Category: Life

Written on July 17, 2005. So here I am in Maine. I got here Friday afternoon about ten minutes late, and met the spud and Brian outside security. We got my bag – the Portland airport has finally (THANK GOD) increased the size of their bag claim area so that more than three people can fit around the baggage carousel. My bag arrived, finally, and we went out to the parking lot where my mother was waiting in the car. We gossiped our way to Freeport – or maybe it was Yarmouth; I’m not sure where one ends and the other begins – and had lunch at a little roadside stand named Cindy’s. I had an excellent lobster roll, but the PRICE. My god, there was for sure not enough lobster to justify $12, those lobster must have dined on gold nuggets before they became lobster rolls, that’s all I can guess. Then we went to my parents’ house, where we all went swimming for a while. I haven’t been swimming for quite a while, probably not since last summer when we were in Hawaii, so it was nice to lay on a boogie board and float around the pool. I was tired from traveling and thought I’d go to bed early, but Liz called and we talked for a few minutes, then decided that she’d come pick me up and we’d go to Friendly’s (similar to Denny’s, for those of you not in the know) so she could eat dinner and I could eat ice cream. Then we stopped by her apartment for a few minutes. She moved from Portland to Lewiston a few months ago and I hadn’t seen her new apartment yet. It’s a cute little apartment, but my lord, her living room is TINY and hot despite the fact that she has an air conditioner. How these crazy people survive the summer without central air, I don’t know. I got home a little later than I’d expected, talked to Fred for a few minutes, and then went to bed where I slept like a rock. I always sleep like a rock in my parents’ basement. They’ve hardwooded the floors in the bedroom where I always sleep, and they’ve completely redone their bathroom so that it’s starting to look like a house different than the one I grew up in. (Their shower has always driven me crazy, because the bathtub was so narrow that when I stood in the shower, it always felt like the shower curtain was attacking me. I’d have to peel it away from my ass to rinse, and I HATED IT. I could never have attempted to take a bath in that bathtub, ’cause I can guarantee my ass would have gotten stuck in it, and wouldn’t THAT have been fun to deal with. Now, it’s wide enough that I remain unmolested by the shower curtain, and I’m sure that if I wanted to, I could wedge my ass in the tub and back out again without requiring the assistance of the fire department.) Saturday morning I woke up at 8, went upstairs to take a shower, and found my mother already up. “I didn’t wake you up, did I?” she asked. “I don’t think so,” I said. But then, I didn’t know what had woken me; just that I was awake. “Well, I kind of stepped heavy in my bedroom, because I wanted you to get up, but didn’t want to come down and wake you up,” she said. So I took my shower, got dressed, and we left to go pick up Debbie, and went to Cape Elizabeth. I’ve never been there – the reaction from everyone I’ve said that to, has been a shocked “Never? Really?”, like they think I’m a great big liar (like there aren’t better things to lie about) – to see the Portland Head Light and Fort whatsitcalled. We were walking around part of the fort, and the sun was so bright and hot that I started sweating, and then my face starting itching and I got hives on the lower part of my face, and I got so red that I think Debbie thought I was having a heart attack. While we were walking around, we saw a woman with two very interesting looking dogs. Debbie asked what kind of dogs they were, and she told us they were wire-haired dachshunds. At some point, people cross-bred dachshunds with terriers so that they’d have the wiry terrier hair – and they ended up with the great big terrier heads as well. They had these tiny little bodies and great big heads, and I was surprised they could walk at all without tipping over. And it must have been a day o’ dogs for us, because we also saw a big German Shepard over by the lighthouse with her owner. Her name was Bella, and she was a retired bomb sniffer who got back from Iraq last year, after she’d spent a year or two over there. Bella wasn’t friendly at ALL, and in fact if anyone got too close to her, she barked deep, scary barks at them. I’m not sure hanging out by a lighthouse where a lot of people pass by during the day is where she needed to be. When we were done at the lighthouse, we got into the car and drove over to where there’s another part of the fort, and a small cove – that really made me want to go swimming – and an old mansion. See all the pictures from Cape Elizabeth, here. We left Cape Elizabeth and went to South Portland, where we had lunch at Olive Garden – the soup, salad, bread sticks, and mozzarella fonduda – and I don’t know about anyone else, but I drank two or three glasses of soda, because I was dying of thirst. We left Olive Garden and went over to Fabulous Footwear, where I spent about an hour wandering around looking at shoes. I needed to get a pair of sandals to replace the ones I’ve been wearing for the last several years – ones I got from Land’s End and fell in love with, then they promptly stopped carrying – because they’ve gotten old and are kind of starting to fall apart. I have very picky feet and I need sandals with straps that won’t rub the top of my feet and make painful blisters. And I can’t wear sandals with straps on the back because they annoy me. And I can’t stand sandals with things between the toes, because that annoys me as well. So my mother and the spud were showing me sandals, and I was saying “No, those straps are too stiff” and “No, those have straps on the back” and so forth. And my mother started saying “I don’t knoooooooow how it iiiiiiis that I raised such piiiiiicky children”, and I said “I should buy shoes I won’t wear? Because I have PLENTY of those.”, and she conceded that perhaps I was right, but she wasn’t happy to admit it. I ended up buying two pairs of sandals, and getting myself talked into signing up for the fucking Fabulous Footwear Rewards Card, even though I tried to get out of it by saying “I’m not from Maine, I’m from Alabama”, but the guy said “Oh, we have stores in Alabama!” and so I went ahead and signed up for the stupid-ass program, and you know where the Fabulous Footwear in Alabama is located? Fucking Boaz. Where I’ve been exactly twice in the almost 9 years I’ve lived in Alabama, and I for sure am NOT so full of love for the store that I’ll drive that fucking far to get shoes. We went from Fabulous Footwear to AC Moore (which was right next door) and I talked to Fred for a few minutes while I looked at cross-stitching stuff and bought a few more cross-stitch kits that I probably won’t get to anytime in the next ten years. After swimming and dinner at my parents� house, Debbie and the spud and I went to Auburn to go to K-Mart. I wandered around for twenty minutes or so, bought a big cup (my parents only have small glasses at their house), a pack of tampons, the latest PEOPLE magazine, and went out to the car to wait for Debbie and the spud. I was very interested to find, while I was reading PEOPLE, that Stephen King’s son Owen has a novel out. Also that he apparently has father issues. I can’t wait to check it out. (Other side note: When I said to Debbie “There’s a new book out, by Owen King. Guess who he might be the son of?”, she said “Angus?” Hee!) When we got home from K-Mart, Debbie and the kids went swimming in the dark, and I talked to Fred for a while, read for a short while, and went to bed. This morning I slept until 8:00 and we hung around the house until 11:30. Debbie came over around 11:30, and we headed for Freeport. There are a few stores in Freeport I like to hit every time I come – Cool as a Moose, Mangy Moose, and Crabtree & Evelyn – and we hoped that Freeport wouldn’t be too crowded. Ha! We finally hit Freeport, which was packed as could be. We talked about going to LL Bean, but decided to wait for another day, hit a few stores, decided we were hungry and thirsty, and went to The Muddy Rudder, where I had a damn fine lobster cobb salad, and piece of blueberry pie. After an afternoon of hanging out in the pool, I went out with Liz for thai food tonight. I’ve never had thai food before and Liz has been talking about it for ages, so I finally got a chance to check it out. We had chicken pad thai, pork fried rice, and crispy rolls (?), and it was really pretty damn good. I like Chinese food a lot, so I figured I’d like thai as well. And I was right! After we ate, we took a drive down Lisbon Street, our old stomping grounds, and I was amazed at how different it looks. They seem to have cleaned it up a lot and it looks pretty good. Liz told me that there’s a growing population of Somalians, which kind of amuses me. Because you travel across the world and end up in Lewiston, Maine? How does that happen? She also told me that for a while there was a massage parlor in Lisbon Falls, that was a FULL-SERVICE massage parlor, if you will, and the girls working there were illegal Asians. And I said “They traveled from their homes in whichever part of Asia they were from, to end up in Lisbon Falls, Maine?” I don’t know – how many people dream of living in Lisbon Falls, Maine, you’ve gotta wonder. Not that there’s anything wrong with Lisbon Falls, Maine, but you wouldn’t think it’s the sort of place where people dream of one day ending up. But then, it’s kind of quintessential small-town America, so I guess I can see where the attraction might lie. Our plans for tomorrow are to do some shopping. We had originally planned to spend the morning at the beach, but it’s supposed to rain, so I guess we’ll put off the beach until later this week. Now it’s time to talk to Fred and get ready for bed. Night! PS: I checked the shelter web page last night and found that everyone but Snoopy and Edgar have been adopted. I said to Fred, “You go get Edgar and bring him home! No one will adopt him, because he’s not cute! He should come live with us!”, but he wouldn’t do it. Bastard. He also said that if Oy got adopted, Edgar will too, but Edgar doesn’t have the crazy kitten eyes that Oy has, and just because he’s black and white like Oy doesn’t mean he looks just like him. I don’t get how Fred thinks that Oy and Edgar look exactly alike. Clearly the man is blind.]]>

Friday, in case you missed it.) ]]>

* * * I put up the very last of the fosterkitties pictures yesterday. You can see them all here, or start here and move foward.

* * * I have this really sore spot on the inner part of my lower lip where I was chewing gum yesterday, and for some reason my lower lip decided to shoot directly in between my teeth, and I clamped down really hard – apparently I chew pretty hard when I’m chewing gum – and it hurt A LOT, and now the spot that got chomped hurts a lot. Also, I have a canker sore on the very end of my tongue, and it’s bugging the shit out of me. ALSO, my period decided yesterday would be a good time to up and start, which is always a fun thing to happen. Especially when you’re about to go on vacation. Especially when you’re about to go on vacation where it’s HOT and no one believes in air conditioning. Oh, this is going to be fuuuuuuuuuun. * * * So yeah, I have to say that I’m starting to consider Seasonale a bit of a flop. For most of last year it worked just fine for me, but this year about three weeks before I finish my pack of pills, I start spotting and it’s just a huge pain in the ass. I guess I’ll just go back to the regular period-once-a-month pill. Or hey, I guess I could try taking the Seasonale for two months, then going off it for a week, then starting back up for another two months, and see how that goes. Maybe I should just have them rip my fucking uterus out and be done with it. This being-a-woman thing is a huge pain, ain’t it? Stupid uterus. It’s not like I NEED it. * * * We watched Hide and Seek the other night, and it wasn’t bad, though the explanation for what was going on was LAME. Here’s my two-word description for the movie (skip to the next section if you don’t want to be spoilered): “Heeeeeeere’s Johnny!” I do love that little Dakota Fanning, though. * * * I forgot to bring the camera with me to the pet store on Monday, but last week’s pet store kitty pics are here. Also, when Fred and I dropped the kittens off at the pet store on Tuesday, a little howling kitten caught his eye, and he opened the cage and took her out to give her some love. She purred and purred and purred, and Fred looked at the description card on the front of her cage, and said “This is supposed to be shy?” “Well,” I said, “She was shy when she was in a cage with her siblings and mother. Now that she’s in a cage by herself, I’m sure she’s lonely and inclined to be less shy.” And she turned and gave Fred a look o’ love, so I had to snap a picture. * * * When Liz was visiting, we went to Cracker Barrel a few times, and if you’ve never been to Cracker Barrel, you just don’t know what you’re missing, you really don’t. Anyway, Cracker Barrel has a gift shop inside, and I spotted this really cute little whisk: and I looked around to see if there was a matching salt and pepper set, and to my chagrin there was not. So I bought the whisk and brought it home with the express idea of look under the company’s name online to see if they make a matching salt and pepper shaker. And they do not. Damnit. Because I NEED an egg salt and pepper set! I do, because I’ve got a small collection of salt and pepper shakers, and an egg salt and pepper shaker set would round out the collection nicely, don’t you think? * * * Currently reading: The World According to Mimi Smartypants. By Mimi Smartypants, of course. I’m liking the book a lot, of course, though at one point she used the word “bedrunken” and misread it as “bed-drunken”, and was swept away by wondering whether there was a certain kind of drunkenness that you could attain by drinking in bed. Then I re-read the sentence a realized my mistake. * * * For weeks, Fred has been telling me that there was cat poop under the bed. “Don’t be silly,” I said. “That’s not cat poop, that’s actually the kitty treats you tried to give Spot, that he didn’t like and left there, and it’s been sitting there ever since.” Because the last time I got down on the floor and looked under the bed, that was the truth. Every time Fred needed to look under the bed, he’d say it again “That’s cat poop.” “No it’s not.” “It is!” “Then clean it up!” “I can’t reach it.” The end. Because if you can’t reach something, you can’t reach it. It’s not like you could reach for something with, say, a stick or a broom or a vacuum cleaner hose and reach it, after all. That would be lunacy. Last night, Fred threw a toy on the bed for Mister Boogers, and Mister Boogers went after it, only it had gone down behind the headboard, so Mister Boogers jumped off the bed to go after it. “Did it actually do down on the floor?” Fred asked me, then pulled the pillows off the bed to look for the toy. There was a gap between the mattress and the wall, and Fred looked down. “Bessie,” he said. “That is CAT POOP, not kitty treats!” “Oh, it is not.” “Come look!” he said. And because it wouldn’t require me to get down on the floor and back up again I put down my book and walked over to the bed and looked through the gap, and sure enough. Cat shit. “‘Night,” Fred said. “Love you!” “Hey!” I squawked. “Get back here and clean this up!” We have a very strict he who spots it cleans it up policy in our house. Which often leads to selective blindness as one or the other of us steps directly over piles of cat vomit on our journeys through the house. “I can’t reach it!” he said. “TRY.” So he got on the floor and reached for it. And couldn’t reach it. “I’ll clean it up later,” he said. “I don’t want to spend the night sleeping above a pile of cat shit!” “Bessie, it’s been there for weeks. The smell is long gone!” “I don’t care, that’s nasty!” “Why is it suddenly nasty? It’s been there for weeks, and you’ve been fine.” “But now I KNOW ABOUT IT, so it’s nasty!” And instead of cleaning it up, the fucker went off to bed. Hell will freeze over before I clean up that pile of cat shit, believe you me. Because if we start messing with the he who spots it cleans it up policy, all will be anarchy. And we can’t have that. * * * “See ya, Mom!” * * * I’m off to Maine. I’ll catch you in ten days or so. I’ll be back on the 25th, but give me a day or so to catch my breath, ‘k? Behave yourselves.]]>

I was amazed and delighted when Robyn presented me with the donations you wonderful people sent her in Mia’s memory. My thanks are not enough to describe the gratitude I feel for all of you animal lovers all over the world. Actions like this help restore my faith in the human family – not only of giving, but giving so unselfishly to a little cat rescue in Alabama. We are indeed blessed and consider all of you friends of our shelter. As of this morning we’ve raised $1832.74 (I turned over just under $1500 today, and will take the rest to the shelter when I get back from Maine). Hopefully when I get back from Maine on the 25th, there’ll be even more donations waiting!

* * * I caught up on my email last night – I don’t like to go on vacation with a bunch of email in my inbox, because I’m a dork – and I’ve started closing emails with “As ever, Robyn”, because of, well, because of this. I’ve been closing my notify emails that way pretty much since last Fall, but I’ve started closing other emails that way, too, ’cause you have to have some sort of closing. You can’t just say “Okay, um, ‘bye, now!” and I don’t like to sign “love” to everyone even though I do love each and every one of you, and “xo” is not really me (though I do sometimes use it, sparingly), and “have a great day!” isn’t really a closing, so “as ever” it is. But anyway, as I was closing an email last night, I thought to myself “I should find out how they close letters in, like, Russian and start using that.” and then I thought “No! I should translate some phrase like ‘live long and prosper’ into Russian and use that!” And then brilliance (actually, it was late and I was tired and perhaps a little giddy) struck, and I thought “I should just make up a fucking word, and use THAT.” and I thought some more, and my favorite made-up word that always comes to mind is “floopy”, and so I said “Self, let’s just start closing email “floopy, Robyn.”, but then I thought maybe I’d want something a little longer, and I added to the word a little, and ended up with “floupelle”, so if you got an email from me signed “floupelle, Robyn” last night, that would be what was going on THERE. I don’t know, though. I don’t like “floupelle” all that much. It doesn’t have that ring of finality to it, that “I’m ending this goddamn email, see?” air. So here’s your assignment: make up a word I can use. And if I like it, I’ll adopt it as my own. But it better not be a word in another language that means something derogatory or embarrassing, or I will send my badass boys after you. * * * Speaking of that, Fred and I have a word that we always use at the end of our emails to each other (and no, you don’t get to know what it is, Nosey Parkers) that indicates “I love and adore you madly” (and NO, it isn’t “I love and adore you madly” or even ILAAYM. Hee! I-LAAY-M! I’m far too amused by that!). We use it at the end of every single email, it’s a requirement, and the one time I got pissed off and sent a pissy email to him and deliberately didn’t include that word, I caught hell for it, believe you me. So every now and then I slip and come very close to typing that to someone I’m emailing who isn’t Fred (random people, I mean, not any one person in particular), and I get all embarrassed as I’m erasing it, thinking that if I’d accidentally sent it I’d get an email back from the person saying “What the fuck does that mean???” and I’d have to explain. Thus far I’ve always caught myself, but if you ever get an email from me with a strange word at the end, be kind and pretend you didn’t, okay? Because I don’t want to have to explain it. * * * Last night I was glancing at one of my old entries and came across this: Saturday night at 7, Fred was wandering around in the kitchen making his evening snack. The spud walked into the room, grabbed a bag of microwaveable popcorn, and put it in the (can you guess??) microwave. I was sitting on the couch reading a magazine while waiting for them both to get the hell out of my way. “Did you know that muttermuttermutter died?” the spud said to Fred. “Yeah,” Fred replied. “Who?” I said, turning around to look at them. “Who died?” “Morrie,” they chorused. “Oh my god!” I gasped. “Maury Povich is DEAD?” “No,” Fred said. “Morrie, from Tuesdays with Morrie.” The spud’s been reading that book, and had apparently come to the end. “Oh. Yeah, I knew he was dead.” And I wonder why I have a reputation for being ditzy… and I laughed until I cried. Which is when I knew it was way past my bedtime, and time to go to bed. * * * So ever since we got my car back in March, it seems that they – the general “they”, not a particular “they” – send me surveys at least once a week. Now, I fucking hate filling out surveys, so usually I toss them in the trash, but one day last week I got a survey in the mail, and opened it up to see what it was, and there was a crisp one dollar bill enclosed. I left the survey on my desk and yesterday as I was cleaning off my desk I came across the survey and tossed it in the trash, but then realized that I’d actually spent the lovely, crisp one dollar bill, and so I was probably legally bound to fill out the stinkin’ survey. One of the first questions the survey asked was this one: How do you feel about your new vehicle? I feel a definite emotional attachment to my new vehicle. I feel some emotional attachment to my new vehicle. I feel no emotional attachment to my new vehicle. and I seriously considered choosing the third answer, and then writing “It’s a fucking CAR, dumbasses. A CAR. Who gets EMOTIONALLY attached to their CAR?”, but I thought about it for a moment, and I realized that I am, in fact, quite attached to my car. I’m so lame. It ended up taking me twenty minutes to fill out the fucking thing, and if you figure that I only got a dollar for twenty minutes of filling out the stupid little circles, that adds up to an hourly wage of $3, and THAT isn’t even minimum wage, damnit. So next time I’m going to spend the freakin’ dollar and toss the survey in the trash, and I will not feel guilty. Okay, I probably will feel guilty, but it’s a guilt I can live with. * * * A reintroduction of the And3rson kitties, since there are no kittens around to suck up the attention: “Hiiii. I’m Miz Poo. I’m the only girl cat in the house, and I rule the boy cats with an iron paw. My interests are having strange things wrong with me that no vet can seem to cure – for a while I had eye problems, and now I’m having lip issues – and waiting until the Momma is busy and in the middle of doing something important, and howling pitifully until she picks me up and gives me love while telling me that I’m a pain in the ass. I KNOW I’m a pain in the ass, it’s my specialty!” “Duhr. I’m Spanky. I’m pretty, but dumb. That’s okay, though, because I have soft, silky fur, and you cannot resist petting me. I like to roll around in spots of sunlight. Also, I like to wait until the Momma and the Daddy are in bed talking, then I crawl up on top of the Momma, rest my entire weight on my two front paws, and see how long I can lay there before the Momma yells “GodDAMN, Spanky, that HURTS!” My personal record is three minutes and ten seconds.” “Spot here. I like to look up at you with an expression of abject terror on my face, and run away from you if you so much as glance at me, as if you’ve spent my entire lifetime beating me with rubber hoses. Lately, I’ve developed the special skill of going practically bald in one section of my body – first it was the backs of my legs, now it’s a patch in the middle of my back that I can’t reach – for no reason that the vet can discern (no, it’s not ringworm). The best part about losing a bunch of fur is that I can wait until the Momma has cleaned the house, then wander about dropping great tufts of hair all over the place.” “I’m Mister Boogers. My greatest joy in life is standing in front of my mother with my stub of a tail straight up in the air so that my mother is forced to see my asshole. I can tell by the way she grimaces and turns away that it impresses her greatly.” “Also, when changes are afoot anywhere in the house, I like to be right there and make sure that things are being done correctly. Because these humans, they’re not so smart, and without my interference help, things might be done shoddily. When I’m not showing off my asshole or inspecting changes being made to the house, I like to follow Miz Poo around until she loses her mind, hissing and growling. Also, I like to lick the top of Spot’s head until he starts to like it, then bite him on the back of the neck.”]]>

* * * So, it is done. We took the kittens to the pet store yesterday afternoon around 3:00 – I made Fred go with me – and left. I was crying before we even got out of the store. Hey. What’s worse than not being able to stop yourself from crying? WHEN A MOTHERFUCKER KEEPS LOOKING AT YOU TO SEE IF YOU’RE CRYING. It’s especially fun when you’re making the ugly cry face and your chin is wobbling, and SAID MOTHERFUCKER keep looking at you and smirking. Fucker. He took care of setting up the cage for the cats – food, water, litter box – while I filled out the cards that go on the front of the cage with the cat’s name, date of birth, and description. I felt rushed (FUCKER) because Fred wanted to go hiking – or perhaps wanted to rush me out of there before I started sobbing and begging to keep Snoopy (no, Flossie! No, Edgar! No, Oy! No, Peanut!) – and I just didn’t know what to write to describe the kittens’ personalities, so I ended up writing, on the card that described Edgar and Oy, “Oy likes to climb! Edgar is a big purrer!” I am the dorkiest dork on earth, I swear to god. Also, apparently not good when rushed. I was okay once we got home, because I had a lot to do – dinner, cleaning out the cat room – but after dinner when Fred went upstairs to take a bath, I had a good cry. It was hard at bedtime when we went upstairs, because we always both went into the room to play with the kittens, and there was no kitten love to be had. This morning, I manufactured an excuse had to go in the vicinity of the pet store to pick up something I didn’t need at all I desperately needed, and figured since I was right THERE I’d stop and see how many had been adopted the night before. So I went inside and snuck up the aisle toward the cat room, and basically peeked around the corner so they wouldn’t see me – because if they’d spotted me and started meowing sadly at me, “Whyyy? Why would you put us in a cage? Whyyyy?” it would have been all over – and saw that, in fact, none of them had been adopted. I suspect that adoptions during the week are kind of few and far between. But what was heartening was that the kittens were calmly hanging out in the cage, one of them napping, a couple of them playing, and Snoopy in the litter box. They were not, as I’d feared, laying around crying sad little kitten tears, and pining for me. Ingrates. It’s funny, but seeing that they weren’t all quivering in fear made me feel better, and I didn’t even tear up, though I did want to run into the cat room and say “Who’s peepin’ at me?” (which is what I’d say when I’d go into the cat room here and they were all just waking up, and Oy and Edgar and Flossie would stumble toward me, sounding exactly like little baby chicks.) and give them all hugs and kisses, but I refrained. They’ll be okay. I mean, they’re the cutest damn kittens in the world. People will no doubt be arm wrestling each other to adopt them this weekend. I do miss them, but knowing that they’re okay helps a lot. Oh, and on a funny side note, the lady who runs the shelter called not an hour before I took the kittens to the pet store and said “I hate to ask this on such short notice…” and my heart leapt with joy, and I thought she’s going to say they can’t go to the store today because there’s not enough room or something! and the thought did not make me sad at ALL. But then she went on to explain that there was a guy who’d found a mother cat and her kittens, and he and his wife were going to keep a couple of the kittens, but could I keep the rest of the kittens – who’d already been neutered – until room opened up at the pet store? And you KNOW I would have jumped at the chance, but I had to say no, because I’m going out of town on Friday – and I was careful to add “Otherwise, I totally would!” – and Fred wasn’t going to be up for taking care of kittens. Last night we discussed ways to move things around in the house so that we could still have a guest bedroom, but also have a room for foster cats. We’re going to move everything out of the study so that it’ll be empty and we can have foster cats to our heart’s content. The study is smaller than the room we used for Mia and the babies, but it’ll definitely do. It’s bigger than a cage, anyway! You know, even if I’d known beforehand that Mia was going to end up dying, I wouldn’t have hesitated to take she and her babies, because this experience has been incredible. And now, I have a TON of pictures to share with y’all, and then that’ll be it for kitten pictures. At least ’til the next batch! Ha! Oh, and by the way, when I get around to it – probably when I get back from Maine – I’ll make up some swag with the laughing picture of Flossie. I know I’m going to want a t-shirt with that picture on it, and I’m probably going to get some notecards with it, too. Because that remains one of my favorite cat pictures ever. Anyway, on to the pictures! Miss Flossie checks for aliens. Or perhaps flying toys. Miss Flossie, from above. “What?” “Okay, man, be cool. There’s a gallon-sized baggie of primo catnip under the cat bed. Just take it and go, okay?” “Who, me? No, I don’t look guilty. I didn’t do anything wrong. Okay! Okay, I ate the catnip! And it was AWESOME!” “Dude, I’m not kidding. SHUT UP.” Flossie checking out the birds. Peanut likes to make sure everyone stays clean. He’s the Sheriff in charge of cleanliness. Respect his authoritah! “Woman, I gotta ask. What’s up with the friggin’ flashy thing all the damn time?” Edgar’s Saturday Night Fever imitation. He’s stayin’ alive, stayin’ alive. One last smile from Smilin’ Oy. “Hmm… okay, yeah, I don’t see any cavities this time around, Miz And3rson. That’ll be fifty dollars, please!” The kissingest kitten. Look. They heard what you said about me, and they’re going to kick your ass. You better hide, ’cause THEY AIN’T FOOLIN’. Peanut looks like he’s laughing dorkily. Fred got out the toy that is, basically, a bunch of fuzzy strings on the end of a stick, and Peanut started jumping for it. Look at his unusual position in this picture. Here’s a closeup: He’s all kinds of twisted around, the little dork. Look at the spotted belly! Leap little Peanut, leap! Peanut, mid-air. Oy was, for some reason, freaked out by my hand, and was getting into position to put the smack down. Kitty porn. Peanut waits patiently for the killing blow. Or the kiss. “Hey! Get off! I’m clean enough already, damnit!” Peanut smiles. Oy, up close. Checking out the toy. Flossie leaping for the toy, under Snoopy’s supervision. All this playing has exhausted him. “Gimme a kiss, woman.” The first thing they do upon waking – after getting some love, that is – is drink water. This is a rare picture of all five of them. Bright-eyed Oy. He likes to climb! SO. CUTE.

* * * I also have kitten footage on the video camera. If I get a chance today, I’ll make short movies out of them. Otherwise, it’ll have to wait ’til I get back from Maine. ]]>

it’s not too late to donate if you haven’t!)

* * * I’ll be taking the babies to the pet store this afternoon. They do adoptions on Tuesday and Wednesday evenings starting at 6, so I’m going to take the kittens over there mid-afternoon so they’ll have a few hours to acclimate to their new surroundings before adoptions start. In a perfect world they’ll all be adopted tonight, but I doubt that will happen. Kittens go fast, though, so I bet they’ll all be adopted in less than a week. Maybe not, but I prefer to think they will be. This is hard, but I know they’ll go to good homes. The adoption counselors are very careful about who they adopt the cats out to; not just any yahoo can waltz in and adopt a cat, you know, which is very comforting. Yesterday afternoon I was hanging out with the babies in their room, and I was baby-talking them – oh please, you KNOW I talk baby talk to those cats constantly – and Flossie was sitting across the room playing with a straw, and she sat up and looked at me. I said “You’re the one I worry most about, Prissy Pants.”, and she WALKED over to me, and she stood up and put her paws on my stomach, and she was purring to beat the band. I like to think she was telling me she was going to be okay. That, or she was begging me to keep her, one or the other. They’ll be fine, they’ll be fine, they’ll be fine, they’ll be fine… Ugh. This is going to SUCK. I just need to keep in mind that they might have to spend a little time in a small cage, but then they’ll go home with someone who will love and adore them nearly as much as I do (heh), and they’ll have the run of the house, and be spoiled rotten. This is probably the best way to do this, actually. Because I leave for Maine on Friday and so won’t be at the petstore to clean-n-feed next Monday, or the Monday after. So it’ll be almost three weeks before I’m back at the petstore, and I am SURE they’ll all be adopted by then. They’re so damn cute, how could anyone resist? As I told Fred last night, though, if I walk into the petstore at the beginning of August and see any of them sitting there in a cage, all bets will be off. * * * In lieu of a real entry, I’m going to toss up a bunch of pictures of the kittens and then go spend some time snuggling with them. I’m sure tomorrow’s entry will consist of nothing but a ton of kitten pictures, so I can clear off my memory stick, so we should be back to business as usual Thursday. And then Friday I leave for Maine, so you’ll have to do without me for ten days! This toy drives the kittens nuts. They get hold of it, and run around the room with it in their mouths, and if anyone gets too close, they growl. It’s hilarious – I actually got some of it on tape; I’ll have to make a little movie for y’all to see. This is possibly the best picture I’ve ever taken of Flossie. She’s so damn pretty. Chewing on one straw, but keeping his eye on the other. He’s no dummy, that one. Straws are the best cat toys EVER. Except that they keep knocking them under the closet door and can’t get them out again. “It drives the wimmins wild when I sit like this.” “Ya puts your paws in the ay-er like you just don’t cay-er!” (part two) The hokey-pokey. It IS what it’s all about! Don’t dangle a tail in front of the Flossie-Monster, unless you want it bitten. Edgar happily cleans the end of his tail. Smilin’ Oy with water on his chin. Shaddup. Yes, he’s licking my lips, but he’d just spent five minutes drinking water, so his mouth was clean. Also, it makes him so damn happy. Also, did I mention shaddup? Snoopy’s watching Fred mow the lawn. It was quite fascinating, apparently. “NO SHE DI’INT!” “Hello, my baby Hello, my honey Hello, my ragtime gaaaaaaal!”]]>

reading: Little Children, by Tom Perrotta. By “currently reading”, I mean “I’ll probably start reading it today.” Just so you know. Awesome reader Martha sent me her copy. Martha rocks! Finished last night: Blind Pursuit, by Brian Harper. As I say far too often these days, I ended up staying up really late last night to finish this book. There was one part during a chase scene where I thought my heart was going to leap out of my chest. A damn fine book, this one.

* * * We ::gasp!:: left the house yesterday and ::gasp!gasp!:: went to the movies, to see War of the Worlds. The last time we went to a movie together was when we saw Minority Report two years ago. In the same theater, even, I think. Not a bad movie, War of the Worlds. I was a dumbass and forgot to bring my long-sleeved shirt from the car, so I sat in the theater and froze to death the whole time. Probably, that $4 medium-sized Diet Coke with six pounds of ice didn’t help, either. I do love that cute little Dakota Fanning, and the kid who played Tom Cruise’s son was pretty good too. He bore a striking resemblance to Tom Cruise, too, I thought. Fred thought the ending was kind of a rip-off, but I thought it was okay. Speaking of movies, we watched Office Space Saturday night. That movie just never gets old, it really doesn’t. * * * While we were on our way to the movie theater, we were at a red light, and Fred said something about a pigeon that had landed on a bit of grass on the other side of the red light, and I turned my head and looked at him and said something, and then this battered car pulled up next to us. In the battered-looking car were four guys – mid-twenties, I would guess – and I think some of them had tattoos or piercings or whatever, and I glanced over at them as the guy in the front passenger seat turned his head toward us, and then he said something to the other badass-wannabes in the car, and one by one they all turned and looked at us – or rather, I guess, they looked at me, since Fred was staring at the red light and waiting for it to change. “Why are those boys looking over here?” I said between clenched teeth to Fred, and leaned back so they couldn’t see me (or, at least, as much of me). “I don’t know, stop staring at them!” Fred snapped. “I wasn’t STARING AT THEM, I was looking at you, fucker!” I said. And then the red light turned green, and there was the squeal of tires, and I said “Was that you?”, and Fred said “That was not me.”, and the battered-looking car with the four badass-wannabes went zooming by us, and then one of the wannabes hung him arm out the window and gave us the finger. And we burst into laughter, which was probably not the shaking, quivering, scared-to-death reaction they were looking for. But really, is there anything less threatening than giving someone the FINGER? Pull my hair, scratch me, kick me, punch me, but PLEASE. PLEASE, for the love of all that is holy, DO NOT GIVE ME THE FINGER! * * * Y’all, I am sad today. I went to the petstore this morning to clean ‘n feed, and there were two empty cages. I think this means that the kittens will be going to the petstore shortly, and I am going to MISS those little fuckers. I expect to get an email or call at some point today or tomorrow, and the lady who runs the shelter to tell me to take the babies to the store. WAH! * * * Speaking of cat-related things, so far we’ve raised $1399.40, which is SO awesome! The first few checks arrived in the PO Box, which is cool, and the PayPal funds from Friday have arrived in our checking account, which means I’ll be running up to the shelter tomorrow to give them the first big check. Thank you all so very much for your donations – and if you haven’t had a chance to donate yet, please consider doing so. Every little bit helps more than you can know. * * * The kitten section. Remember how the other day I told y’all that Peanut and Flossie like to savor their water? Well, describing it doesn’t quite do it justice, so I got a little movie of Peanut doing it. Check it out. Last night I told Fred that if they were characters in a novel, Oy would be the brilliant, evil brother, and Edgar would be the slow, good-hearted brother who triumphed in the end. I swear, Oy bounces around so bright-eyed and full of energy that it’s hard to get him to stand still. Last night Fred stood up with a blanket over his shoulders, and Oy FLEW across the room and climbed up the blanket to Fred’s shoulder in about two seconds. He’s full of it, that one. Edgar, on the other hand, enjoys playing, but he also really likes to be up again my leg, playing with his tail, or watching his brothers and sisters run around. He’s the one with the loudest purr, too. I pick him up, and you can hear him from two rooms away. Edgar’s the one I worry most about, as far as being adopted, because he’s not as cute as his brothers and sister – he reminds me of a boxer who’s gone a few rounds – but he’s such a sweet, sweet guy. Well, I worry about Flossie, too. She can be so timid and unwilling to be held, though in the last few days she’s gotten to the point where she’ll stand in front of me and put her paws on my chest and ask to be petted. Damn, I love these kitties. Peanut, taking a moment mid-fight with Flossie, to lick his nose. Egg decided he needed to be in the sleeve of my sweatshirt. He climbed in, hung out for a few minutes, then… …turned around and came back out! Miss Flossie shows off her fangs. Oy gives someone the Manson lamps. Egg prepares for the dismount. “Egg! Egg! Hey, Egg! I’ve got some primo catnip, come get some! Don’t tell Oy, though. He’s a ‘nip hog.” I love the way his toes are just sitting there, over his shoulder, for no apparent reason. “Bahahah! Ha! Hee! Whoo, I think that catnip made me high…” The yawn-and-stretch. Is there anything cuter than little pink cat toes? I think not! * * * “How YOU doin’? You wanna come up to my place, sniff some catnip, and check out my new cat toy?”]]>

* * * Thanks to Bonnie, JL, and Whitters, I have some awesome buttons for linkin’ to the Mia Fund page. I’m even allowing hotlinking! If you want to use a button to link to the Mia page, go check out the buttons (and the html, if you’re clueless like me – I had to call Fred and ask for help, since I only know the very most basic of html), and link away! As of this morning, we’ve raised $1055.88 (yes, I know there are checks on the way, too! That’ll give me a good reason to go check the PO Box every day.). Paypal will be transferring that money to my bank account over the next 3 or 4 business days, so I’ll be able to present the woman who runs the shelter with a nice big check next week before I leave for Maine. I don’t think she’s aware of this site – she keeps pretty busy, so I suspect there’s not a lot of time for journal-reading – so I can’t wait to see the look on her face when she sees how much the check is for! Y’all rock, you really do. Keep it coming!

* * * This morning I got up early, because I went to bed early last night – 10:00 – because I was very sleepy. I made the bed and put my contacts in and took my morning dose of calcium; the usual, in other words. I folded some laundry and put it away, then came downstairs to open the blinds in the kitchen and living room, and check my email. I read my email and responded to a few, then intended to go back upstairs and take a shower, but decided to look something up and as you probably know, once you start looking for one thing online, it’s all over. Half an hour later I was still in front of the computer, and behind me I heard Mister Boogers making his “this disturbs me” sound. In response, I heard Miz Poo make her “What the fuck is this?” noise. I closed the browser where I was looking at a trailer to which Fred had sent me the link and turned around to see what was going on. There, on the floor between Mister Boogers and Miz Poo was a huge, dead mourning dove. I was dumbstruck. Anyone who knows our cats knows that they prefer to bring live birds into the house, so that havoc can ensue. I wondered for a minute if Mister Boogers had brought the bird into the house, chased it around the house for a while, and then killed it and was now bringing it to me as an act of lurve, while I was sitting oblivious in front of the computer. I got up and looked around for signs of a struggled and there was nary a feather to be seen, until I looked outside, and saw that there was a mass of feathers strewn across the yard. Apparently he’d killed the dove outside and then brought it inside. THANKS, MISTER BOOGERS, YOU FUCKER. When I called Fred to report the situation, he told me that Mister Boogers had been looking out the living room window this morning, caught sight of a dove, and gotten all excited. Which is when Fred opened the back door and said “Go get him, buddy!” Apparently Mister Boogers was just following orders. * * * I went to Target this morning to pick up a bunch of odds ‘n ends (for one, a small broom and dustpan to keep in the bathroom closet, because the cats love to knock their food out of the bowl, all over the floor, and when you tramp across a pile of cat food in the middle of the night on your way to the toilet, it hurts like a motherfucker). So after I picked up everything I needed – and a few things I didn’t – I headed for the checkout. It was early, so there weren’t many people in the store, and I didn’t have to wait in line at all. I put everything on the conveyer belt, and then went to the end of the checkout counter to grab everything as the cashier bagged it, so I could put it in my cart. So all I’d have to do was pay and be on my way, see? Only when I turned around to pay with my debit card, there was already someone standing there. In the time I’d loaded my cart, someone had gotten in line behind me, unloaded her own cart, and walked down to the place where you pay. “Excuse me,” I said. She gave me a look and moved three inches to the left. I squeezed in between her and the… thing. That you put your debit card in. Which I don’t know the name of. She stood there and WATCHED ME. I turned and gave her the Bug-Eyed Look of Annoyance*, to no avail. Clearly she was either trying to get my PIN so she could follow me out to the parking lot, knock me over the head, and steal my purse, or she was a bitch with a strange sense of entitlement to the debit card machine thingy. I opted to believe she was a combination of the two, and so I gave her a significant I see you, you thieving bitch look, and moved so that I was blocking the debit card machine (thingy) and she couldn’t see my PIN as I entered it. Then I accepted the receipt from the cashier, gave the Space Invader one last dirty look, and left the store. I’m pleased to announce that she didn’t follow me out into the parking lot and knock me over the head, but believe you me, I was ready for her. I would have kicked her ass, and then sat on her ’til the cops arrived. I’m a little sad I didn’t get to kick her ass, because Space Invaders really annoy the hell out of me. I mean, who the hell doesn’t know that you should wait until the person ahead of you pays before you go hover in front of the debit card machine (thingy)? *It’s no accident that you can’t see my eyebrows in this picture. Yes, they desperately need to be “done”, but I have no mad eyebrow-plucking skillz. * * * When I was folding laundry this morning, I turned the TV on, because I like to listen to country music videos while I’m doing fun stuff like laundry or cleaning or watching paint dry. Shania Twain was on both CMT and, er, whatever that other country music video station is, and because I just can’t stand Shania Twain anymore (I used to like her a lot, but with the craptastic “Party for Two”, which everyone in the entire world loves except me, apparently. Even FRED.), so I flipped over to VH-1. The Gavin DeGraw “Chariot” video was just ending, so I left it there, and starting folding towels. This R. Kelly song came on, and I was so drawn in by it that I had to stop and watch it, because it made me LAUGH MY ASS OFF. Have you seen it, the video for “Trapped in the Closet“? I’ve never in my life seen a video that’s such a literal interpretation of a song. He sings something like “An’ I walked across the floor”, and in the video? Why, there he is! R. Kelly, walkin’ cross the floor! He sings “And he went and looked under the bed!”, and in the video, the cuckholded husband is, you guessed it, looking under the bed. I had no idea R. Kelly was so funny. It reminded me, for some reason, of the Dana Carvey Choppin’ Broccoli skit. * * * The kitten section. Last night I went upstairs to hang with the babies, and I walked in to find them all sleeping. They heard me come through the door and all slowly came to me, stretching and yawning and peeping the entire way. At one point I had four sleepy kittens in my arms, half-heartedly fighting with each other. Finally, three of them went running off to play, and Snoopy decided he wanted to go back to sleep. He slept in my arms for the longest time, despite the fact that his brothers and sisters find his tail to be an irresistable toy, and would come running over to grab at and bite it. I sure do love these damn kitties, and MAN am I going to miss them when they’re gone. Sleeping Snoopy. Sweet (ha!) little Peanut. Edgar, hanging out on my shoulder. Something about clean, wet hair drives Oy NUTS. He pretty much ends up on top of my head, licking my hair. Crazy cat. The skilled acrobat, Snoopy, hanging from my shoulder by one arm as he cleans the other. Looking out the window is obviously a favorite pasttime around here. I got home from the bank yesterday, and glanced up to see Edgar looking out the window. He watched me drive up the driveway, and got so excited he fell off the box he was standing on. Crazy girl. Lookin’ for love in all the right places. Oy likes the catnip toy. Edgar, concerned. I think this is my favorite picture of him. He’s such a sweet boy. This is how things usually are around here. Asses being kicked, cat toys being tossed around, and someone trying to figure out how to fit his entire body in the Steakout cup. Peanut and Flossie are water connoisseurs. They take a drink of water, then lift their heads, and smack their lips. They remind me of wine tasters. They know how to appreciate the good things in life, those two. Look what I found in my /tmp directory! I think I took these with the spud’s camera: Were they ever really that little? Check back at Flickr over the weekend, if you want to, because I have a bunch of pictures I’m going to upload over there, so I can clear off my memory stick. * * * Grumpy Poo. ]]>

a page dedicated to explaining who Mia is (in the form of linking to a page with, basically, yesterday’s entry on it), so if you want to link to it, feel free! We’re going to collect money until August 5th, so any amount you can spare will help a lot – we got a lot of $5 donations yesterday, and they really added up! As of this morning we’ve got $889.51, which just blows me away. I’d love it if we ended up raising $1500 or more. Thanks, all of you, for your donations. You have no idea how much we appreciate it – and there’s no doubt the money will go to good use at the shelter, with it being kitten season.

* * * From my comments: Would you be able to tell me in which entry you wrote about a restaurant you went to where the wait staff insults its patrons. Or perhaps just mention the name in a future entry? That was Dick’s Last Resort! They had some mighty good food, and the wait staff was hilarious. * * * So, Miz Poo. Remember how Miz Poo had the big swollen lip, and we tried many, many things to treat it, and everything worked for a little while, but nothing worked permanently, and the swelling – a rodent ulcer, it’s called – always came back? And then Fred did some research and started giving her oil every day, and the swelling went away, and there was a great deal of celebration. Then, after a week or so of Miz Poo’s lip being unswollen and healthy-looking, we noticed that there was something funny-looking going on with the left side of her lips (“side lip”, I’ve been calling it, which should not be confused with “butt lips“). It was all kind of scabby and swollen and really pretty ugly looking. “It’s cancer,” Fred said. “That’s a tumorous lip if I’ve ever seen one!” He’s never seen one. “Whatever it is, it’s nasty looking,” I said. He called the vet and made an appointment, and ended up taking her on Tuesday, the same day we found out Mia wasn’t going to make it. “This is going to be the shittiest day ever, isn’t it?” he said. “First Mia, then the vet’ll tell me that Miz Poo has cancer, and probably I’ll DIE IN A CAR WRECK ON THE WAY HOME, to round it out.” “Probably. Bad things come in three, you know,” I said comfortingly. But I was worried about Miz Poo, ’cause y’all KNOW she’s my baby. So Fred took her to the vet – our regular vet is in the hospital currently, and so there are a couple of 12 year-olds covering for him, and we wish our regular vet would stop his damn lollygagging around and get his ass back to work, ’cause we like him so much – and the vet looked at her, and said that he thought that she’d chewed on an electric cord and got an electrical burn. Now, no. Just, no. There’s no WAY she chewed through an electrical cord, because she’s not interested in the electrical cords, first of all, and second of all, if she’d done that, would we not have noticed? We would. And third of all, I went around the house and looked at all the electrical cords I could find, and there’s nary a chew-mark on any of them. So I am skeptical of this diagnosis. The vet prescribed some ointment that we’re to rub into her scabby, swollen, nasty-looking lip for the next few weeks, and if it doesn’t improve they’ll want to take a biopsy of her lip to test for cancer. (Which will have eaten into her brain by then, I’m sure.) We were talking in bed the other night about how veterinary medicine seems to pretty much be a guessing game, because animals can’t tell you “My head hurts and I keep throwing up”, or whatever, the way humans can, so vets have to kind of guess what’s going on, and even tests will only tell them so much. It’s kind of frustrating, to say the least. So now every morning and every evening Fred snatches Miz Poo up, and I rub a bit of the ointment on her nasty, scabby lip, which is far closer to the nasty lip than I wanted to get but, well. You know. The things you do for love! (I’d offer up a picture of the nasty, scabby lip, but Miz Poo won’t go for that.) * * * So, for someone who claims to prefer to blend into the background (as much as a funny-looking fat chick can blend, that is), I probably bought the wrong car for blending. I get, on the average, three or four comments a week about what how cute my car is. I got into a five-minute conversation with a woman as I was leaving the vet’s on Tuesday. She gestured to my car, said she was thinking of getting a cute little car like that, and asked how I like it. I like it a lot, by the way. The bloom is definitely not off the rose when it comes to my car; like I said, I grew up driving small cars and to be back in a small car is awesome. I feel more in control of the vehicle, for some reason. When I was driving the Jeep, I felt like it might roll over if I took a sharp turn (it never did, of course), but I never have that fear with E’gar. The only problem is that driving E’gar makes me want to drive fast, and I find that especially when I’m driving down deserted country roads, I end up going REALLY fast. Probably I should use the “cruise control” function to nip that in the bud. So anyway, this woman and I talked about the cuteness of my car for five minutes at the vet, and invariably when I go through the McDonald’s drive-thru (Oh, fountain Diet Coke, how I adore you!) one of the kids working there will tell me that they like my car. Hmm. Does the fact that all the kiddies like my smokin’ ride mean I’m driving a car that’s too young for me, and what I should really be driving is a very sedate sedan? Nah. * * * Currently reading: Blind Pursuit, by Brian Harper. Finished last night, staying up way later than I’d intended, even though I was so tired I couldn’t stop yawning: How I Stole Her Husband, by Liz Ireland. Good chick lit book; I didn’t expect to like it so much. I say that a lot, don’t I? * * * The kitten section. It’s the strangest thing – in the last week or so, the kittens have gotten friendlier. I mean, they were never unfriendly, but they didn’t much care for being held and snuggled, but now if you go into the cat room when they’re just waking up, they all come over to you (it’s like a kitty scene from Night of the Living Dead: “Snuuuuuuggles! Snuuuuuuggles!”) and take turns being picked up and petted and kissed and belly-rubbed, and while they’re waiting to be picked up they lean against your leg and look up at you and purr. They’re also purring a lot more than they were. Fred had mentioned a few weeks ago how odd it was that they didn’t really purr all that much, and it’s like they heard him and wanted to show him that they CAN TOO purr. Snoopy’s developed an odd little habit lately, too. If I’m holding him, he likes to twist around so he can sniff my breath. If I open my mouth, I swear he will get as much of his head into my mouth as he can, and he sniffs wildly, and then when the sniffing is done he’ll lick whatever part of your mouth is within reach. This is a little disturbing, because GOD KNOWS where that tongue has been. I don’t particularly want him licking my lips if he’s been doing some personal grooming – IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN – in the last, well, EVER. It’s kind of gross, but also cute. He’s a licker, that one. If he can’t lick your lips, he’ll lick your face. If he can’t lick your face, he’ll lick your hair or your leg or, basically, whatever he can. We need a little sign that says Warning: cat can’t hold his licker. I guess Snoopy’s not the only one who can’t hold his licker. Oy’s licking the bottom of my (sock-covered) foot. I think Edgar’s flirting with me. He licks there, and then wants to lick my lips? I don’t think so, kiddo. Flossie, ready to attack, licks her nose. It helps her concentrate. Miss Giggles. “I can pick boogers with my tongue! I’m SO talented, I really am.” Mr. Fang. Apparently we really keep ’em amused around here. Snoopy puts on his mean face. I love how she looks like she was so overcome with laughter that she collapsed on my slipper. * * * There’s just nothin’ those boys like more than laying in the sun. * * *]]>