Category: Life

Phear my l33t fotograffic skillz.]]>

* * * I forgot to mention this: last Friday when I called my brother’s house to let him know that the car had broken down, I talked to him for a few minutes, and then I talked to my mother for a few minutes, telling her that AAA (who rocks) would be there in 30 or 40 minutes. “Well,” she said. “Did you bring a book with you?” Did I bring “a book” with me? HELL NO I didn’t bring “a book” with me – I brought FIVE books with me. When I was packing the night before, I said to Fred, “I’m going to be there three days. You think three books is enough?” and Fred said “You better make it five, just in case.” The man knows me too well. We’re both of the same opinion when it comes to bringing books on a trip: too many is far, far better than not enough.

* * * Speaking of books, I’m currently reading: Goodnight Nobody. Finished the night before last: Shakespeare’s Counselor, by Charlaine Harris. The last of the Lily Bard series – and I’m so sad to think that there’ll be no more Lily Bard books. According to the FAQ on Charlaine Harris‘ page, she currently has no plans to write another Lily Bard book, and her writing schedule is packed for the next three years. Clearly there’s only one thing left to do: start on the Aurora Teagarden series. * * * Since I still haven’t watched My Fair Brady, Breaking Bonaduce, Desperate Housewives, or Grey’s Anatomy from Sunday night, I’m going to slap up some kitten pics and call this an entry. Oh, except I do need to say… I’m dancin’! I’m dancin’! Amazing Race tonight! I’m dancin’! * * * The bitter spray was a resounding flop. I guess that the need to suck is so strong that the bitter taste just can’t stop Callie from needing to do it. I’m a little at a loss on what to do, here. I feel so mean putting her in the cage, but I need to do it, because she can’t be dissuaded from doing her thing. I let her out of the cage this morning and she bounced around the room for a couple of hours with her brothers. When I noticed that she was slowing down, I put her back in the cage. She seems okay in the cage, but I feel like the Meanest Momma Alive. Fred and I discussed letting her out into the house and leaving the other three in the kitten room, but she’s still got a touch of the diarrhea. We discussed letting Smitty out into the house, and went so far as to let him run around our room for a little while last night, but if we let him out, we’d want to let a second kitten out to keep him company, and we’re not sure enough that they’re all over what they had, to let them out into the general population. I’d feel a lot better if the diarrhea was gone, though I’ll say that things are still improving in that area. I gave Sugarbutt a quick bath last night, and you would have thought I was torturing him, instead of dipping his butt and back legs into a sink of lukewarm water to get a little bit of poo off. Big baby. Someone suggested in my comments yesterday that I’m developing a fondness for Barrett. Honestly, my favorites change from minute to minute. One minute Sugarbutt’s my favorite, the next I think Smitty’s the bee’s knees, and so on. I couldn’t possibly pick a favorite; I love them all! They’re all just unbearably sweet. “Hellew!” Bear tries out his Matrix moves. Sugarbutt inspects Smitty’s tail. The kittens watching a feather toy. I love that you can see Bear and Callie’s fangs. Sleepy Sugarbutt in the sun. Kittens at the trough. Best. Picture. Ever. There’s nothing about this picture that doesn’t make me giggle, from Bear’s crossed rapper arms, to Sugarbutt’s open mouth (I think he’s cheering Bear on) to Callie’s casual observation. I LOVE IT. All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2004: No offense to you stoners out there, but the Warrens totally look stereotypical stoners. 2003: No entry. 2002: I think I’m going to start calling him The Todd. 2001: Does that kid’s face just scream “dilemmanated”, or what? 2000: No entry.]]>

this entry, and this story about the spud made me laugh: Last week, after I had cleaned the downstairs (including mopping with lemon-scented pine-sol), the spud got home from school. She walked through the door, looked around, sniffed once or twice, and said “Why does it smell lemony fresh down here?” Also speaking of the spud, did I mention that she’s got a boyfriend? He seems like a good kid; he came over a few weekends ago and spent the afternoon watching a movie with the spud before they went to a party. He likes cats and was quite taken with Jodie, so that’s a definite plus in his favor. She spent Saturday evening at Big Spring Jam with he and his parents and had a good time. ::sniffle:: MAH BAYBEE’S GROWING UP! ::sniffle::

* * * I was just saying to Fred last week that one of my biggest downfalls is that I always immediately believe what I’m told, without taking a moment to question the information I’m given. In fact, I said that it was my goal, before I turn 40 in three years, to not get caught up in the moment, to step back and look logically at what’s going on, before I rush into situations. Friday, we had Chinese food for dinner. My fortune: For once, a decent fortune. Usually I get stuff like “You cannot fall off the floor.” In this case, I think perhaps the universe is trying to tell me something. * * * The house where our realtor used to live – a quick little backstory, here: when we moved in, our realtor lived two doors away from us. A few years ago, he moved from that house to a house two doors down, so that he lived four doors from us (we joked that he was trying to get away from us) – went up for sale a few months ago. Well actually, first it went up for rent, then it went up for sale, and then there was a flurry of work being done on the house, and then there was a moving truck, and I assume he moved out. Well, whether he ended up renting out the house or selling it, I’m not sure. But in any case, people have moved into the house, an older husband and wife (there might be kids, I don’t know.). Anyway. My point is that the people who’ve moved into the house spend an awful lot of time standing in the front yard. Just… standing there. I have no idea what they’re doing, whether they’re trying to get in their daily five minutes of sunshine or taking in the view or patting themselves on the back saying “This is what a lifetime of hard work gets you! A lovely house in a lovely neighborhood!” or what. But I’ll admit that it annoys me a little bit, because it seems that whatever we do outside, we now have an audience. Fred and I were running to McDonald’s Saturday evening and Fred went back inside to get his wallet and keys, and Mister Boogers slipped out the door and ran out of the garage, under Fred’s car, and down the driveway. Fred chased him down and carried him into the house, and I glanced toward the street to find that the man who lives in that house was standing there watching us. On the other hand, maybe they’re cat lovers and stand out there hoping to get a glimpse of our cats. I got home one day last week after running errands to find the man standing in his yard, staring at our house. I looked at our house to see what he could possibly be looking at, and saw Spot, sitting in the window of the guest bedroom, staring back at him. I don’t know, it’s just a little odd. I’m sure I’ll get used to it, though, the way I got used to the neighborhood kids always running across our yard and always setting up shop in our driveway. * * * I’m dancin’! I’m dancin’! Jen Weiner! I’m dancin’! I’m dancin’! Got the new Jen Weiner! I’m dancin’! Woohoo, I’m dancin’! Miz Poo, however, is unimpressed. * * * I went to the pet store this morning to get some of that bitter apple spray, because I just can’t stand leaving Callie in that cage all day, and I really can’t spend all day sitting in the kitten room keeping an eye on her, and if I let her out to play, I forget she’s out, and then I remember and go running upstairs to check on them, and she looks at me guitily and Smitty’s got a wet penis, and I put her back in the cage, and she looks at me sadly and I feel sorry for her. It’s a vicious cycle. If the diarrhea ever resolves itself (things are improving; more on that in a moment), we’ll be able to let the kittens out of the room during the day and they’ll most likely spend most of their time downstairs with me and I can keep an eye on her. Of course, if we weren’t going to be selling the house in a few years, I’d probably push Fred to have french doors put on both of the doorways leading to the library, and that could be the kitten room, because that would be absolutely perfect. Anyway. So I went to the pet store this morning with the intention of buying bitter apple spray to dab around Smitty’s penis, so that when Callie next went to do her thing, she’d get a mouthful of nastiness (other than the “kitten penis” nastiness, I mean) and she’d stop doing that. The pet store I always go to didn’t seem to have a bottle of bitter apple spray for cats – the bottle said “for dogs”, and nothing on the label said it was okay for cats, and I know nothing about this, y’all. I had no idea whether the formulation for dogs and cats would be the same or not, so I hemmed and hawed and thought about it, and decided to go to the other pet store just down the street. Now, this other pet store… how do I say this? I’m amazed they’re still in business, because it’s small and disorganized and it stinks to high heaven. I KNOW, it’s a pet store, what do I expect? But the pet store I always go to, the one where I go and clean cages on Monday mornings, never stinks. And it’s big and bright and well-organized. Anyway, I go to Pet Store 2, walk in, and see that they also have bitter apple, and it’s also labelled for dogs. I look around some more, and find a bottle of stuff named (something like) The Bitterest Thing in the World (that’s not it exactly, but I don’t feel like going upstairs to look at the bottle). It’s made for all kind of animals, including cats. I decide to get that, and go up to the register to pay. Where the cashier harasse me to sign up for a store card. I say no the first time, and a second later she says “It doesn’t cost anything!”. I smile and say “No, thank you.” again, and a second later she says “You’d save 55 cents!”, and I smile ONCE AGAIN and ONCE AGAIN say “No, thank you”, but only because I’m too nice to say “I don’t care if I’d get the thing for free, I’m not signing up for your savings card, because I never visit your store, and you’re making me wish I never HAD, so SHUT UP.” She gives me a dirty look, finishes the transaction, hands me the receipt, and snippily tells me to have a nice day. I smile and walk out, because I’m too nice to say “Oh, I’ll have a nice day, because I live happy in the knowledge that I’ll never step foot in your store again.” Ugh. So anyway, I got home and use a q-tip to apply the spray o’ bitterness to the fur around Smitty’s penis (honestly, if I never have to regard another kitty penis, I’ll be overjoyed) and play with the kittens for a while. They’re bouncing off the walls, running around and playing and being wild, so I figured I had a few hours before I needed to check and see if Callie was doing her thing, so I ran errands, and started writing this entry. I just went upstairs, where the kittens were laying around sleepily, and checked the area around Smitty’s penis to see if it was wet. It wasn’t, so I considered the bitter experiment a success. Until I sat down, and the kittens all gathered in my lap, piling up on top of each other, and Callie came over and rooted around until she located Smitty’s penis, and the smacking noises began. Ugh. So I put her back in the cage for now. I guess later I’ll try applying more bitter spray around his penis and see if that works. If not, I’m either going to have to spend more time in the room with them, or we’re going to have to let them run around the house. I think what we REALLY need is a webcam set up in the kittens’ room, so I can keep an eye on what’s going on in there, but I seem to be the only one who thinks so. Hmph. As far as the diarrhea situation goes, it seems to be improving. Things aren’t as solid as I’d like them to be, but they’re getting there. Sugarbutt is doing better keeping clean, too. I haven’t had to give him a bath in two days, which is a good thing, since before that he was getting at least one if not two baths a day. He’s not terribly fond of getting a bath, if you hadn’t guessed, and I’m not terribly fond of giving them. These kittens are just the sweetest things. Over the past week they’ve gone from a little standoffish, to completely loving and snuggly and friendly. Bear, especially, is a little lovebug. At night when I go in the room to hang out with them, and I’m wearing my nightgown, they all gather in my lap, and would probably sleep there all night if I’d let them. They are just SO SWEET. They could actually go for spaying and neutering now, since they’re all over two pounds, but I’m going to wait until next week to call and make the appointment, because I want to be sure they’re past the diarrhea. And that’s the state of things in Kittenville. This picture rocks because both kittens are completely off the ground. I wish I’d gotten a closer picture. I love it when Sugarbutt gets feisty. With a mere look, Sugarbutt bowls Callie over. “So I says to her, I says “Look, you. I’m the boss around these here parts, and if I want you to go pick up my freakin’ dry cleaning and stop along the way to get me a snort of catnip, YOU WILL DO IT.” And then she quit. I don’t care, she spent all her time trying to get with my brother, but he’s got too much taste to deal with the likes of her.” Snuggle Bear. “We’ll just sleep here tonight. You don’t mind, do you?” Bear likes to sharpen his claws on my slipper. Sugarbutt takes a bath. All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. Hmmm. I oughta have a cat pictures blog, don’tchathink? * * * Previously 2004: No entry. 2003: Immediately, screaming like a little girl, Fred levitated across the room to the fireplace, where he began dancing a jig, slapping at his legs, and screaming intermittently. 2002: But it’s still tempting. 2001: J’accuse. 2000: No entry.]]>

Gizmo!) So anyway. That’s been my day. I think I’m going to pour a big-ass Diet Coke and land on the couch and finally watch Lost. PS: I should be really pissed off about my car, but I cannot look at the damn thing without smiling and feeling a little pang o’ love. I still love E’gar. Kind of like knowing a guy’s no good for you, but he’s so damn cute…

* * * The kittens are doing well. The first thing I did when I got home was let Callie and Bear out of the cage (I put him in there to keep her company, and gave Fred explicit instructions on keeping an eye on Bear to make sure he’s not being molested). The second thing I did was give Sugarbutt a bath from the waist down to wash off the poo. The problem with Sugarbutt, as I told my sister a little while ago, is that he probably would like to keep himself clean, but he honestly cannot reach around his great big gut to clean himself. He tries, but he just can’t do it. Hopefully once the deworming medication kicks in it’ll help with the size of his gut, and I won’t have to bathe him quite so often. Or so I’d like to believe. That ain’t a look o’ love. “Okay, let me think. You go left at the food bowl, bear right after the litter box… Wait, no. I think you go LEFT after the litter box.. No, that’s not right either. Did you check Google Maps?” Wet kitten, or drowned rat? You decide. Smitty makes the leap. “Give me that toy!” “GIVE me that toy!” “GIVE ME THAT TOY, WOMAN!” “Dude, your butt is wet. Why is your butt wet? What did that horrid woman DO to you?” I love this come-hither look from Smitty. All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Previously 2004: Questions and answers. 2003: I feel like Eudora’s a creepy old lady hovering over my shoulder, reading my email, and threatening to tell my mommy on me. 2002: Anything more complicated than that, and I think you’ll have to look elsewhere. 2001: No entry. 2000: No entry.]]>

* * * This is Fred’s proof that Jason Lee and Jonny Fairplay could be twins:

I have to say, I think I see his point. * * * We watched Nip/Tuck last night. I really like that show; I think Fred doesn’t care for it as much as I do, though. He thought it got a little too soap opera-ish in the second season. As far as I’m concerned, if I get to look at Julian McMahon, it can be as cheesy as it wants to be. Also, I think Kimber is about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. She’s ADORABLE. I taped Lost last night, but haven’t watched it yet. I’m waiting until after I’ve showered and eaten lunch to settle down on the couch. I can’t WAIT! Also… I’m dancing! I’m dancing! Survivor tonight! I’m dancing! I’m dancing! Amazing Race! I’m dancing! Next Tuesday! I’m dancing! I’m dancing! If they put The Amazing Race and Survivor BOTH on Thursday night, that would be one seriously kick-ass night of television. Talk about your must-see TV! * * * Pet store kitty pics from Monday are here. * * * How long does it take deworming medicine to start working, y’all know? We gave the kittens their first dose of Drontal last night and Sugarbutt was kind enough to provide me with a front-seat row of his usage of the litter box this morning. Things are firming up a tad, but aren’t quite to where I would like them to be. If you know what I mean. We weighed them last night, and the heaviest kitten – Smitty – is almost a pound less than Rambo weighed at 12 weeks old. Annnnnd, since I wrote the above, I went into the kitten room to take pictures and discovered that – this completely grossed my sister out, so you might not want to be eating right now – Callie was “nursing” on Smitty’s penis. I’m going to have to separate her from the boys; when the spud gets home this afternoon, I’ve got to go to Petsmart and get a big cage to put her in (Edited to add: Callie, not the spud. Heh.). The shelter manager (poor woman, I harass her so much, I swear) said that I could put bitter apple on his penis, but that it would probably sting him. Better to separate them; at least this way I can let her out to play with her brothers as long as one of us is in the room with them. Grrr, kittens and their issues! A rare shot of all four of them. Brudderly love. Such a pretty, pretty boy. Callie does NOT find this amusing. “Ugh. I keep hoping for steak, and what do I get? Cat food. Bleh.” Sugarbutt allows the belly rub. “Ahhhhhhhh!” All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * I adore this picture of Spanky. * * * Previously 2004: If you had any idea how much time I spent backspacing and retyping words when I write my entries, you’d burst into tears of sympathy. 2003: Who the fuck are Nikki and Paris Hilton, and why would I give a good goddamn what they’re wearing or doing or driving or fucking? 2002: No entry. 2001: You know you’re getting old when you have to ask a 12 year-old girl who’s on the TV. 2000: No entry.]]>

* * * We watched My Name is Earl last night. I’ve been wanting to check it out, but Fred LOATHES Jason Lee – he thinks he looks like Jonny Fairplay, which I don’t see, personally – and so I had to basically talk him into it. I wanted to see it because Kevin Smith gave it a rave review, which I know you have to take with a grain of salt, because he and Jason Lee are friends and all, but still I wanted to at least give it a try. It was really pretty good. We both laughed out loud several times, and the casting for the show was done perfectly – Jaime Pressly will always and forever be total white trash to me, since the first time I ever saw her was in the Jerry Springer movie. I even got Fred to admit that he liked the show, and given how much he’s always hated Jason Lee – he says he’s got a smack-me face – it’s got to be good.

* * * Currently reading: The Next Big Thing. Finished late last night: All Families are Psychotic, by Douglas Coupland. Good book – it reminded me more than a little of the zany Dave Barry/ Carl Hiaasen kind of writing, and not just because it takes place in Florida. You know how in the Hiaasen and Barry books, weird and crazy shit keeps happening to the characters, and rather than stopping and saying “Hey. That was some crazy-ass shit that just happened, there”, they just take it into stride and keep plugging along? Yeah, that’s kind of what happened in the Coupland book. * * * Someone posted a comment yesterday telling me that I should rename the kittens, at least for their stay with us, and I stopped and thought about it, and that’s really a pretty good idea. Because the names a couple of them have just really don’t – this is just my opinion – fit them very well at all. I posted a comment back saying that I’d rename Sad Eyes “Charlie”, but actually, I was thinking about it last night, and I think I’ve really come up with the only name (considering the past few days) that fits him: Sugarbutt. So for the rest of their stay at Casa And3rson, Sad Eyes is going to become Sugarbutt, Little Cal is becoming Callie, and Barrett is becoming Bear, because he looks like a little bear. Smitty’s going to remain Smitty, ’cause that’s a pretty good name. I’ve been putting holding a damp sugar-covered paper towel against Sugarbutt’s (hee!) behind a couple of times a day for the past few days, and I don’t know if it’s the sugar, or the fact that I’m using Tuck’s pads (which are just pads soaked in witch hazel) to wipe him down, but things seem to be improving. I think once we can get past the diarrhea (we’re giving them deworming medicine tonight, more on that in a sec) things will get much better. I noticed last night that the kittens’ stomachs are big and tight. Sugarbutt, especially, has a huge round belly, but they all to some extent have big guts, bigger than I’m used to seeing on kittens. After some Googling around, I realize that that’s a sign of roundworm infection, and it’s time to deworm the little stinkers anyway. Hopefully the deworming will help, and also hopefully I’m keeping the room closed off enough that OUR cats won’t up and develop worms, because that’s not something I particularly want to have to deal with, THANKS. Callie does the hula. Are you talkin’ to Smitty? Are YOU talkin’ to SMITTY? You MUST be talkin’ to Smitty, I don’t see no one else around… Sugarbutt gives Smitty the sad little “Can’t I play with the toy, too?” eyes. Bear, up close. Such pretty eyes. All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. * * * Last night’s sunset. * * * Previously 2004: “No, this is real time!” Fred sighed. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: Written by hand. 2000: No entry.]]>

Say!!!

* * * Cats don’t like it when you roll up a piece of packing tape, stick it to their back, and then pull it off to see how much fur you’ll get (the answer: quite a bit of loose fur will come off with the tape). In fact, they get quite freaked out and run away, chirruping the whole while. In case you were wondering. * * * Why? Why why WHY would someone do a search on “Stick bottles up my butt”? Are they looking for instructions? Are they looking for pictures? And why would they end up on my site? Never mind. I’d rather not know. * * * I popped out of a fairly sound sleep this morning. I glanced at the clock – 6:45 – and listened intently. After a moment, I heard it again, and again. It sounded very much like a cat who was gasping for air, each breath more difficult than the one before. I took out my earplugs and listened some more, and it continued to sound like a cat gasping for air. My immediate thought was “Oh, christ. Spot‘s dying, and I’m going to have to take him to the vet and they’re probably going to have to euthanize him, and I’ll have to stand there and watch them and I DON’T WANNA!” I assumed it was Spot because he’s the oldest and has had some health issues recently. I grabbed my glasses and sat up, and as I did so, Mister Boogers ran out from under the bed with a bird in his mouth. Once he came under the bed, I could tell that he wasn’t gasping for air, but rather was growling in a rhythmic fashion. “GodDAMN you, Mister Boogers!” I yelled. He ran to the doorway of the bedroom and crouched there, growling a warning at Miz Poo, who was on the other side of the room, and Spanky, who was five feet away at the top of the stairs. I got out of bed, put my nightgown on, and walked over to where Mister Boogers was crouched. The bird was so motionless that I was pretty sure it was dead, but when I clapped my hands at Mister Boogers, he reacted by dropping the bird and running two feet away to sit and stare with glittering, evil eyes at the bird. The bird flapped its wings a few times, then lay still. “Oh grand. GRAND. You fucker!” I said to Mister Boogers, who ignored me. “You didn’t KILL it, you just wounded it horribly, and NOW I’m going to have to take the goddamn thing to the vet!” And I didn’t WANNA. The bird lay still as I stepped around it and went into the laundry room to get the rubber gloves I wear when cleaning out the litter box. I put on the gloves and leaned down to pick up the bird so I could examine it closer. Which is when it decided that it was time to get busy living, and it squawked at me in a pissed-off manner and took to the air. It flew past the ceiling fan – thank god it didn’t get caught in the ceiling fan, is all I can say – and I immediately hit the switch to turn the fan off. Mister Boogers, who was as wired as if he’d spent the morning slurping down extra-strength espressos – tracked the bird’s every movement. The bird landed on the top of the window and sat there for a moment. Mister Boogers climbed to the top of the back of the recliner in that corner of the room, and stood on his hind legs, trying to reach the bird. I yelled at Mister Boogers. The bird saw me coming closer, and took flight again, this time landing on the top of the other window. Thus ensused two or three minutes of Mister Boogers and I following the bird back and forth, while Miz Poo sat in the middle of the floor and chirped questions at us. Finally, I grabbed the phone and called Fred on his cell phone. After a moment of talking, we decided that I’d throw the cats out of the room, shut the door, open the window from the top, remove the screen, and hope that the bird was smart enough to glimpse freedom and fly out the window. I picked up Mister Boogers, who immediately went limp and chattered bitchily at me. I tossed him out the bedroom door, shut the door, and turned around… to see Mister Boogers standing on the bed. I grabbed him again, tossed him out the door, and again he managed to get back inside the room at a speed so fast my eyes had no idea what was going on. I was about to yell at him, when the bird squawked, flew for the window by the bathroom, and landed on the floor by the bathroom door. Mister Boogers, of course, ran over and started sniffing at the bird. I yelled at him to get away from the bird – which he ignored – walked over, and picked the bird up. The bird began squealing like a little pig, and I spoke soothingly to him as I carried him down the stairs and to the back door. I was like the pied piper of cats as all four of them followed me the entire way. I opened the back door, stepped out, and held the bird out. The bird looked around as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, and then he flew off, followed by a chattering Mister Boogers, a chirping Miz Poo, and a quiet Spot and Spanky. This is not, for the record, my favorite way to wake up. I’d been intending to sleep for another hour at least, but after chasing a bird around the room and then coming downstairs to set it free, I was far too awake to get back to sleep. Since I was up and wide awake, I decided to get some chores done. I spent the next hour putting laundry away, scrubbing out our cats’ litter box and the box the litter box sits in, which entails carrying the whole kit and caboodle downstairs and out to the back yard, where I fill the litter boxes (and the box the litter box sits in) with soapy water, let it sit for a few minutes, and then scrub everything and rinse it out. Then I left everything outside to dry and went upstairs, where I filled a clean litter box with fresh litter, then came back downstairs to get the box the litter box sits in, dried it off, and carried it and the vacuum cleaner upstairs. For the record, as I was carrying the vacuum cleaner and the litter box box upstairs, I thought “I wonder if this is going to be the time I fall down the stairs because I’m carrying too much shit at the same time so I don’t have to make multiple trips up the stairs?” It was not. Theeeeeen I went back downstairs, filled a bucket with bleach and water, filled syringes with amoxicillin, and went back upstairs. I left the bucket of bleachy water in the spud’s bathroom, went in to the kitten room, and gave each of them a dose of amoxicillin. I took a look at Sad Eyes’ behind, saw that he was caked with poo, and made the hard decision. I was going to have to give him a bath, because there’s just no way all that stuff dried to his tail and the area surrounded his behind was going to come off with just a damp cloth. I filled the spud’s bathroom sink with lukewarm water, made sure I had everything I needed, put the rubber gloves on  and went in to get him. I picked him up and held him close, and he immediately began purring really loudly. He did not, you won’t be surprised to find, much care for having a bath. But he also didn’t fight me as much as I thought he might, and it only took a few minutes of gentle bathing to get 99% of the poo off of him. My mistake was leaving the bathroom door open, so Miz Poo heard the sad little crying kitten and jumped up next to the sink to see what kind of torture I was performing. I picked him up to put him on the towel and dry him, but once he got his claws in my shirt, he climbed up me and ended up hanging on to my back. I grabbed the towel and walked to the kitten room, then bent down so he could jump off me, and then I grabbed him with the towel and rubbed him mostly dry. I totally should have brought the camera upstairs with me, because there’s just nothing so pathetic looking as a wet cat. Next time, I’ll try to remember. While Sad Eyes was being consoled by his brothers and sister, I cleaned the spud’s sink and counter with bleach and water, then dried everything. Then it was back into the kitten room to put them all in the carrier. I put the carrier in the spud’s room and shut her door, then went back into the kitten room with my bucket of bleachy water and a thousand rags. I honestly expected it to only take me about twenty minutes to scrub out the litter box, vacuum the room, and wipe everything down with a bleach solution, but it took me more like 45 minutes. When everything was clean as it could be and I went to get the kittens to put them back in their room, they were all snuggled up in the carrier, dozing. When I put them back in their room and opened the door to the cat carrier, they came out and sniffed around for a little while before flopping down and dozing off. Which gave me enough time to pull the towel out of the carrier, scrub the carrier down, and put a clean towel in the carrier. Then I started a new load of laundry, took a shower, vacuumed the entire upstairs, and carried all the trash in the upstairs down to the garbage can. So, that’s been my day thus far, and it’s not even noon. I think I need a nap. Smitty, asleep in the sun. Sad Eyes suggests that I put the camera away before he comes over and puts it away for me. (If you look closely, you can see a smear of amoxicillin across the bridge of his nose. I have no idea how it got there.) Barrett licks the water off his lips. Little Cal, up close. I love the orange stripes on the side of her face. All of today’s uploaded kitten pics are here. * * * PS: Oh, lovely. I just went into the dining room to find that one of the fucking cats brought a cave cricket into the house, brutally ripped off one of its legs, and left it there to die. At least, I hope it’s dead. Those things fucking creep me out. * * * Previously 2004: “This book makes me want to have a baby!” I said to Fred when I was about halfway through the book. “Let’s have a baby!” 2003: No entry. 2002: Gag city. 2001: I think you know what I’m thinkin’. 2000: I’d like to return to my regularly scheduled life, please.]]>

We had no idea what was about to happen and I felt… envious. Is that strange? I wonder if, in four years, I’ll come across an entry at the end of August of this year, and think We had no idea what was coming and wish that I could go back in time and warn the people of New Orleans of what was coming. But who would ever have believed it?

* * * Today has been the busiest day I’ve had in ages. And now it’s after 2:00, which is way later than I usually get my entries posted, so I’m going to yammer on about the kittens a little, put up some pictures, and call it an entry. The kittens are almost 12 weeks old. They’re all from the same litter, and they are ADORABLE. However, they are also stinky. Because they have not only giardia, but also coccidia. Two of them seem to be mostly over it, but two of them are having diarrhea and one of them… oy. You don’t want to be eating if you’re reading this, trust me. He has pretty bad diarrhea, and – I warned you – his rectum is protruding about about inch from his body. The straining to poop is causing that, and when I asked the shelter manager what to do, she said that someone had recently told her to try a damp paper towel with sugar on it, held against the area. She hasn’t tried it herself, but said that she’d been told it worked well. I know I’ve got cat foster parents out there – anyone ever heard of such a thing? I think if I can just get him past the diarrhea the area won’t be quite so enraged and things can go back to normal. When Fred gets home, we’re going to give him a quick bath (the kitten, that is. Not Fred.) because every time he uses the litter box he gets poo all over his backside (again, the kitten. Not Fred.), and I’ve been wiping him down with baby wipes, but a) That apparently is quite uncomfortable, because the whole AREA is painfully swollen and b) The baby wipes aren’t getting the dried stuff off. Once the area’s clean, I guess we’ll give the sugar remedy a try. Foster parents, if you’ve got suggestions, my ears are open! I have a feeling that bleach is going to be my best friend for the forseeable future. Want to meet the little monsters? You know you do. (By the way, I didn’t name them.) Little Cal. She’s the only girl. She’s also the one who spends all her time kicking the other kitties’ butts. I love little torti kitties, they’re such characters. Barrett. He’s so gorgeous, this picture doesn’t do him justice at all. Smitty. You KNOW how I love the little orange tabbies! Smitty’s the least affected by the giardia and coccidia. He’s also the most apt to get into a fight with Little Cal. Sad Eyes. The only way I can tell the difference between Sad Eyes and Smitty is that Sad Eyes is smaller. Well that, and he’s always got poo hanging off his back end. Yes, poor little Sad Eyes is the one with the issues. And yes, I promise I’ll never slap up a picture of said rectal issues, because no one really needs to see that. Sad Eyes is my personal favorite of the four, because all you have to do is touch him with one finger, and he purrs immediately, very loudly. Poor Sad Eyes. All of today’s uploaded pictures are here. All four kittens are pretty active. They all chase each other around and play, and they’re not so friendly they’ll come over and climb on me, but it’s only been a day. I suspect that they’ll be climbing on me soon enough. Sad Eyes is the friendliest, and despite the fact that I keep hurting him (ie, wiping his behind with a baby wipe), he keeps coming back over so I can pet him. For the time being, obviously, we’re keeping them sequestered from our cats. * * * By the way, Rambo and Jodie were adopted Saturday evening – together. Yay!!!! * * * The other day Fred and I discussed the fact that we don’t have nearly enough carriers for the number of cats that we have. If, god forbid, we needed to evacuate, there’s no way on earth we could fit all four of our cats in the one cardboard carrier we have. So Saturday, knowing that I was going to need a decent carrier on Sunday anyway, I went to the pet store and bought a carrier with a door in the front AND a door in the top. I’m going to buy one more at a point in the near future, so that we’ll have three carriers. We can put Spot in one, Miz Poo in one, and Mister Boogers and Spanky in one. Anyway, I brought the new carrier home and put it together, and within a minute, guess who was in it, checking it out? He’s the nosiest Booger there ever was. * * * Previously 2004: No entry. 2003: Since he’s a year older than me, that’ll give me two years to theatrically take to my bed and waste away. Sounds about right. 2002: Obviously whoever lives at 308 belongs to the Bitchypoo “If I don’t know you, I ain’t answerin’ the door” school of thought. 2001: I hate you, Mr. Mailman. 2000: Only US Magazine would consider it newsworthy that Michael Douglas is changing diapers he hasn’t been wearing. ]]>

The Survivor section; spoilers within; skip to the next section if you haven’t seen last night’s episode or aren’t interested. Why did they even bother to give the tribes names this time around? You KNOW everyone’s going to refer to them as “Bobby Jon’s tribe” and “Stephenie’s tribe.” How lucky is Bobby Jon’s tribe to have a frickin’ nurse practitioner on their team? If they have half a brain, they’ll keep that woman around, ’cause she’s already made more of a contribution in the first three days than some of the tribe members will make during their entire stay. Is it just me, or do the Survivors get younger every season? They’re so young, and so much eye candy that they just kind of blend in to one another; it’s hard to tell them apart. I’ll say at this point that I really like Margaret (the nurse practitioner); I don’t know if her strategy is to make herself indispensible to her tribe, but she seems to be doing that. I also like Judd because he seems like a likeable kind of guy; he reminds me a lot of Colin Quinn. So far I don’t hate anyone. Fred was annoyed for a while with Gary (who bears a striking resemblance to Ted Danson, if you ask me), but it’s far too early in the game to know who you like and don’t like. I wasn’t surprised to see Jim go. Once his bicep snapped (GOD, the idea just makes me CRINGE) and he was obviously in pain and injured, it seemed an easy vote for his tribe. I sure did miss Survivor and I am SO glad it’s back.

* * * So, earlier this week we noticed that Spot was gagging a lot. He wasn’t eating and then gagging, he would just be standing there, and would suddenly gag. He was still eating okay, but the gagging escalated, and started to bother us. After a few days of it, Fred took Spot to the vet on Tuesday. The vet checked Spot over, couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him, but said that he was dehydrated, had a fever, and the back of his throat was a bit red and sore looking. They ended up giving him subcutaneous fluids, an antibiotic shot, anti-emetic shot, and prescribed antibiotics for a week. The shot seemed to do wonders; once he got the shot, he clearly felt better, and there was no more gagging. Fast-forward to Thursday, and after spending part of the morning outside, Miz Poo came inside and barfed up a single blade of grass. And then, every ten minutes or so, she’d sit up, swallow a few times, and then gag. I thought she had a piece of grass stuck in her throat that she couldn’t throw up, but after a few hours the lightbulb went on over my head – I’m a little slow sometimes – and I realized she was doing exactly what Spot had been doing. I called Fred to discuss it with him, and he told me to give her a dose of Spot’s medicine. I did, and the gagging seemed to slow down a little bit, but it was still happening. When Fred got home, she gagged a few more times and he decided to take her to the vet to see if they could give her a shot of antibiotic and perhaps an anti-emetic as well. When he got there, they took her temperature and found that she was running a fever. The vet looked her over and they ended up giving her the same as Spot – subcutaneous fluids (it cracks us up when they get the subcutaneous fluids, because they end up with a hump that jiggles like Jello until the fluids are absorbed), and an antibiotic/ anti-emetic shot. In the half hour that Fred spent at the vet, GUESS FUCKING WHAT? Mister Boogers came into the computer room, barfed up a watery puddle of cat food-colored barf, and commenced to gag. And gag. And gag some more. I called Fred (thankyewjeezus for cell phones) and told him he might ask the vet if he could get an anti-emetic for Mister Boogers. They gave him a syringe of antibiotic/ anti-emetic, and antibiotics for both Miz Poo and Mister Boogers. The only cat who hasn’t shown signs of having this weird throat infection – Fred theorizes that it’s similar to strep throat. Did you know that cats have six tonsils? – is Spanky. I’m keeping an eye on him, but he’s our one cat who is always healthy, so maybe he won’t come down with it. I mean, I’m not holding my breath, but a girl can dream. I emailed the shelter manager to let her know that the volunteers might want to keep an eye on Rambo and Jodie. They were fine yesterday morning, so hopefully they haven’t gotten it. And then this morning, I got an email from the shelter manager. She’s looking for temporary homes for three sets of kittens – one set of five, two sets of four – who are currently in a foster home. The foster mother is going out of town for the week and they need someone to keep the fosters either for a week or until they’re ready to go up for adoption. They’re currently being treated for giardia, so they can’t be out and about too much (they can’t share a litter box with our cats), but I imagine once the course of treatment for giardia is done, they’ll be okay to socialize with our cats. Anyway, I’m going to pick up one of the litters of four on Sunday. And we’ll keep ’em ’til they’re ready for adoption – which won’t be too long, I think, since two of the litters are three months old, and one litter is eight weeks old, and I’m not sure which we’ll get. But anyway – kittens! In the house again! Whee! * * * I got my car back yesterday, good as new. It looks good, it smells good (like paint!), and not only did they fix the dent, they washed and vacuumed the car! If you’re in the Madison area and need a place to have body work done on your car, let me know. This place is awesome. * * * It’s almost noon, and the spud is still asleep. There’s no school today – it’s apparently “Parenting Day”, and I’m doing my “Parenting” by sitting on my ass in front of the computer while she sleeps the day away – and on non-school days she sleeps very, very late. She’s going to be hurting on Monday when she has to get up at 6:30, I imagine. It doesn’t bother me that she sleeps in so late, although I don’t think I could ever do that (not anymore, anyway. I know I did plenty of sleeping ’til noon when I was her age). If I sleep past 9 on the weekends I feel like I’ve wasted the day away, and I feel guilty, even though it’s not like I have a tight schedule or anything. Fred, on the other hand, feels like he’s a lazy-ass if he sleeps past 6:00. I guess you’d call him more a morning person than the spud and I are. He’s the morning person, the spud’s the night owl, and I’m somewhere in between. Just call us the three bears. * * * Fred actually admitted last night that he misses having Jodie and Rambo around. I almost fell off the bed in shock, because he’s been telling me for weeks now that he didn’t want to get too attached to them so he wouldn’t feel too bad when they were gone. Hopefully they’ll get their cute little butts adopted tonight or tomorrow. Y’all keep your fingers crossed! The last of the Jodie and Rambo pictures: I have no clue what this look is about, but it makes me laugh. Oh, she’s so pretty. I MISS her! So sweet, those babies. Snuggly babies. For the record, when we got them, Rambo weighed 1 pound, 4 ounces. When I took them to the vet for their rabies shot the day I took them to the pet store, he weighed 3 pounds, 7 ounces. * * * Previously 2004: small things that will remind me of my grandmother. 2003: Man, this whole running-a-business thing is strictly FOR THE FUCKING BIRDS. 2002: Fred (as if narrating a book): “She was a bitter-butted woman….” 2001: No entry. 2000: No entry.]]>

* * * I’m dancing! I’m dancing! See me dancing! I’m dancing! Survivor! I’m dancing! Survivor tonight! I’m dancing! I’m dancing! I’m doing the Cabbage Patch! I’m dancing! I’m dancing! Amazing Race! I’m dancing! I’m dancing! Amazing Race on the 27th! I’m dancing! I’m dancing! At least two months of both Survivor and Amazing Race! I’m dancing! I’m dancing! I’m passing out! I’m passing out! Fat women shouldn’t! Dance too! Vigorously! For too long! I’m panting! But excited! Survivor! Survivor! I’m dancing! Slowly! I’m dancing! Very slowly! Please god let there be! Someone I can hate! On Survivor! Love to hate them! Those Survivors! No fun! If there’s! No one to hate! I’m dancing! I’m dancing! I need a nap.

* * * Currently reading: Monkey Business, by Sarah Mlynowski. (I’ll have you know I spelled her last name correctly on the first try without even checking. GO ME.) Finished recently: The Earth, My Butt, and Other Big Round Things. This was a REALLY good book. I didn’t realize when I put it on my wish list that it was a young adult book, but I’d recommend it for teens (it’s intended for grades 7 – 10, I believe) AND adults. I really, really liked it, and I recommend it. * * * All of 2002 is now in WordPress; I finished January through March the other night, and Fred converted the entries to WordPress yesterday. You know what this means? This means that I ONLY have 26 months of entries to go through! Ugh. I’m a wordy motherfucker. * * * So, I took the kittens to the pet store yesterday. Since my car’s in the shop, I dropped Fred off at his second-favorite mountain (hill) to go hiking, then stopped by the vet’s to get rabies shots for the kittens, and then set up their cage, put plenty of toys in there for them, and filled out the cards that go on their cage. Rambo was okay – he’s always been more independent than Jodie – but Jodie was very scared. After I’d gotten their card filled out and hung on their cage, I opened the cage door to pet and comfort her, and she climbed up onto me, making sad little whining noises. I stayed as long as I could, but I had to get going, since Fred finished his hike before I was even out of the pet store, and I had to actually pull poor Jodie off me and put her back in the cage. Break my heart, why don’tcha? It was a little easier leaving them than it was when I left the previous batch, because I knew I was covering for the Thursday morning volunteer and that I’d see them this morning. I went in this morning and Jodie was sitting in the litter box, looking scared. BREAK MY HEART. I opened the cage and talked to both of them. Jodie came over and made sad little whining noises at me, looking just as scared as she could be. I put Rambo down on the floor to look around, but Jodie didn’t want to leave the cage, so I left her in there, and went back frequently to talk to her and pet her. Eventually she was willing to come out of the cage, and I let Giles out of his cage. Giles wanted to play, but Jodie was having none of that, just hissed and smacked at him. Giles is such a sweetheart that he backed right off to the other end of the room and just watched her, occasionally coming close to see if she wanted to play, but backing off when she hissed. By the time I left the petstore after an hour and a half, Jodie and Rambo were both ignoring me and playing with the toys I’d left in their cage. I think they’re going to be okay. Once they get accustomed to being in the cage, they’ll relax enough to be their cute little charming selves. I bet they’ll be adopted by Monday. Jodie’s not sure she cares for this. Jodie insists on cleanliness in everyone around her. This is possibly my favorite Rambo yawn picture. Snuggles. It sure is quiet around here today. * * * Miz Poo does not miss those kittens one teeny tiny bit. * * * Previously 2004: Waiting for Ivan. 2003: No more Benifer. How sad. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: Speaking of N Sync – that Lance Bass is a cutie, but I get the distinct feeling that although the lights are on, no one’s home. ]]>