Category: Life

reading: Fat Girl, by Judith Moore. Finished last night: The Things We Do for Love, by Kristin Hannah. Good book and I ended up staying up late to finish it, but if you can’t see the ending by the time you’re 50 pages in, you have to be clueless.

* * * So thanks for all your headache advice, y’all. I did a little looking around online, and I did have a lot of the symptoms of a migraine – fatigue, neck pain, pain on one side of my head that moved to the other side – which leads me to my next question: Is it common for a woman in her late (::sob!::) thirties to suddenly start having migraines? Because I’m pretty sure that I’ve never had a headache that lasted for two days before. I was even ready to take my ass to the doctor, and y’all KNOW I’m no fan of going to the doctor. * * * How ’bout that whole Oprah thing? For those of you who haven’t heard, she was turned away from Hermes when she wanted to dash in to buy a watch for her BFF Tina Turner. One report stated that employees of the store said they’d been “having problems with North Africans lately”, but another report states that they knew exactly who Oprah was. You can bet there are people shitting and heads rolling in gay Paree right about now. And if Oprah actually does a show about the whole thing? Whoo-ee. Hermes better pack it in. They’re going to be hurting. Not that I care about Hermes one way or the other, you understand. Now, if Target had turned her away, that’d be a whole ‘nother story… * * * Fred and I were laying in bed the other night, and I said “I guess I need to make an appointment to take Edgar in.” Fred said, “How come?” “Because of the rattle. You know, the rattle I was telling you about?” Long silence, and then I realized why he was confused. “Edgar the car,” I said. “Not the cat.” “That’s a fairly important piece of information you might have wanted to share,” Fred said. Oh, the hilarity that ensues when your car and foster kitten have the same name! I could almost hear the laugh track in the background. * * * So, I mentioned in the past that we like to watch Family Plots, and someone asked if we liked the show. Well, of course we like the show! How can you not like a show set in a mortuary, with a set of characters like that? I could do without the occasional dead-body-involved scene when Shonna’s in the middle of embalming. Shonna, by the way, is my favorite. She doesn’t hesitate to say how it is, and she reminds me a little of my sister. I pretty much like everyone on the show, though Chuck gets on my nerves, probably because he reminds me A LOT of someone I can’t stand (someone I know in real life, though haven’t had to deal with for about five years now – longtime readers might remember Tex). We always look forward to watching the show, and in the past few weeks we’ve made a point of settling down on Saturday nights to watch two episodes of Family Plots and then Intervention. Speaking of TV, we watched Entourage from Sunday night, and were REALLY surprised to see Ralph Macchio. Especially since it took us until Drama said “Macchio! Tell Hefner you let the monkeys out of their cages!” for us to realize that it was, in fact, Ralph Macchio. I have no idea what it is, but the man looks NOTHING like he did when he was the Karate Kid, and it can’t be blamed on bad plastic surgery, because he’s a perfectly nice-looking man, but I never would have known that I was looking at Ralph Macchio. * * * Hmm. Nope, not a damn thing going on ’round here today. Let’s talk about the kittens, shall we? Did you feel the earth shake on its axis Sunday? Miss Flossie actually let me pick her UP and snuggle with her for a good two or three minutes, and she didn’t fight it or anything! I guess the best time to get some kitty snuggling is when they’re just waking up. I’ve started wearing a sweatshirt into the cat room because now every damn one of those kittens climbs up the back of my shirt at some point, and a plain old t-shirt isn’t protecting me enough. The sweatshirt, however, will absorb those sharp little kitten claws, and they can climb to their heart’s content without maiming me. This morning, they somehow knocked over the platform thingy they love to jump on, and they thought it was the COOLEST THING EVER. For at least ten minutes, all five of them were running at and jumping on the platform, then jumping off and racing around the room like their little butts were on fire. I’ll have to remember to get a picture of it, so y’all know what I’m talking about. The kittens love my camera. They’ve been known to attack the camera and drag it across the floor by the strap. Which makes it somewhat difficult to take pictures sometimes. Sleepin’ Edgar. I swear, I don’t think Peanut’s tongue is EVER in his mouth. Oy just loves chewin’ on straws. Such a sweet Miss Flossie. “I haff come to suck yoor blooood.” * * * Da Poo in da sun.]]>

Divine Comedy: Milla Hatful of Rain: Del Amitri Liz Phair: Liz Phair Tigerlily: Natalie Merchant 3 Sides: Bob Guiney) So I sat down at my computer and threw a bunch of random songs into a playlist in iTunes, and then burned them to a disc. It ended up being a really good bunch of songs to listen to when you’re driving too fast down country roads and in the mood to sing at the top of your lungs: Goodbye Time: Blake Shelton Probably Wouldn’t Be This Way: LeAnn Rimes Save a Horse (Ride a Cowboy): Big & Rich Me and Charlie Talking: Miranda Lambert California: Phantom Planet The Blower’s Daughter: Damien Rice She’s Gone: Hall & Oates El Cerrito Place: Charlie Robison Over & Over: Nelly & Tim McGraw Always on my Mind: Willie Nelson With or Without You: U2 Leave (Get Out): JoJo Anymore: Travis Tritt Breakaway: Kelly Clarkson And it also happened to be the exact perfect length for the trip to and from the shelter. I started it as soon as I pulled out of the driveway, and the last song ended when I pulled back into the driveway. The only problem is that now I have California playing on repeat in my brain, and I can’t make it STOP. California here we come Right back where we started from Californiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Californiaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa Oh, Caaaaaaaaaalifooooooooorniaaaaaaaaa (You’re welcome)

* * * I finally got off my ass yesterday and got the last month’s worth of pet store kitty pics up: here, here, here, and here. I’m very pleased to announce that Loverboy – who also goes by the name Paolo, for some reason – was adopted in the past week. Yay! * * * Starting Sunday afternoon, I had a headache that just would NOT go away. I took Tylenol, which would make it mostly go away for a little while, but it kept coming back, and if there’s one kind of pain I just can’t stand, it’s the pain of a headache. When we were going to bed Sunday night, I said “I should just take a percoset.” The doctor prescribed percoset for Fred after his vasectomy, and Fred only took one or two, and the rest of the prescription has been hanging around, because we pretty much never use the narcotics that are prescribed for us, but we do believe in saving them just in case they’re needed in the future. Fred gave me a faux-disapproving look and said “If you MUST. Will I be seeing you on Intervention in a year?” I counted the number of pill left in the bottle and said “If I can make four percoset get me high for the next year, you just might.” So I took the percoset, and the headache went away for about an hour, then came back with a vengeance, and I tried to go to sleep so that I could wake up headache-free – or so I hoped – but I woke up around 2:30 with my head absolutely pounding, got up, took a handful of Tylenol, and went back to sleep. The headache stayed gone until around 2 yesterday afternoon, when it came wandering back. I napped on the couch for a while (I couldn’t take any more Tylenol, because you’re not supposed to take more than 8 in a 24-hour period, and I’d gone over that limit by a couple. And the last time I took too many pills for a headache (though it was aspirin, not Tylenol) my ears rang for several hours and I HATE THAT), then after Fred got home I took a shower and put on the very comfy pajama bottoms Debbie gave me for Christmas, and my favorite sweatshirt. Which is when Fred came upstairs and asked if I wanted to ride with him down the road to the vegetable stand. We ended up driving around for the better part of an hour, and my head got better for a while, then worse, then better. It was driving me CRAZY, and finally around 7, I took a couple of aspirin, and a couple more around 10, and finally the damn headache went away and it’s currently still gone, THANK GOD. I guess it’s not a tumah. * * * The kitten section. Flossie and Oy have discovered that they can climb up the back of my shirt and perch on my shoulder. Which is cute and all BUT HOLY FUCK DOES IT REALLY REALLY REALLY hurts when they climb up my back, and now my back is all scratched up, and OUCH. But damn it’s cute. We’ve started leaving the blinds in the cat room up all the time, because if we put them down at night, the kittens will hang on them which annoys me. So at night, when the light in the room is on, they see their reflection in the window, and both Flossie and Oy have gotten freaked out by their own reflections, complete with fluffy tail and hissing. I need to remember to take the camera upstairs with me at night some time. Flossie, mid-slurp. Flossie does this goofy thing where she sits over the water bowl and drinks some water, then lifts her head and… I can’t describe it, really. It looks like she’s nursing and she makes these sucking noises. I’m not sure what that’s all about. Da widdle Peanut. Miss Flossie, on a mission. Snoopy, snuggled up to his favorite toy. Edgar, rolling around in the sun. Snoopy. The sultry look. Hee! Mister Eggs does his bat imitation. * * * Spanky in the sun. ]]>

The Things We Do for Love, by Kristin Hannah. Finished over the weekend: Deadly Pursuit by Brian Harper (good book – I had a hard time putting it down.) and One Shot, by Lee Child. One Shot was excellent, and despite the fact that I had a pounding headache last night and was very sleepy, I stayed up to finish the book. I’m on the Lee Child mailing list, and got an update email over the weekend implying that there would soon be news about turning one of the books into a movie. Fred and I spent a good part of yesterday trying to decide who should play Jack Reacher, and had a really hard time with it, because Jack Reacher is a big, big man – 6 feet, 5 inches, and 250 pounds – and when you think of the main Hollywood actors, they tend toward the small size. Fred got up and went to bed, and then immediately came back out of his room. “David Morse!” he said. I think we’ve got a winner. David Morse is certainly big enough, and he can definitely do the intensity that would be required for Reacher. I’m sure they’ll put one of the Hollywood pretty boys in the role, though.

* * * Last night Fred and I were in the living room watching the first season of Scrubs, and Fred paused the DVD because he had to pee. Mister Boogers was sitting on his lap, and he said “Would you like a Booger?” I was laying on the couch, and I said “Yeah, sure.” Then I thought for a second and sang “Pour that Booger on me!” And Fred guffawed about it for the next five minutes. I sure do love that man. * * * “Bessie!” Fred said, his eyes dark and wide in the same way Mister Boogers gets when he’s all excited. “What?” I put down the magazine I’d picked up to read when Fred went outside to make sure all the cats were inside. He closes the cat door every night before sunset because when our cats go missing, it’s almost always after dark. Zapping collar of doom or no, Mister Boogers gets overwhelmed by the darkness and has to go exploring. “Spot caught a copperhead!” he said. “Oh my god!” I put down the magazine and stood up. “What can I do?” I moved toward the door. “Well, first you can get out of the way,” he said, and then opened the door to go back outside. I followed him. “Spot, no!” he said. Spot was probably three inches from the snake, who was curled up and not doing much of anything. Fred picked Spot up. “Help me check him over!” I looked Spot over pretty thoroughly and didn’t see anything that looked like a snake bite. His fur is pretty thick, though, and I was sure if I’d actually see a snake bite through his fur. I didn’t share that little bit of knowledge with Fred, though. Fred thrust Spot at me, and I opened the door to bring Spot inside. As soon as the door opened, Miz Poo and Mister Boogers darted outside to sniff at the snake. “You should get the camera,” Fred said. “First I’m going to get a Booger,” I said. I scooped up Mister Boogers, and Fred grabbed Miz Poo, and we put them inside and shut the door. I went and got the camera and the can of compressed air, and headed for the back door, where all four of the cats were lined up with their noses pressed to the glass. “Get!” I said, and sprayed the air at them. They scattered. I went outside and stood a respectful distance from the snake, and pointed the camera at it. “What the hell are you doing?” Fred said. “Taking a picture!” I said. I mean, duh. What the hell did he THINK I was doing? “Give me that. All you’re going to get a picture of is a smudge in the distance.” I handed over the camera, and watched with horror as Fred bent down so that he was well within striking distance of the snake. He took several pictures and then handed the camera back to me. “Is it alive?” I asked. “I don’t think it’s alive.” “I can’t tell,” he said. “You should get your walking stick and poke it and see if it moves,” I offered. “I’m going to get the hoe and cut it’s head off,” he said. He went to the shed – no doubt there’s a huge nest of copperheads under the damn thing – and got the hoe. I kept my respectful distance on the other side of the patio. Fred poked at it. “Yeah, it’s alive. See it’s tongue flickering?” “Yep!” I lied. “See the big triangle-shaped head?” he continued. “Yep!” I lied again. “You can’t see it from there. Come look at it!” “No, that’s quite alright. I’ll stay HERE.” Fred shook his head at the foolishness of a woman who prefers to stay far away from POISONOUS SNAKES rather than putting her face six inches from it so it could strike and sink its fangs into her eyeball. Fred lifted the hoe. “Be careful!” I said. “I’m BEING careful.” “You’re AWFULLY close to it!” “I’m NOT close to it, Bessie. It can’t get me.” He lifted the hoe. “Do you have to kill it? Can’t we call someone to do it?” “Who are we going to call?” “Animal Control?” I said. “At 8:00 on a Saturday night?” he said skeptically. “Or the police! This is something THEY should do, not you.” “I’m not calling the police about a damn snake.” He lifted the hoe again and let it fall on the snake. The snake reacted by striking at the hoe. I screamed and clutched at my face, running around in circles. “Get the hell away from that thing!” I yelled. “Bessie, would you be quiet? If I get bitten, it’ll be because you distracted me!” I watched in silence – from the other side of the patio – as Fred struck at the snake several times. He finally declared it dead, and lifted it on the end of the hoe. I flinched backwards. “BESSIE!” he said, half-laughing. “I’m NOT going to THROW the snake at you!” “I don’t believe you,” I said, and scooted across the patio and into the house as quickly as possible. I got a small box out of the garage and the packing tape out of my desk, and tossed them out on the patio. Fred put the snake in the box and then went to the houses on either side of us to tell our neighbors what he’d found. I thought really, really, REALLY long and hard about going out, putting the snake in another box, and hiding it so that when Fred came back he’d find an empty box with no snake anywhere to be seen. And then I could act all terrified and make noises about how “There’s a badly hurt snake out there, and he’s really pissed off at YOU!” In the end, though, I didn’t because I didn’t want to get that damn close to the snake who, after all, COULD just be playing dead and leap up and sink his fangs into my eyeball. When Fred was done talking to the neighbors, he sealed the box up with tape, and put it in the trash can. And that was our exciting Saturday night. He said, with pictures. * * * The spud made it to Rhode Island just fine, though the phone rang at about 3:00 our time, and it was her on the other end. “Mom, you were WRONG!” she said. “I DO have to change planes, and I only have fifteen minutes!” “Fifteen minutes until the plane leaves?” “No, fifteen minutes until it starts boarding!” “Do you know if you have to change concourses?” I asked. “No, I only have to go two gates down. But we’re still moving!” “You only have to go two gates down the concourse and the plane doesn’t start boarding for another fifteen minutes?” “Yes! Do I have enough time?” “Yes. They’ll begin boarding in 15 minutes, but they usually board for 20 or 25 minutes. You have plenty of time.” “Oh. Okay.” “And if you have any problems, ask a woman in uniform for help. Or call me back.” “Okay.” She sounded marginally calmer. “If I don’t hear back from you, I’ll assume you got on the plane okay.” We hung up, and I didn’t hear back from her until she landed in Rhode Island, and all was well. Thank god. * * * The kitten section. I’ve gotten several comments and emails about the fact that the kittens are going to be spayed and neutered at the age of 9 weeks. The vet that works with the shelter will spay and neuter as soon as kittens reach 2 pounds; it’s the shelter’s policy to do so, so the kittens can be adopted out as soon as possible. The shelter used to adopt out cats without having them spayed or neutered first – in fact, Miz Poo wasn’t spayed when we got her – but even though people were signing forms swearing to have their cats fixed as soon as they hit 6 months, they weren’t following through, and at some point the shelter made it a policy not to adopt out un-spayed/ neutered cats. So, that’s why. If you look very closely, you can see the tip of Snoopy’s tongue sticking out. I think he was in the middle of washing his face when something distracted him. Edgar looks guilty, like we caught him snuggling with Snoopy when he wasn’t supposed to, doesn’t he? That Flossie is just so damn cute. Awww, what a cute little Peanut! Edgar the sleepy. Flossie has decided that Edgar needs some cleanin’. Edgar would just like to sleep, please. Peanut just woke up. Can you tell? ]]>

banana bread, and then because that only requires 3 bananas and I had 4, I used the last one to make banana nut breakfast cookies. While those were cooking, I made a batch of blueberry bran muffins, which I’ve been meaning to make and freeze so I’d have something good on hand for breakfast. Then when I was typing up the recipes, I realized that I’d used 3/4 cup of bran flakes in the muffin part of the recipe, when the recipe actually calls for 1 3/4 cup. I made this same recipe a few weeks ago and used 3/4 cup of bran flakes then, and the muffins came out okay, but I decided that I’d use up the last of the buttermilk and make a second batch following the exact recipe, and see if there was any big difference. When the first batch of muffins were cooking, I cleaned up the kitchen and took a break for lunch. Once lunch was finished, I made pecan squares, because Fred’s office manager made them around Christmas time two or three years ago, and he’s been kind of craving them ever since. Since I was using a smaller pan than the 15×10 the recipe called for, I had to keep an eye on the pecan squares while they were cooking. While the pecan squares were cooking, I made the second batch of blueberry bran muffins, then finished cleaning up the kitchen and started the dishwasher. The pecan squares finally finished, so I set that pan on a wire rack to cool, put the muffins in to cook, and collapsed on the couch to watch an episode of Oprah. This might be a new diet for me, because after spending all day cooking that shit, I had no desire to eat any of it. I did try the pecan squares, though, and they were pretty damn good. Fred also tried the pecan squares, and then said “This might be a weird thing to say, but they’re really sweet, aren’t they?” And I gave him a look and said “They’re composed of corn syrup, sugar, margarine, and pecans. You expected them to be salty?”

* * * Currently reading: One Shot, by Lee Child. LOVE that Jack Reacher. Finished the night before last: Magical Thinking, by Augusten Burroughs. I have to say, I enjoyed this book far more than I enjoyed Running With Scissors. It made me guffaw like a goon more than a few times. * * * I went to Hallmark the other day, because Father’s Day is this weekend, and I needed to get Father’s Day cards for my father, Fred’s father, and his stepfather. I had picked out cards and was standing in line to check out, when the woman standing behind the counter (who sounded EXACTLY like Shonna from Family Plots) said “Did you see that our ladder frames are on sale for $7.99?” And I so desperately wanted to say “Did I see? Yes. Do I care? No.”, but instead I just smiled and said “Yes I did.” I love the Hallmark store, because they have the BEST cards, but I hate going in there, because they invariably are all “Oh, did you see! The candles are on sale! This ugly jewelry is on sale! These overpriced purses are on sale!”, and I feel harassed, because I DO NOT go into Hallmark for anything other than cards, and I have to smile and wait for them to go away. I got a card for my dad that made me laugh, though. The front. The inside. Like I wrote when I signed it, “I should be talking, huh?” * * * The spud is leaving California for Rhode Island in a few hours. Her plane leaves at 11:00 California time and arrives in Rhode Island eight hours later. It appears, from the itinerary, to be a nonstop flight, which surprises me. I never would have guessed that there’s a direct flight from the OC to Providence, RI. She’ll be spending a few weeks with her father and his wife, and then she’ll be going up to Maine for a few more weeks. Ah, the life of the world traveller. Did I mention that we had to put the smack down on the spud? In the five days after she arrived in California, she sent and received almost 800 text messages. Not only that, but when I signed her up for the 1000 text messages per month, it apparently didn’t “take”, and when Fred called T-Mobile to see what was going on, they said they could sign her up beginning that day, but couldn’t make it retroactive to cover the 800 messages she’d already sent and received. “Let me get this straight,” Fred said at one point. “If she sends a text message, she gets charged for it, and the person she sends it to gets charged for it as well?” Long pause. “Well, that’s quite the money-maker for you, isn’t it?” Despite the fact that Verizon was running an unlimited text messaging special at the time, the T-Mobile customer service rep couldn’t be convinced to sign us up for unlimited text messaging, since they apparently don’t offer that. (Verizon’s not offering it at the moment, either. I guess it was just a limited promotion. Hopefully they’ll be offering it again in December when we’re ready to dump T-Mobile.) Anyway, Fred called the spud’s cell phone, and she didn’t answer. He tried calling another zillion times, and kept getting her voicemail. I suggested that he leave her a message asking her to call him when she was in a quiet place, and ten minutes later I got a text message: Am I in trouble? Heh. So she called Fred, and he told her she needed to calm down with the text messaging, and then I told her that she could actually talk to her friends on the phone, and if she talks to them at night or on the weekends, the minutes are completely free. Lordy. Cell phones come in handy, but they sure can be a pain in the ass, eh? * * * The section about the kittens. Well, we weighed the kittens last night and Oy – the lightest – is just under 2 pounds. The rest are over two pounds with Snoopy, aka Porky, at almost 2 1/2 pounds. I called the vet this morning to make the appointment for spaying and neutering. I was not terribly dismayed to find that they couldn’t get them in right away, to tell the truth. They’re set for the week after next. Tuesday they’re going to do three of the boys, and Thursday they’re going to do Mia, Flossie, and the other boy. I thought they’d keep them overnight, but the woman I spoke to said that they’d be able to come back home that same night. ::sob:: Mah babies are growin’ up! Oy has developed the MOST IRRITATING HABIT EVER. He’s started climbing up my back to my shoulder so he can bat at and try to eat my hair, then he jumps down and runs off and comes back a while later to do it all again. It’s mostly okay, because he’s the lightest kitten, but Snoopy saw him do it and gave it a try, and I almost passed out from the pain of him sinking his claws into my back and trying to pull his porky ass up my back. I think I’m going to have to start sitting with my back against the wall. Tell me he’s not smiling. Happy Oy. I think he just finished eating. Mia lays on her belly so those damn babies can’t get to the milk supply. * * * In the jungle, the mighty jungle, the Booger stalks toNIIIGHT. ]]>

serving saver container and the poop scoop, and as soon as she was done I stopped her from kicking litter over it, and I scooped the whole stinking mess into the container (and you should know that the idea of doing something like that makes me want to barf, but in practice I don’t actually have too much of a problem with it) and ran it to the vet. Where they ran tests on it and didn’t find a single goddamn thing. Which is good, I guess, but she’s still having diarrhea and tromping through it, damnit. Damn cats.

* * * Good god, it’s June 16th already. THE SUMMER’S PRACTICALLY OVER! How the hell did that happen? * * * This is the story of how my husband is a fucker. Last night I spent some time with the kittens before bed, and then I came out of the kitten room at 9:20ish, as I always do. I went into the bathroom and did my usual nightly pill-taking, tooth-brushing, reading-on-the-toilet (oh, please. LIKE YOU DON’T.) routine. At some point, while I was brushing my teeth, I glanced out into the bedroom and saw Fred get up out of bed and leave the room. I thought no more of it, and finished my routine. But when I was done and came out of the bathroom, Fred was nowhere to be seen. I decided he’d perhaps been overcome with the need for some kitten snuggling, so I went into the closet to change into my nightgown. I pulled my shirt over my head and tossed it in the dirty clothes hamper, and then thought to myself “Wouldn’t it be just like Fred to be hiding in here to scare the shit out of me?” I glanced over my shoulder at the corner behind the closet door. It was empty, no one was there, and I turned back around to grab my nightgown. And as I turned around, a blast of air came from the corner of the closet opposite the one I’d looked at, and it scared me so badly that I screamed at the top of my lungs, threw my nightgown down on the floor, and ran in place while wildly flailing my arms around, all at the same time. That fucker WAS hiding in the closet, just not where I expected him to be. I guess I’m just lucky he didn’t have the video camera with him. * * * Andrew Vachss weighs in on the Michael Jackson trial. Speaking of Vachss, I’m a little leery of this new book he’s got coming out. I mean, “an epic story of postwar America”? Eh. I’d much rather see another Burke novel. On a side note, I read the Amazon interview with Andrew Vachss and discovered that one of the characters in his new book is named Walker Dett. An homage to Detta Walker? It’s gotta be. * * * From my comments: Once again i have to ask…are you SURE you’re going to be able to give up those babies? It’s going to be hard as hell, but I think of it this way: If I beg Fred to let me keep Oy (or Edgar, or Flossie… or all of them!), he will never ever let me have foster kittens again, ever. And I want to be able to do it again, so I’m going to have to just do it. It’ll help to know that they’ll definitely all be going to really good homes. I’m sure I’ll cry like a big baby when it’s time to take them to the pet store, but I can do it. I can. Really. (Yeah, I don’t believe me, either.) Is that still your evil nemesis laptop? Yeah, we still have the same laptop featured in this entry. I don’t know exactly what it is, just that it’s a Toshiba, and (at least at the time we bought it) it was the biggest kind you could get. That right there should let you know that Fred’s the one who picked it out, because if it had been up to me, I would have chosen a much smaller (and lighter) laptop. (Edited to add: Fred says it’s a Toshiba Satellite. This one is a little bit faster than ours, but otherwise it’s pretty much the same.) The laptop doesn’t get a whole lot of use, but on days when I need to spend time away from my computer – such as, spending the entire day in a room with cats waiting for one of them to poop – it really comes in handy. Last year when we went to Gatlinburg for Memorial Day weekend, we brought it with us and it came in handy because we can watch DVDs on it. I always consider taking it to Maine with me, but I prefer to have to carry as little luggage around with me as possible, and knowing me I’d leave it on the plane. Here’s a question you may/may not want to address in your journal one day: Keeping in tune with all the kitty questions, share with us which kitty likes which person the best and how do you know he/she does? I would say that Mister Boogers likes Fred best, judging by the looks o’ love he’s always giving Fred, and Miz Poo likes me best, judging by the fact that she MUST be on top of me 24 hours a day. Spot and Spanky pretty much like us all equally, though Spanky does like to climb up on me and lay there at night or when I’m laying in bed talking on the phone. Also, if Mister Boogers feels the desperate need for love and Fred isn’t around, I’ll do in a pinch, and Miz Poo will look to Fred for love when I’m not around. Also, since you’ve put up the comments page for us, do you find that you get fewer emails asking you questions regarding the day’s entry? Yeah, they’ve dropped off quite a bit since I allowed comments, though I do still have about 20 emails to respond to, and the majority of them are asking questions about or making comments about an entry. I’m horrible at responding to email unless you’re related to me – or Nance or Jane – but I do read them as soon as I get them. I swear I’ll respond to them soon. I swear it! This is off the topic of your post, but still important I think! I want to know when you are Fred are going to put all your technological know how and I’m sure amusing banter together and have a podcast for your many fans to listen to! Go to www.podcastalley.com and listen to a few, and I’m sure you guys will agree you can do better. So, when is the podcast coming? Hmmm? I would say that the podcast will be coming right around the time hell freezes over. 🙂 * * * Now for some excellent links, found in my comments: you must check out this cat – funniest thing ever! Winston Stuff on my cat. Apologies if you’ve already seen it. I giggled my arse off at the pics. Hey, I remembered you posting about Napoleon Dynamite a while bag (tater tots – the randomness) and wondered if you had seen this link. You can learn to do the dance number!! They are SO cute! We have four kittens right now, they are 3 1/2 weeks old, that look a lot like yours!I have pics of ours from day one on my blog, but you might have to search the April archives to find them all. Our kitties were born April 24th (and how AWESOME that our mama kitty is so young she wanted me RIGHT THERE the whole delivery time. (Hey, our kittens were born on April 24th, too!) * * * The section with the kittens. Today’s kitten movie is here. I call it “Fight Club 2”, ’cause it’s mostly a movie of the kittens fighting. At one point you can see my chubby little hand come into the picture as I decide Peanut needs some saving, and I think I probably talk to him and kiss him a lot, because I always do. I mean, really. How can you NOT kiss them? New movie when I get around to it. We’ll be giving the kittens their deworming medicine tonight, and weighing them at the same time. I swear to god, Snoopy is getting so big he’s probably gained a pound in the last week. If they’re all within a few ounces of two pounds, I’ll be calling the vet tomorrow to make an appointment for spaying and neutering. (Is it wrong that I’m kind of hoping they’re not all close enough to two pounds?) Miss Flossie and my foot. Miss Flossie surrenders to the belly rub. Porky and the laptop. “Okay, you go to the blue litter box – you’ll know it when you see it – and take a left. Go about three hops and stop for some vittles at the food bowl, and then you can’t miss it.” “Good christ, people. Why won’t you just let me SLEEP?” Kittens checking out the cord that connects the mouse to the laptop. Sleepy kitties. Damn she’s cute.]]>

“Look, we’re trying to eat. Just eat. We’re not doing anything particularly cute, we’re not licking ourselves or yawning or biting each other, just eating. Could you stop flashing that flashy thing at us? I don’t want to have to kick your ass BUT I WILL.”]]>

reading: Magical Thinking, by Augusten Burroughs. I’m actually enjoying it a little more than Running With Scissors. Finished last night: Between Sisters. Whoo, didn’t I cry like a great big baby toward the end. Good book; I’d definitely call it chick lit, though (I’m adding that just so those of you who don’t like chick lit don’t go out and buy it).

* * * So, that Michael Jackson thing; what a production, eh? I had no idea the jury had come back with a verdict until Liz called and told me – in the course of telling me other things – that they were going to read the verdict at 4:30 eastern time. I turned it over to CNN while we were talking and watched the motorcade, then Fred got home and I paused the TV and we went upstairs to talk. Then he went off on his hike, and I went in and played with the kittens, and I got back downstairs around 4:15ish, and they still hadn’t read the verdict. They did so while I was making dinner, and I was both very surprised and not surprised at all. Because, to be honest, I didn’t pay any attention to the trial while it was going on, so I have no idea what evidence they had or how it was presented, or anything. I called Fred to tell him what the verdict was, and he paused and then said “Well, except for Martha Stewart, rich white women never go to jail!” It took me a minute to get it. Duh. So I called Liz back and we talked for a few more minutes, and I reminded her that back in the day when the verdict came back on the not-guilty OJ Simpson, I’d been watching the news coverage, and as soon as the verdict was announced, my phone rang and it was Liz on the other end, saying “Can you believe this?”, and half a second later my call waiting beeped, and it was Debbie, and she said “Can you believe this?” Which was a big thing, actually, because for the longest time Debbie didn’t think OJ had done it and we’d made fun of her in a big way for that, but toward the end of the trial she came to believe that he had done it. Yeah, I think OJ did it. Do I think Michael Jackson molested that boy? I don’t know. I think he probably did. I also think that the result of this trial is only going to encourage him to have young boys sleep in his house and bed, and no one’s going to be able to convince him that it’s a bad idea. And in the future, should any young boys claim that Michael Jackson molested them, I think that their parents should be tossed in jail without a second thought. I mean, how fucking stupid would you have to be to let your child anywhere near that man? They will, though. Because people are fucking idiots. * * * When I got the Dyson for my birthday two years ago, I also got a large packet of this stuff called Zorb carpet maintenance powder. I put it in the closet and left it there until yesterday, when I was looking for something – or actually, I think I was putting away the spray bottle of The Works I bought at Wal-Mart two weeks ago – and I saw it. I took it down and looked at it, and thought about it, and then decided I’d give it a try on the carpet in the living room. The carpet in the living room, I should tell you, is Berber carpet, and I loathe it with every fiber of my being. There’s a spot near the couch and loveseat where Fred knocked over a huge cup of iced tea a while back, and I’ve gone over it and over it and OVER IT with the steam cleaner, and cannot get the stain to come up. At first it looks like the stain is gone, but then the carpet dries and the stain is very clearly still there. Also, the carpet in front of the loveseat and couch, where we sit every night, is matted and dirty from our dirty, dirty feet, and no amount of steam cleaning will get that up, either. We were SUPPOSED TO get new carpet for the living room back when we got our tax refund, but we spent it all on the TV WE DID NOT NEED, and somehow when it comes to buying something so that the house will look like less of a shithole, well, that seems to somehow mysteriously not happen. It’s a good thing for him he’s so damn cute, that’s all I’ll say. So anyway, I brought the packet of Zorb downstairs, and I opened it, and sprinkled it all over the living room carpet, then groomed it into the carpet (as far as I could tell from the instructions on the back, you “groom” the Zorb powder – which is damp, by the way – into the carpet by running your vacuum cleaner (turned off) over it, which spreads it out and kind of pushes it into the carpet). I set the timer for 45 minutes, and when it went off I vacuumed the powder back up. Honestly, I couldn’t really tell if the Zorb had made any difference in the cleanliness of the carpet. I thought for a while that it did, but then we were sitting and eating our evening snacks in front of the TV, and Fred dropped 63 pieces of popcorn on the carpet, and I had to kill him, and now there’s a great big blood stain where the dirt was. (No, not really) I think I’d like to give the Zorb a try on regular carpet and see if I can tell any difference. * * * The section about the foster cats. I was going to tell y’all something about the kittens, but for the life of me I can’t remember what it was. Hmm. I went into the cat room after I worked out this morning, and let me tell you – apparently kittens REALLY like the smell (and taste) of sweat. They practically knocked me down so they could sniff me all over, and Snoopy climbed up onto my shoulder and buried his face in my sweaty hair and purred like mad. Flossie and Snoopy licked behind my knees, and Edgar sniffed my feet until his mouth hung open. Hey, at least it was fresh sweat, and not stinky old sweat! Grumpy Edgar. Snoopy grooms himself in the condo, while Oy and Edgar snooze on top. Flossie just loves to snuggle up with my feet, sit next to my feet, sit on my feet, and sit next to my feet with her paws on them. I think she has a foot fetish. Sleeping Peanut. They caught a mouse! Every time I would grab the mouse to use it, Flossie would come running to steal it away from me. Oh, I remember what I was going to say about the kittens. Jane, who is a know-it-all, said back when we first got the kittens, (something like) “Why bother to give them names? You’ll just immediately give them names like Mister Boogers.” Well, she’s right. I’m starting to give the kittens nicknames. I can’t help it! Oy is becoming “Little Man”, Snoopy is becoming “Piggy” (I swear to god, that cat would eat lint if you put a bowl of it in front of him), Flossie is becoming “Miss Prissy” and Edgar is becoming “Eggs” or “Eggie”, and Peanut is becoming “Pinochle.” (Shaddup) Today’s cat movie is here. I call it “Fight Club”, because all those little kittens do is fight, fight, fight. New movie tomorrow, then I’m all out of kitten movies. Guess I’ll need to take the camera back upstairs, eh? * * * Spanky in mid-lick. ]]>

reading: Between Sisters, by Kristin Hannah. Finished over the weekend: Running With Scissors, by Augusten Burroughs. I enjoyed it, but I wasn’t overcome with hilarity and mirth like I’d expected to be. Maybe I just wasn’t in the right mood for it. Definitely worth reading, but don’t hurt yourself to get a copy.

* * * So, after sitting in the cat room all fucking day long on Friday, that damn Mia didn’t poop at all. AT ALL. When 3:00 came and went, I said to Fred, “Fuck this” and we went out to a Mexican restaurant for dinner. When we came back there was still no poop, and I sat in the room for another ten minutes before I gave up, told Fred we’d just start her on the metronidazole, and I’d try again on Monday to get a sample, if she was still having diarrhea. She had diarrhea all weekend long (you weren’t eating, were you?), and what pisses me off the most about the diarrhea is that she uses the litter box, then she tromps through the pile of diarrhea, and then tracks it across the floor, shaking her shit-laden back legs the entire way. I’m surprised I haven’t had a stroke yet. Anyway, she had diarrhea all weekend long, so I resigned myself to hanging out in the cat room all day today in an attempt to get a sample, and I only had to wait about an hour. I got the sample (barf) and ran it to the vet. They said that they’d call if anything showed up, and if they didn’t call, there was nothing in the sample. They haven’t called yet, so I’m thinking there may have been nothing there. Or maybe there was something there, and the metronidazole killed it? Oh, I don’t fucking know. Fucking cats. After she’d tromped through her shit and tracked it all over the room – with me, right behind her, wiping it up as fast as I could – I had to leave the room because I was getting so fucking stressed out. I went into the bedroom, where Fred was reading, and I said “I love and adore those kittens, but I have NO USE for Mia. God, she’s a pain in the ass!” I do love those damn kittens, though. Except when Mia’s hunkered over pooping, and they try to STICK THEIR STUPID LITTLE HEADS DIRECTLY IN THE STREAM OF POO. Gives a whole new meaning to the term of endearment “Shithead”, doesn’t it? * * * I woke up this morning with a swollen left eyelid. It’s not as swollen now as it was when I first woke up, but it’s still painful to the touch. A little itchy from time to time, too. If it ain’t one thing, it’s a-fucking-nother. * * * Fred was gone all day Saturday, and I dug through the pile of crap (not literally, thankyou) on my desk to find the Netflix movies that had been sitting there for at least two weeks. I’d declared to him that I was going to spend all day watching movies, and I certainly did. First, I watched The Terminal – which did not suck as badly as people have been proclaiming. In fact, I have to say that I almost liked it. I don’t necessarily want to see it again, but I don’t resent the time spent watching it. Then, I watched Indecent Proposal, which I’ve seen before and wanted to see again. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t that good, either. I spent about half the movie reading a magazine and looking up to see what was going on from time to time. Lastly, I watched Fame. Just because. Shaddup. I had to play the part at the end where Montgomery Macneil sang his part of The Body Electric for Fred, because it cracks me up to no end that the same actor who played sensitive gay boy Montgomery also played hardass-with-a-deeply-buried-heart-of-gold Dr. Romano on ER. My only complaint about Fame is that there should have been more dancing. You know what would be cool? If they put Fame, the TV series, out on DVD. I’d be buying that so fast your head would spin. I loved that show like you wouldn’t believe. Then Sunday, Fred went out and picked up some movies. We watched about the first hour of The Life Aquatic with Steve Zisou before we turned it off because we were both falling asleep. Then we watched The Passion of the Jew – South Park always cracks us up – and Christian Rock Hard, which is on the same DVD. Last night, we watched Employee of the Month, which Fred had picked up on a whim. It was actually pretty good, though the twists at the end were a little annoying, because there were so many of them. Gotta love Steve Zahn. Tonight, we’ll probably watch last night’s episode of Entourage, and last week’s episode of House, with maybe a few episodes of Yes, Dear and/ or South Park tossed in there as well. Yes. Yes, Virginia, we ARE couch potatoes. * * * I took a Benadryl this morning before I left for the pet store, and so I wasn’t itchy at all while I was there, but it still made me a bit lightheaded, so perhaps next week I’ll cut the dose in half. When I got home, I went out into the back yard to fill the bird feeders – which have been empty for the last few weeks, because I’m a lazy-ass – and when I came back inside, I was itching like mad, mostly on my face. It’s mostly gone away, but for a while there it was driving me crazy. Clearly I’m allergic to something in the back yard, but I have no idea what it is. Perhaps the humidity? Because it is MIGHTY FUCKING HUMID out there. Humid? In the south? Go figure. * * * Over the weekend, I took Snoopy, Oy, and Peanut out of the cat room – not all at the same time – to “go visiting”. This consists of being held by me while they sniff our cats, then letting them crawl around on our bed. As of yet, Mister Boogers has not been impressed. He goes all dark-eyed and sniffs them thoroughly, but he makes me nervous when he gets dark-eyed like that, so I haven’t let him get too close. Miz Poo hissed at Peanut last night, and Peanut responded by hissing back at her. Neither of them was too impressed with the other. My current favorite kitten is Oy. I hope Oy is adopted by someone who appreciates what a sweet, feisty little guy he is. Mia and Flossie are quite interested in the laptop. Especially the mouse. Sleepy Snoopy. The expression on Oy’s face cracks me up. “How YOU doin’?” Oy stretches. The trick to getting a kitten to snuggle with you is to wait until he’s very, very sleepy, and then pick him up and snuggle him in your arms. “First they nurse all the damn time, then they fall asleep on me. Damn kittens.” ]]>

* * * Reason number 69,298,984 why I married that man: We were laying bed talking last night, and I said something of a sexual-innuendo nature, and waited for Fred to say something. There was a long, lengthy silence. I assumed he was looking for something smartass to say, and then I started to wonder if he’d fallen asleep. Finally, I turned to face him. “Are you there, Margaret?” I said. And with no hesitation whatsoever and a voice filled with wonder, he said “God?” That man sure can make me laugh.

* * * Thirty minutes later, the goddamn cat still hasn’t shat. Every single other day of the week, she shits like every ten seconds. Today, she can’t be bothered. “Yeah, no, sorry. I don’t gotta go. Pardon me while I bite at the ears and belly of this feisty little shithead I birthed out of mine own body and who thinks he can kick my ass, mm’kay?” I love the little bastardly kitties, but they are ripping my legs to shreds. If she doesn’t poop AND SOON, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Send happy poopin’ thoughts this way, if you would. * * * I just got extremely excited by the fact that she went over to the litter box, but she only had to pee out that entire gallon of water she drank an hour ago. Psyche! Did you know that it’s correctly spelled “Psyche!” and not “Sike!”? No, I’m sorry, I don’t give a happy goddamn what Urban Dictionary says. It’s “psyche.” When you spell it “sike”, you make my eyes bleed. * * * 1:00 pm and no shit. NO SHIT. I never thought I’d see the day when I was praying for shit. My butt hurts from sitting on the floor. I stretched out to take a nap but then Oy, who had been sleeping atop the condo with Edgar, came a-visitin’. And then Fred, who brought his car home at 10:30 so he could leave it in the driveway with the doors open in case there actually is a snake in there, so the snake could get out, called to see if it was raining here. It wasn’t, but about three minutes after he called the sky started looking nasty, so I scooped Oy up and took him downstairs and outside with me. He was very good, just sat on my shoulder and looked around. Miz Poo was sitting on the table when we came back inside, and I bent over so she and Oy could sniff each other. To my amazement, she did NOT hiss. What the hell is up with that? Perhaps it’s a sign that we need to keep Oy! (No, not really.) * * * I just ran downstairs to close the cat window (it started raining like hell) and uploaded a few kitten pictures so I can get this entry uploaded, and I hoped against hope that Mia had used the litterbox in the five minutes while I was gone, but NO HOPE, DAMNIT. Peanut’s trying to nurse and Mia keeps pushing him away. Heh. Poor Peanut! Don’t I wish I’d brought my camera back upstairs with me. Oh crap. Edgar just woke up peeping (which is what I call the little crying noise the kittens make, shaddup), and ran over to Mia, and then Flossie ran out of the carrier where she was sleeping, and Mia flopped over, and now Flossie, Edgar, and Peanut are wildly trying to nurse. Mia’s not happy, but she’s not fighting them off, either. Damn I wish I had my camera. Nobody but NOBODY uses the litterbox in Kitten Town without supervision. Sheriff Snoopy makes sure the law is enforced. They might be tiny little fangs, but they REALLY HURT when they’re being used on your fingers. Couldn’t you just squeeze him ’til his guts shot out his nose? Meester Fang strikes again. Mia checks the cleanliness of Oy’s butt. I think this is the cat version of your mother asking if you’re wearing clean underwear. Is it just me, or does he kinda look like a bat? I guess I’m going to go ahead and post this stupid entry. It’s 1:38 and Mia STILL HAS NOT POOPED, DAMNIT. Send happy poopin’ thoughts to North Alabama, if you would. I’ll see y’all on Monday. * * * Spot. He lurves the sun. ]]>

* * * Currently reading: Running with Scissors. I’ve heard good things about it. (And before you recommend Magical Thinking and Dry – I’ve already got them, I just haven’t read them yet. I read Sellevision a while back, and enjoyed it.) Finished last night: Sushi for Beginners. Am the only one who gets close to the end of the book and gets a little worried, thinking “There are only a few pages left; there’s NO WAY they’re going to wrap up all the storylines in that amount of space!”? Somehow they always do, and yet I still worry.

* * * Favorite song of the moment: Blake Shelton’s remake of Conway Twitty’s Goodbye Time. I’m not a huge Blake Shelton fan – though he’s certainly nice to look at (and I don’t usually much care for men with long hair) – but his version of this song is a heartbreaker. * * * From my comments: Hey Robyn, I was just surfing and found this cool quiz. It reminded me of you instantly. Hey after all those meme’s, you need a quiz break! EVIL. Now everybody go take it. …I began wondering if you had been quarry swimming yet this season. Then I wondered how the fish got INTO the quarry. Were they brought there by the park rangers? Were there streams feeding into the quarry? Were carp a natural American species or had they been planted or dumped by bored pond owners? Nope, we haven’t been to the quarry yet. It was kind of cool out up until about this time last week, so I have a feeling the quarry water is still pretty cold right now. Perhaps we’ll start going in a few weeks. As for the fish got into the quarry, I have no idea. Good question! Do you like Dean Koontz books? He’s very popular, but I don’t like his style. Yeah, we read Dean Koontz and like him. Right now Fred’s reading his latest (which I gave him for his birthday) and apparently it’s slow going at the beginning of the book, but will hopefully pick up. As I was watching “Momma Love” (which was adorable), it occurred to me – if the kitties at the pet store make you itchy, does playing with the kittens do the same thing? No, for some reason the kittens don’t make me itchy. I’m not sure why the pet store cats make me itchy but the kittens don’t. Maybe because I’m always cleaning in there and there isn’t that much dander and cat hair flying around? Or maybe kittens don’t have as much hair and dander as grown cats? Either way, I’m sure glad I don’t itch the way I do at the pet store! Which reminds me, I have about three weeks worth of pet store kitty pics to put up! Robyn, OMG! Did you watch Dancing With the Stars? So campy and yet, surprisingly, pretty good. When did Joey McIntyre become a guy? A man? And he’s still pretty hot. No, we missed that! Actually, I don’t think I could have talked Fred into watching that, and I didn’t think to tape it. We did catch Hit Me Baby One More Time last week, though. Good lord, was THAT ever a waste of time. Talk about your cheesefest. I did set up to tape that every week, though, because we SERIOUSLY want to see Vanilla Ice. Heh. BTW — have you seen the new Star Wars movie? Plan to? Haven’t seen it, but I’m sure I will at some point. I still haven’t watched the last one yet – rumor has it, it sucked – but I don’t think I missed much, and since I rarely have any idea what’s going on in these movies, I probably won’t go out of my way to watch #2 before I see this one. I SO want to come over and play with the kittens. Do they do the sideways/straight up in the air PING at each other when they play? They do now! It’s funny, when we first got them, they could only walk, and slowly at that. Now, they bounce around the room like little rubber balls, chase each other, and pounce on toys. They crack me up in a big way. Robyn, I love your hair colour. Do you know what they used? I have no idea. Something she mixed in the back room, is about all I can tell you! Have YOU tried the new diet coke that has SPLENDA in it? It taste like… well I cant think of anything witty and fun but it tastes B A D and I am not a pepsi fan but oddly I am digging the cherry diet pepsi and diet pepsi with lime. and Hey Robyn! Since I know you’re a Diet Coke lovin’ fiend like myself, I thought I’d tell you about the new Diet Coke with splenda that has recently come out. (If I’m telling you something you already know, please forgive me…) It tastes like real coke, and I’m loving it!!! I know Target was carrying it around here (outside Philadelphia, PA) and now I’m seeing it in my local grocery stores. Just thought I’d share the info with ya in case you’re interested. and a question: Have you tried the Diet Coke with Lime? And if so, what did you think? I was skeptical, on account of the fact that the Diet Coke with Lemon (and the Diet Pepsi with Lemon) were hideous, but I absolutely have fallen in love with the Diet Coke. Fred finally found one single, solitary bottle of Diet Coke with Splenda at the grocery store a couple of weeks ago. He poured a cup and brought it upstairs WHERE I WAS SLEEPING and gave it to me to try. It was good, but my LORD the aftertaste was a killer. I know that the regular Diet Coke has an aftertaste, but I’ve gotten so used to it that I don’t taste it anymore. The Splenda aftertaste was pretty unpleasant, but I’m sure that if I gave it a try and drank only Diet Coke with Splenda, I’d get used to the aftertaste. I haven’t decided whether I’m going to switch or not. I’m pretty attached to my regular Diet Coke. As for the Diet Coke with lime, Fred bought a bottle of it last weekend – maybe the weekend before – and I gave it a try, but didn’t really care for it. I guess I’m just a plain ol’ Diet Coke person, and not a Diet Coke with Lemon or Lime person. Hey Robyn, ever try soy ice cream? I find it tastes just like regular ice cream, but is much healthier. I especially like So Good chocolate, yummy!! Nope, I never have. Only because I’m supposed to stay away from soy products due to my thyroid issues. You do make it sound good, though! Robyn, I also have the Sony DSC-V1. It’s my first digital camera and I do like it, but I don’t think I have the hang of it yet. Do you change the settings when you’re taking certain pictures, or do you just leave all that alone? What do you have your settings on? I find the shutter lag frustrating because I’m so used to an SLR, but I think that’s par for the course with any digital camera. And suggestions/tips are greatly appreciated! The only setting I change on a regular basis is to use the “tulip” setting when I’m taking up-close pictures, and to turn the flash on and off. The shutter lag drives me crazy, too, and I’ve missed out on many a good picture due to it. The waiting for the flash to be ready drives me crazy as well, and the only thing I’ve figured out about that is that if you set the image size smaller (I use the largest possible image size), the flash “recovers” faster. Hope that helps. 🙂 How old is the Boog now? What about your other kitties? Oh lord, let me think, here… Spanky is going to be nine years old this Fall (Fred got him for me the first Christmas I was here), which seems impossible, because I remember when he was a tiny kitten with diarrhea, tromping through his litter box, getting poop on his back feet, and squalling at the top of his lungs when I tried to clean him off. Spot’s a few years older, so he’s 10 or 11 – probably 11. Miz Poo, I got the day before Thanksgiving the first year I had this journal, so that makes her… five and a half, six this Fall. Mister Boogers is about two, maybe a little older. Everytime I read about Mr. Boogers I think of my dad’s friend’s secretary who would answer the phone and if her boss couldn’t come to the phone she would say with a very thick accent, “Meeher Gomez, he beesy.” So when I read Mr. Boogers was nowhere to be found I instantly thought, “Meeher Booogers, he beesy.” I have actually taken to saying this, if you can believe it. If I call for Mister Boogers and he doesn’t come, I look at Miz Poo (who’s always RIGHT THERE) and say “Meeher Booogers, he beesy.” She doesn’t quite appreciate the humor. How strange is it that I dont really know you, except that I read your journal every day..but I saw something in a catalog the other day that made me think of you. I thought I would share. (Link) I think this really belongs in your house. Maybe get one for every room. I bet the cats would have a great time. I completely agree – I think we need at least one, if not several! I don’t know where we’d put them, though. There’s not a single surface in this house where the cats can’t get to, the little bastards. * * * The kitten section. I swear to god, I scooped five pounds of stuff out of the litter boxes this morning. I switched from clay litter to scoopable litter last weekend, because the kittens have stopped eating the litter and I find scoopable easier to deal with. It’s harder to vacuum up with the hand-held vacuum, but I can deal with that. Mia has diarrhea, and we originally thought it might be from caring for the babies (ugh). It hasn’t gone away even though the babies are using the litter box exclusively now, so I’m giving her deworming medication in case that’s what the problem is. But for now, every friggin’ time Mia goes into the litter box, Snoopy is RIGHT THERE. Apparently Mia’s not allowed to use the litter box without his supervision. And then, when she’s done, half the time he climbs into the litter box, tromps through what she’s left there, and stumbles out of the damn litter box with poop-covered back feet. I do my best to wipe him down with a baby wipe, but he doesn’t much care for that. Which doesn’t stop me, but it’s surprising how quickly a bastardly little kitten can wriggle away if he wants to. Yesterday, he had poop on his ear. I don’t even want to know how that happened. Today’s movie is here. It’s a fairly short one, but I inadvertently scared a kitten when I moved my leg, and got the reaction on tape – keep an eye on the right side of the movie for the last half, and you should see it. New movie tomorrow. No one’s allowed to use the litter box without supervision. IT’S THE LAW OF KITTYTOWN. Fred was following Edgar around, and Edgar was skeered, and so he hissed. Mean Fred. You know? I just don’t know. Perhaps he was reenacting his birth. Snoopy atop the platform thingy. He is the KING of the PLATFORM. Poor long-suffering Mia. Fred was following Flossie around, and FLOSSIE got skeered, so she hissed, too. I wonder if there’s anything LESS threatening than a hissing kitten. Snoopy in da condo. Oy reaches for a toy. * * * Da Boog. Hee! ]]>