infestation isn’t bothering them at ALL, though my coming into the room while they were sleeping last night at almost midnight, wielding a spray bottle of ammonia, might have scarred them a little. But they’re fine, they’re having a lot of fun playing and jumping in and out of the boxes in the dining room and playing with bubble wrap and standing in the kitchen whining about how they’re starving to death when I’m making dinner. Fred has been calling Tom Cullen “Stinky”, even though Tom Cullen doesn’t stink at all. I don’t know if that’s going to end up being his nickname, only time will tell. Right now, on my desk. To the left of me: To the right: When there’s always at least one cat within reach, life can’t be all bad. * * * Previously 2004: More Myrtle Beach. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: I’ve turned into a crazy cat lady for real, haven’t I? 2000: The spud turns 12 next week, can you believe it? 1999: I’ve been out of sorts all day.]]>

that parent or guardian receives less of a sentence than they would have if they’d molested a child they didn’t know? This horrifies me so much that I am without words. Contact your Representative and ask him or her to co-sponsor the CARE Act of 2005. Do it now.

* * * There are Mondays when I go to the pet store and the cats are all sweet and friendly, they play nicely with each other, and I leave so relaxed I feel like I’ve had an hour-long massage. Yesterday was not one of those days. Yesterday, all the cats were hissy and growly, and wouldn’t play with each other, and they kept jumping into the cage I was trying to clean, and I’d have to shoo them out and fix the newspaper they’d messed up, and they were just all OVER my nerves. In the top cages, there were a couple of cats that just didn’t want to come out. In such cases, I do my best to clean around them, because I figure they’re traumatized enough already, if they don’t want to be put down on the floor to play, or put in another cage while I clean their cage, I’m not going to force it. So I was down to the last cage, which housed Ashwin, who was adopted out about a year ago, and then returned on Saturday. The shelter has a life-long return policy on all the cats they adopt out. If I suddenly, six years after I adopted her, decided that I didn’t want to have Miz Poo anymore, I could return her to the shelter, and they’d take her back. Not that I have any intention of returning Miz Poo. Or any of the cats, really, though Mister Boogers needs to WATCH HIS STEP. (Just kidding. We could discover that Mister Boogers sneaks out of the house and murders people while we’re sleeping, and Fred would totally cover it up.) Anyway, I tried to pick Ashwin up a couple of times, but there’s that tensing-and-backing-up thing that cats do that gives off the clear “Back off, lady” signal, and Ashwin did that. So I shrugged and began cleaning around her. She was no problem, moved from one side of the cage to the other when I needed her to. I tossed the dirty newspaper, swept out the cage, and wiped it down. The problem came when I needed to put fresh newspaper on the floor of the cage. Ashwin had apparently decided that she’d had quite ENOUGH, goddamnit, and she wasn’t going ANYWHERE. I tried coaxing her to the other side of the cage, sweet-talking her the entire while, but no luck. Finally I decided to just try picking her up and moving her, and when I reached into the cage, she sank her fangs into the meaty part of my right hand. I am, I believe I’ve mentioned many times in the past, not good in situations that require fast reflexes. For at least five full seconds a big cartoon question mark appeared above my head and my brain flipped frantically through the instruction manual trying to figure out just what the fuck was going on. Finally I let out a loud gasp which surprised Ashwin, who let go of my hand, and I pulled my hand out of the cage and held it against me. “Damn… CAT!” I said, my feelings hurt. After all, had Ashwin not GOTTEN the memo that I’m a friend to all cute and fuzzy four-legged creatures (though the creatures with more than four legs are on their own)? Did she not KNOW that I loved all cats, that I was doing my best not to traumatize her stupid ass? Ashwin gave me a look of “Try to get ME to move to the other side of the cage, will you?” look, got up, and sauntered to the other side of the cage, then flopped down again. Keeping a wary eye on her, I put down the rest of the newspaper, put her litter box back in the cage, gave her clean water and fresh food (THOUGH SHE DIDN’T DESERVE IT), and shut the door. This, after having to drag Samoa down from atop the cages (stupidly, I’d left the cage door open while I was cleaning Samoa’s litter box, and turned around when I heard a rattly sound, only to see the end of a fluffy tail disappearing over the top of the cage, far out of my reach. My solution was to get the stepladder and a feather-on-a-stick toy, climb onto the stepladder, and wave the toy in Samoa’s direction, juuuuust out of her reach. No cat can resist the feather-stick toy for long, so when she came closer and grabbed the toy, I grabbed her and put her back in her cage), you can believe that I was more than ready to get out of there when I was done. Damn cats. * * * We’re still dealing with ants, as you may have read. Fred’s interest is in killing the ants; my interest is in making sure they don’t get in the damn house. Fucking presumptuous ants with their “Oh, food! You don’t mind if we SWARM all over this food, do you?” Since Friday, we’ve been dealing with them coming in the kitten room, though each time we thwart them, we get less of an invasion the next time around. I know that what I really need to do is go in there with a bucket of hot water and ammonia and scrub down the baseboards so the next time they find their way in, they won’t be able to follow the tracks of their dear departed predecessors. Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow. I tried cinnamon along the windowsill with no luck, though it’s worked before. Last night, I realized that the cinnamon wasn’t working because they weren’t coming in under the windows, they were coming in through cracks underneath the windows, and so Fred caulked the fuck out of every crack in or around the windows, and today I haven’t seen a single ant. I did stuff Bounce dryer sheet under the windows, though, because someone said that ants don’t like them at all. I don’t know if it’s the caulking that’s keeping them away or the dryer sheets, but it certainly smells good in the kitten room. I note that Jane is dealing with an ant invasion, too. My theory is that the last time she mailed something to Jane and I, Nance sent some ants, too. I think she’s trying to drive us into the loony bin so that she can have the Smart and Sassy empire for herself. Hahahahah! “The Smart and Sassy empire”! Oh, I slay me. * * * Currently reading: Their Wildest Dreams, by Peter Abrams. Finished last night: The Survivors Club, by Lisa Gardner. GOOD book, I always like Lisa Gardner. Finished before that: Not Tonight Honey, Wait ’til I’m a Size Six, by Susan Reinhardt. Funny title and there were some funny parts in the book, but I have to say that I wasn’t thrilled with it at all. I don’t recommend it, I’m sorry to say. With a title like that, I WANT to recommend it, but I don’t know – it’s just as though the author was trying a little too hard to be funny, and ended up being not so much so. She’s apparently a syndicated newspaper columnist who’s won a lot of awards, so I’m probably in the minority when I say the book’s not very funny (“Yeah? Well YOU aren’t very funny either, bitch!”). It’s just my opinion; take it with a grain or six of salt. * * * Sugarbutt seems to be doing just fine. He cracks me up, with his little barrel-chested bowlegged stance. If he was a dog, he’d be a bulldog. He’s little, but he’s solid. Kind of like Tubby was. I’ve put up so many kitten pictures in the past months that y’all are probably forgetting what our adult cats look like. How about some adult cat pics? (Fear not, I’ll still upload some kitten pics over at Flickr.) After chomping on a kitten, Mister Boogers licks his lips and reflects upon the fact that they taste startlingly like chicken. The most indecisive cat in the house – and that’s really saying something. “Do I want to go out, or don’t I? In or out? Out or in?” Miz Poo and Spanky, hanging out in the yard. “Heyyyyy, Macarena!” Miz Poo hides from those kittens. (See the ear of one of those kittens on the left side of the picture) I put this bed on the floor to clear space on my desk for it, and within 60 seconds, Miz Poo had climbed in, curled up, and gone to sleep. Miz Poo really likes this bed, can you tell? Kittens, snoozing under my desk. All uploaded pictures from today (including more of the kittens), are here. * * * Previously 2004: Myrtle Beach recap. 2003: No entry. 2002: Poor, deformed Miz Poo. 2001: Ya gotta love the Poo. 2000: Remember that episode? 1999: I just love it when I don’t have to cook.]]>

do have feelings one way or the other about Kirsten Dunst. Hmm.

* * * Speaking of movies, we watched The Interpreter on Saturday. That is one long fucking movie. I think if they’d really tried, they could have cut about half an hour off it and lost nothing important. It came out, while we were watching the movie, that I think that Sean Penn is repulsive. Fred thought that was hilarious, but at the point where it seemed that Sean Penn and Nicole Kidman’s characters might hook up, I shuddered and said “If he kisses her, we are turning this movie off RIGHT NOW.” I loathe it when two characters with zero, zilch, zip chemistry end up sleeping with each other for the sole reason that one is male and one is female. And I like Nicole Kidman and I loathe Sean Penn and didn’t want to see him rubbing his liver lips all over her. Anyway. If you skip the movie, you’re not missing much. * * * Saturday night after Fred had gone to bed, the spud knocked on my door (“Come and knock on our door! We’ll be waiting for you! Where the kisses are hers and hers and his, Three’s Company too!”) and we got into this long discussion about how her boyfriend wanted her to get a formal dress for Homecoming and she didn’t want to spend that much money on a dress for ONE NIGHT, that was stupid, and she just wanted to wear a skirt and shirt that she had, GOD! “So. Wait. You’re going to Homecoming?” I said. “Yes. Gosh!” she said. (Okay, she didn’t say “Gosh!”, I made that up. Hee.) “Well, we’ll PAY for a dress for you for homecoming,” I said, remembering last year and the whole “What the fuck should the spud wear?” fiasco wherein all you haters accused me of trying to dress her in middle-aged old-lady dresses (nevermind that it was true, shaddup), and she ended up wearing a denim skirt and it turned out that things were a leeetle more dressy than that. So even though I offered to buy her a dress, she kept insisting that that was too much money to spend on a dress for one night, and then she came and showed me a few skirts and I picked the nicer one, and asked what she would wear as a top, and she said she didn’t know, and I imagined her wearing her Something-or-Other Brewery t-shirt and her ratty sneakers. But anyway, she went to bed and then Sunday morning I got up and discussed the whole situation with Fred, and when the spud finally rolled out of bed, I said “We can get you something nicer than what you have, that isn’t a formal prom-like dress, you know.” And she said “Well, I wouldn’t know where to look!” and I said “Well, I would GO shopping with you!” and she said “Uh. No” in that kind of “I’m saying no, but I might mean yes, and probably what I will do is wait until two days before Homecoming to let you know that I changed my mind, I really DO want a new dress, let’s go do some last-minute shopping! Fun!” way. So I said “I will BUY you a dress for Homecoming, but if you want me to, you need to tell me so RIGHT NOW, instead of waiting until two days before and telling me you DO want a dress.” And she said “Okay. I want a dress.” I said “We’ll go shopping tomorrow after school.” Then ten minutes later I came to my senses and realized that it would be much better to begin the shopping right away, because if we had a hard time finding something she liked, we’d at least have that much more time to shop. So I said “Let’s leave at 12:30, go to Kohl’s, and then to the mall.” So we left at 12:30, and Kohl’s didn’t have a damn thing. I don’t know why that surprised me, but it did. We headed for the mall, then ended up stopping on the way at Dress Barn (give me a break, I’ve never been in there, I had no idea what it was like), Marshall’s (ditto on the never being inside. I assumed it was like a nice department store. It was not.), and Ross Dress for Less (ditto again.). We got to the mall a few minutes after it opened, and since we were parked close to McRae’s, we went in there first. There were a couple of possibles, but nothing that really struck our fancy, so we walked up the mall to Dillard’s. I knew Dillard’s would be a good place to look because I’ve been through there and have seen the formal section, and at least it would be a good place to start. We must have spent an hour or hour and a half looking through the racks. The spud didn’t want to wear anything with spaghetti straps, and the problem was that anything with sleeves looked old-lady. She found a black skirt she liked, and so then the mission was to find a top to go with it. She must have tried on ten tops, and liked none of them, and then she found a camisole top she wanted to try on. She went and tried it on with the skirt, and I went in to check it out, and oh my GOD, I almost burst into tears because she looked so GROWN-UP! MUH BAYBEE IS ALL GROWED UP! We decided that was perfect for Homecoming, and so we bought the skirt and top. Then we went upstairs where she tried on three or four pairs of shoes and decided on the pair that was most comfortable and went the best with her dress. THEN it was over to the lingerie section where she had to try on three or four strapless bras before finding one that would work. All together, it took about two and a half hours to find a dress, shoes, and bra. Not a bad deal at all, considering how damn cute she looks (and keep in mind, this picture doesn’t do her or the dress justice at ALL): I’m going to make her an appointment to have her hair colored, since her roots are showin’, and probably make an appointment to have her hair did the day of the dance too. Hell, maybe I’ll even take her to get a manicure the day of, too. I think we did pretty good, for two people who don’t shop for clothes much, and who have never bought a formal-like dress before. * * * Look who’s back! Saturday afternoon – after I’d been to the pet store and filled out the paperwork to adopt Tom Cullen née Barrett/ Bear – the phone rang. I looked at the caller ID (I ALWAYS look at the caller ID) and saw the name of the shelter I volunteer for. When I answered, it was the shelter manager. She told me that Sugarbutt (only she called him “Sad Eyes”, since that’s his real name and all) had been adopted Friday night, and the guy who’d adopted him brought him back to the petstore because he was dripping blood from his butt. The adoption counselor working that day took him over to the vet, and that’s where he was currently, and the manager wanted to know if I could take him once the vet was done with him. OF COURSE. I mean, I know that I’d agreed with Fred that we wouldn’t have any fosters ’til Tom Cullen got older, but I still consider myself Sugarbutt’s foster mother (and the one who loves him more than anyone in the whole wide world), and I didn’t even hesitate before I told her I definitely would. Didn’t even check with Fred. But he understood and didn’t even think of giving me a hard time about it. So I went to the vet’s around six (the adoption counselor/ shelter co-manager had called and told me he’d probably be ready around six), and ended up waiting until almost 7:00, because the vet was so backed up and trying to get caught up. It turned out that there was a lot of bacteria in his fecal sample and the vet said that it looked to her like coccydia, but they hadn’t found any coccydia in the sample. They gave me antibiotics to give him, and then brought him out, and I was so thrilled to see him I practically ran in place. (The woman working the front desk went on and on about what a sweetheart he was. And I kept squealing “I KNOW! He’s so sweet, isn’t he?”) I called Fred on the way home to get the kitten room ready for Sugarbutt, and when I got home with him, Fred took him right up to the room. When we let him out of the carrier, we had a ten-minute discussion as to whether or not it was really Sugarbutt, because I SWEAR he had grown in the four days since we’d last seen him, and he seemed darker than we remembered. Once I got a good look at his face, though, I knew for sure it was him. I swear he got bigger, even though the paper from the vet said that he weighed exactly the same as the last time he was there. He’s longer and has less of a pot belly, I swear he does. And, because I couldn’t bear to have him in the room alone with only sporadic visits from us, we put Tom Cullen back in the room with him and we’re giving him a prophylactic dose of Albon so he doesn’t come down with Coccydia too. They seem happy, though they do try to sneak out every time I open the door. PS: I have yet to see anything like blood on Sugarbutt’s butt. I’m not sure what was going on, but apparently it passed. “Hey! Who’s the new guy? He seems really familiar!” Almost looks like an advertisement. “We like to use Arm & Hammer Multi-Cat litter! Mom says it cuts down on the stank, so it doesn’t smell like boiled ass in here!” “Me. And my. Shaaaaaaaaadow! Strolling down the ave. uh. nooooo.” I adore this picture. It’s a good one of him. Also, CRAZY EYES! There’s a new cat movie uploaded, direct YouTube link here. It’s Tom Cullen in the grass, with Spanky. You can tell he doesn’t like the feel of the grass under his toes, but he’s so curious about all the smells that he can’t help but walk around on the grass. All of today’s uploaded pictures are hither. * * * Previously 2004: No entry. 2003: Poor Stanley. All he wants to do it play, and none of the big cats will play with him. 2002: That’s a lot of poop to scoop. 2001: “I don’t like it,” he said haughtily. “It’s not even REAL lemon juice. It’s citric acid!” 2000: Now I just have to decide what to spend it on. 1999: When I got to the top of the stairs I found Tubby huddled there soaking wet, and Mr. Fancypants circling him in a hostile manner. ]]>

1. The best picture you have ever taken of something/someone This is one of my favorite pictures, ever, of the spud. She had just woken up from her nap, and I came in with the camera, and took several pictures of her, and she started getting fussy because I kept snapping PICTURES instead of freeing her from her PRISON. You’ll note that she’s holding onto a pacifier, which is attached to a ribbon, which is attached to her shirt. She love her pacifiers fiercely when she was little. We didn’t call them “binkies”, though, we called them “rah-rahs”. 2. The best picture of yourself & why you think it is. My favorite picture of myself, ever. I don’t know that it’s necessarily the best picture of me, but it’s certainly my favorite. Christmas day, my Junior year of high school, and a bunch of us were hanging out at our friend Norm’s house. I just look so damn young and happy, it always makes me smile. 3. A favorite picture that someone else took/painted/doodled My parents and my nephew, Brian, on the last day the spud and I were in Hawaii. Debbie snapped it, using one of the waterproof disposable cameras I took to Hawaii with me. I think I was laying under the trees trying not to get sunburned, and the spud was snoozing on a blanket on the beach. Seeing this picture (I have it hanging over my desk) always makes me want to go back to Hawaii, even though I was miserable much of the time while we were there.

* * * In my comments yesterday, Martha asked for more information on the cube I mentioned. This is what it looks like: It’s basically made of nylon and wire, and there are nylon tassels hanging from the top. I got two cubes (I had to toss one because it was covered in cat poo and I didn’t want to scrub it down) in the cat section at Target. They were in a pack of two for $9.98, I think. I’ve also seen them at Wal-Mart in single packs for around $4 each. I cannot tell you how much the cats love this toy. It’s light and moves easily, so they can get in and push on the side and basically “roll” it around. Like I said yesterday, the kittens loved to roll it from one side of the room to the other, and once we were keeping the door to the kitten room open all the time, I’d occasionally find it in the hallway. I looked online to see if I could find them, but had no luck. The label on the top says “Sport Pet”, if that helps at all. Oh, and I forgot to mention that they’re pop-up cubes, so in theory if you wanted to pack them away for a while – if, say, your cats got bored with them, or for moving – you could fold them flat to do so. * * * So we were laying in bed last night, and I was harassing Fred about keeping Bear. This is nothing new, I did the exact same thing with all the other foster kittens we’ve had in the past, especially Jodie and Rambo. His response is always “You promised you wouldn’t beg to keep any of them!” and “What’s that you’re saying? That you never want to have any foster kittens ever again?” “What would we name him?” Fred said. “If we were going to keep him.” This is nothing new, either. We thought of new names for Rambo, too – the most popular being “Worm” and the second most popular being “Gollum.” We started throwing out names that started with “S”, just to keep in the tradition, since all of our other cats have names that start with “S”. Not that we ever CALL them by their names, but still. “Satchmo!” Fred said. “Uh, no. Satchel!” I said, thinking of Satchel Pooch, the dog from the “Get Fuzzy” strip. “Uh. NO,” Fred said. “Stevie! We could name him after Stevie the blind wonder cat!” “Cute,” I said, pondering. “But Stevie was a pain and Bear is a sweet little monkey.” I thought some more, then giggled. “Shalimar!” I said. Fred laughed. “That’s a good one!” Silence fell as we both thought some more. “Tom Cullen!” Fred said. You know how something that’s not THAT funny hits you just right, and you start laughing so hard you come thisclose to passing out? That’s what I did when Fred said that. “M-O-O-N!” Fred said. “That spells Tom Cullen!” I flailed around and laughed, gasping for air. Under the covers, the kitten in question became alarmed and ran out from under the covers and jumped off the bed. “These are our cats,” Fred said. “Spot, Spanky, Scrappy, Stanley… and Tom Cullen.” “Man,” I said when I could breathe again. “That’s a good name. It’d be fun to call the vet and say ‘I’d like to make an appointment for my cat’ and when they said ‘What’s his name?’, we could say ‘Tom Cullen. But we call him Moon.’ and see if they got it.” We went on to talk some more about other things, and I tried a few more times to convince him that we should keep Bear, even going so far as to say “Mister Boogers likes him so much! No one else will play with him!”, but it was no good, the man would not be persuaded to add a little kitteny goodness to the permanent household. Hmph. Bear hung out with me for a while, and when I went to put him in the kitten room, the spud asked if he could come in her room for a little while. I told her to put him in the kitten room before she went to sleep, and I went to bed. This morning, I was awakened by cold little kittens toes on my shoulder. Fred was standing over me holding Bear. “Two conditions,” he said. “Huh?” I said, and yanked an earplug out of my right ear. “I have two conditions,” he said. “What’s that?” “First of all, his name has to be Tom Cullen.” “Of course.” “And secondly, no more foster cats until he’s old enough to not get sick from every little illness they bring into the house.” “Okay,” I said. “Kitten season is mostly over for the year. He’ll be old enough for us to start bringing kittens into the house when it starts up again next Spring.” “Then I guess he’s ours!” Fred said. The shelter manager called me a sucker when I told her we wanted to adopt him. Heh. Of course, if I’d had my way we would have adopted the first five, the second two, and all four of the most current batch. I guess it’s probably a good thing that cooler heads prevail in the And3rson household. Meet Tom Cullen And3rson: “Be vewwy vewwy quiet. I’m going to sneak up on him and scare him!” When I talk about his crazy eyes, this is what I mean. Big, round, crazy psycho eyes. He’s very clean. We let the cats outside for a little while yesterday. Mister Boogers kept an eye on Tom Cullen (hee!). I guess we need to get Tom Cullen his own collar. We don’t want him running away! He doesn’t need much room. He just wants a little of the Poo warmth. Playing in the bubble wrap. Making himself just a little TOO much at home. All of today’s uploaded pics are here. Previously 2004: No entry. 2003: I’m pretty certain “Never going to fucking go hiking with him EVER A-FUCKING-GAIN” crossed my mind at least once. 2002: Hotel room so big/ roomy, spacious, perfect. Butt/ is what it smells like. 2001: No entry. 2000: No entry. 1999: Don’t get your bippies in an uproar, though; we’re not trying to get pregnant. ]]>

* * * From my comments (some of these are from several months ago): You know something weird. I am trying to figure our what to call you!! I will be talking and something will come up in conversation and I will want to tell something you said or did and I will say “my friend Rob…..” and then I stop myself realizing you are not technically my friend seeing how we have never met or even spoken…but it feels like it. Weird. So, I have to back up and say “the lady whose online journal I read” and it just doesn’t feel right. It feels like I am slighting this friendship I have with your writings. Anyone else have this problem? (Just feel like I know you so well!!) I find that amusing. I suggest you refer to me as “Queen of the Universe Robyn And3rson”. If enough people refer to me that way, it’ll surely come true someday, right? Seriously though, I have that same situation. I’ll want to tell my mother about something I read in someone’s journal, and so I just say “Someone I know online…” and tell her about what I read. She always kind of makes this skeptical “You can’t know someone from online, because it’s all voodoo!” face, but I don’t care, it’s just a way to get the information across. If I’ve actually emailed with someone more than once, I’d probably say “My friend So-and-So”, though I guess “My internet friend So-and-So” would be more accurate. I’d be interested to hear how the rest of y’all deal with that sort of situation. The hard wood floor guy who installed at my house said to use water and vinegar to clean the floor. He said that ammonia would dull the finish. Well, crap. That’s right, and that’s what I’m supposed to be using – vinegar, not ammonia. Which would explain why my floors look so dull lately! I have no idea why I always mix up ammonia and vinegar in my mind. Maybe because they’re both clearish liquids with strong odors? Since you have a few cats (not including the foster kitties), I was wondering if any of them have had fleas. If yes, did you or Fred or the Spud get bitten? I think my apartment might have fleas (because of my landlord’s cats), and they’re having a big ol’ feast on me. I have spray for the furniture and carpet, but is there anything I should get for myself? We’ve actually never had a flea problem, and the foster kittens are always treated with Advantage before we even get them (and treated every 30 days thereafter), so they’re (thank god!) not bringing fleas into the house. If anyone’s ever had to deal with fleas, feel free to leave suggestions in the comments. Just read your posts from last week. I must say …sounds like way too much cat box cleaning! Have you ever heard of the litter robot? We have one and it is truly the greatest invention ever made!! I bought my oldest son one for Christmas last year. (for his cat, not him) Literally…..with 2 cats , I only have to empty mine once a week! I hadn’t heard of the Litter Robot, but our cats are so weird about their litter box that I’d hesitate to bring a new setup into the house. And it doesn’t really take all that much time. Even when there were two litter boxes for the foster kittens (now just one for Bear) and the one litter box for our cats, it takes only about five minutes – if that – to clean them all. Our litter box setup is pretty easy – just dump from one litter box into the other, through the strainer, dump the clumps into a small trash bag – so I don’t really have any complaints about it. We just got those pop up red cubes for our (6 yr old) cats and they love them more than I thought they would. Are they a hit with the kittens, too? The kittens ADORE the pop up cubes! Well, I guess I should say “cube”, since we only have one now. I had to toss the second one, ’cause it got too much dried poop on it, and I wasn’t up for scrubbing it down. The kittens loved to get in it and “walk” it from one side of the room to the other, and once we started opening the kitten room door all day long, we’d occasionally find the cube down the hallway. The first time Mister Boogers went into the kitten room and saw the cube, he jumped into it and just sat there with a grumpy look like he was thinking “How come those little brats get ALL the cool toys?” Okay, I know this is probably going to be a stupid question but — is there a potential medical problem with Callie trying to nurse off of Smitty’s weiner? I.e. could it cause one of them some sort of injury or disease? There’s the potential of damage to the penis (heh – it bugs Fred when I say “penis”, so I try to say it as often as possible. Penis! Penis! Penis!), according to the shelter manager. She had a certain name for the damage, but I’ll be damned if I can remember what it was. Robyn-I have to tell you I did a websearch the other day to make sure I was treating my little orphan kitties correctly. The page I came across was very informative and I found that I was doing the right things. THEN…..I got to the part where the woman said that she liked simulate actions like the mother cat. I TOTALLY draw the line at licking them on the top of their heads and carrying them in my mouth. I swear she said she did that!!!!!! Talk about being grossed out! I would rather be seen on tv talking about the image of Elvis being on my freezer, (which by the way isn’t). I love my kitties, but I think that goes a little too far into the kitty lovin realm. What do you think? Yeah, I think that’s going a little too far, bless her heart. Though I’ll admit, I’ve always wondered what Mister Boogers would do if I went over and licked him on top of the head. I’d never do it because BLEH, can you imagine the amount of cat hair I’d end up with in my mouth?, but still I’d just like to see the look on his face. I imagine he’d be bewildered. I can’t imagine carrying a kitten around in my mouth, either. I’d be afraid I’d hurt them! On a semi-related note (cat-related) I thought you might enjoy this quote. It’s from The Robber Bride by Margaret Atwood, the book I’m currently reading that I LOVE. “The sidewalk is crowded with lunchtime shoppers; they avoid bumping into one another without seeming to look, as if they’re covered with cat whiskers.” I like that.

* * * Several people, a few months ago, asked if I was going to put the Flossie yawning picture on t-shirts. I finally got around to that, and you can get them here. All items are marked up by one dollar, and any profits will go straight to the no-kill cat shelter I volunteer for. If you ever see a picture you’d like to have on a t-shirt, sweatshirt, journal, mousepad, or anything else CafePress offers, don’t hesitate to ask. It’s pretty easy to upload the picture and create the item on CafePress, and you know me – I aim to please. * * * Bear isn’t limping at all. He’s absolutely fine, and he’s got his crazy eyes back (when he’s very excited, his eyes are perfectly round, and he looks like he’s going to actually bounce off the walls). I was going to let him stay out of the kitten room last night, but he moves around so much in his sleep that I knew there was no way it was going to work, so around midnight I took him into his room and shut the door. I didn’t hear him meow at all, so I think he settled down and went right to sleep. This morning I walked into the kitchen and saw Mister Boogers standing by the back door, looking out. Bear – who follows me from room to room – saw Mister Boogers too, and went over to look out the back door as well. Then Bear turned and gave Mister Boogers an adoring look, and my heart cracked open and leaked out my belly button. Because it was the CUTEST. THING. EVER. If I’d had the camera, you’d be looking at pictures of the cuteness right now, I guarantee it. Bear has clearly realized that Mister Boogers is the only cat who’ll play with him – the others hiss and run away like the big wimps they are – and last night they spent the entire evening playing in the dining room. There’s a big piece of bubble wrap on the floor in there, and Bear thinks it’s the best toy EVER. If I think of it, I’ll try to get a picture of him playing in the bubble wrap later. Yesterday afternoon Fred went out back to read, and took Mister Boogers and Miz Poo with him. Bear looked out the back door and could see everyone out there, and he started howling like a sad little monkey, ’cause he wanted to have fun too. Fred kept an eye on him, and he pretty much stayed on the patio because he didn’t like the feel of grass on his feet. I didn’t get any pictures of that, either – the camera was charging – but maybe later I’ll take him out back and snap some. Callie thinks America’s Funniest Home Videos is funNY. “You SAID he was going bye-bye. You made me KISS HIM on the head. WHAT is he still doing here?” He waits for her to go to sleep, then he sneaks onto the bed with her. And then he snuggles with her, and she wakes up warm and happy and momentarily forgets that he needs to be smacked on the head. Remember how I mentioned that he follows me around like a little puppy? I left to do some errands, and he followed me to the door. When I got back half an hour later, he was sitting on the desk by the door waiting for me. It probably didn’t hurt that there was a comfy pile of fleece sitting there for him to lay on. “Fear my SCARY CLAWS!” * * * Previously 2004: No entry. 2003: Bringing home Mister Boogers. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: All about the cats. 1999: I certainly am bitching a lot today, aren’t I? ]]>