10/25/10 – Monday

A couple of weeks ago, I had to make a trip to the bank to deposit a check. I walked into the bank and there was this really long-ass line, and I was all “Oh hellz no”, so I went out into the lobby to see if you could make a deposit at the ATM. You could, so I filled out the envelope and was in the process of making the deposit, when a man walked in and stood at a respectful distance while he waited for me to finish.

He was talking on his cell phone, and I didn’t pay much attention until he suddenly said – in an “oh shit” voice – “What? Now? Okay, I’ll call you right back!” I glanced over my shoulder to see him frowning down at his cell phone. He punched in a phone number, put the phone to his ear, and as he hauled ass out the door he bellowed “THE ALPACA IS SCREAMING!”

Is it just me, or does that sound like a code phrase?

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

 

At the intersection of our road and a busyish highway, the highway I take to go into Closeville when I need to get groceries or go to Walmart or the bank or whatever, is land that used to belong to a nursery. I guess the nursery fell on hard times, because this spring there was a sign up that they were auctioning off the land and everything on the land. The auction took place, and then… nothing. All the plants that were in the greenhouses were sold off and weeds grew up into the (uncovered) greenhouses. There were some houses on the nursery land that were knocked down.

The nursery land goes behind our property, and we lived in dread because we were absolutely certain that the land had been sold to a company that would put a subdivision right behind us. There’s nothing wrong with subdivisions – hell, we lived in two subdivisions, and they were right nice – but I didn’t particularly want people living back there and bitching about how the dogs bark or the pigs stink or the chickens squawk like hysterical ninnies if you look at them sideways.

As it turned out, a nursery company bought that land, so hopefully there’ll continue to be nothing back there but trees.

But anyway, on this nursery land has been this trailer. And in this trailer has lived this man who, I’m pretty sure, worked as a caretaker of the property. Now, I have NO PROBLEM with trailers, I know there are people who live in perfectly nice trailers. Hell, my best friend lived in a trailer for about a year, and it was a cute little place.

This trailer, however, was not one of the nice ones. It was a ratty piece of shit trailer, and judging by the pile of 500+ beer bottles that appeared in the middle of his lawn one morning, I guessed that the guy who lived there might like a drink every now and then (I assume they’d been piled up inside the trailer and he’d decided to do some house cleaning). I also guessed that he might have a problem with anger, given the time I drove by and there was a recliner and couch laying near the door as if he’d thrown open the front door and pushed both pieces of furniture out the door and onto the lawn. At a later point when I drove by, the recliner was set upright and he was reclined in it, sound asleep.

He always had a dog, sometimes two. You’d see him one day walking along with a puppy at his heels, and then the puppy would get a little older, and then the puppy would start wandering across our land, and then the puppy would end up dead by the side of the road. Then a few weeks later, another puppy. I guess someone had a talk with him (I don’t for one minute doubt that animal control got a myriad of calls about him and his dog-neglecting ways), because a ramshackle dog shelter of sorts showed up beside the trailer, one made out of chain link fence panels kind of leaned against each other, with a dog bed inside. Eventually, a board was placed across the top to prevent the dog from getting completely soaked when it rained. We’d see the dog walking with him, and sometimes we’d see the dog locked in the dog “house”, but of course the dog still showed up on our property from time to time to taunt George and Gracie. After the dog was fully grown, another puppy showed up to keep him company, and as far as I know, they’re still alive.

Because I am the nosiest woman on the face of the planet, every time I drove by the trailer, I’d go slow and get all bug-eyed and stare at the windows, hoping to see inside that trailer. I was dying to see what it looked like inside, because I assumed it was a huge mess with stuff piled everywhere. But the shades were always drawn, and the door was never open (except for the middle of the summer – but then he had a fan sitting in the doorway blocking my view of the inside. Hmph.)

And THEN.

One day I was driving by the trailer on the way home from getting groceries, and I looked over as usual, and saw that there were men pulling siding off the trailer. And the front door was not only open, it was COMPLETELY REMOVED. I had a clear view to the inside of the trailer and it was every bit the nightmare I’d imagined, garbage piled everywhere, beer and soda bottles all over the place, piles and piles of Hoarders-esque junk.

Because I’m an asshole, I was delighted to find that it was exactly as I’d imagined. I drove by that trailer at least four times that day, and at the end of the day as I drove by for the last time, they were in the process of knocking the whole thing down. I had stupidly thought that they were taking the siding off the trailer so they could re-side it, but apparently they were doing it with the goal of knocking the whole thing down. Which they did.

It’s been, I don’t know, two weeks maybe? And every time I drive by, I see the pile of trailer where the trailer used to be (I assume that one day they’ll haul it all away), and I’m sad that now I don’t have anything to be nosy about.

I’m even sadder that I didn’t stop and take a picture of the inside of the trailer while the demolition was going on.

I wonder where the caretaker and his dogs went. I need to find out, so I can continue to stalk them like a weird, nosy, creepy stalkery stalker.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

 

“I’m da baybee.”

“You hear me?”

I love the way the sun is shining through his fur, showing his little pink splayed “fingers”.

Starsky’s pretty sure he’s the alpha male in the foster room.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

 

One day last week I said to Fred, “Perhaps we could just keep Reacher and Corbie here as fosters until they’re adopted by someone.”

Given how they reacted to being in the cage at Petsmart last time, I was not looking forward to the idea of taking them to Petsmart again. I mean, I never like taking the babies to Petsmart, but for the most part they adapt pretty well and don’t spend a huge amount of time there before they’re adopted. But things are so slow adoption-wise right now, that I was afraid they’d languish for months.

“Maybe we should think about bringing Buster and Rhyme home and just keeping all four here ’til they’re adopted,” Fred said.

“Yeah. But we should wait a few more weeks and see if they aren’t adopted before we bring them home,” I said. “Maybe they’ll get lucky.”

“Okay,” he said.

BUT THEN.

We were out running errands Saturday morning, and I opened my big stupid mouth and suggested that we stop by Petsmart just to visit with Buster and Rhyme and Melodie, Moxie, and Dodger. And we did visit with them, and Fred started giving me THE LOOK, and before I knew it…

When we left the house that morning, I had no idea we’d be coming back with Buster and Rhyme, and so instead of doing it the right way – putting them in a room for a few hours, at least, so they’d adjust to being here before letting them out to explore a little – we just let them out of the carriers into the house. I don’t have any doubt that they knew exactly where they were. But Buster is a bit of a drama queen and seemed a little overwhelmed, and he walked around growling and smacking at everyone.

He smacked Miz Poo, who was minding her own business, and I said “OH NO YOU DID NOT JUST DO THAT, BUSTER JONES*!” and made Fred hold him while I trimmed his front claws. He spent the rest of the day walking around in a state of high dudgeon. We were going to put them in the guest bedroom overnight (Rhyme was a little hissy, but mostly behaving himself, we were just going to put him in to keep Buster company), but as the evening wore on Buster calmed down a little. So we left them out overnight and everything was fine. Buster was still a little growly and yowly yesterday, but not nearly as bad as he’d been on Saturday, so hopefully given a few more days, he’ll calm down completely.

Reacher, hiding from the yowly Buster.

So, please, y’all. For the love of god – if you know anyone in the Alabama/ Tennessee area who’s looking to adopt some great, gorgeous, sweet 8-9 month-old kittens, feel free to steer them in our direction. Our house is about bursting at the seams with cats. We need to find these Bookworms homes of their own!

(I will box the ears of every person who suggests we keep them permanently. Or maybe I’ll just send them their very own Bookworm! Mwahahaha!)

*His other nicknames: Buster Brown (I very often say “Buster Brown, he’s a clown. He gets around!”, because I’m a dork) and Busties. In fact, most of the cats in this house have their names shortened and then an “ies” added to the end. Reacher’s nicknames are Reacher-Creature, Creature, Creatchies, and Reachies. Corbett is almost always Corbies, unless he’s Hello, Gorgeous. Sometimes Corbie McGee, too, now that I think about it. Rhyme hasn’t really picked up a nickname other than Rhymies and sometimes Rhymebones. I don’t think there’s a single cat in this house who doesn’t have, at minimum, two nicknames.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

 

Kara, Reacher, Corbett, Tommy, and Jake. That’s a lot of cats for one picture!

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

 

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: I’m sure it’s eyeball cancer and we’ll have to put a pirate patch on him and it will cost one million dollars to cure him.
2006: No entry.
2005: I feel so worldly and sophisticated now.
2004: “Bessie,” Fred said. “We used to watch TV without being able to rewind it. We can do it again!”
2003: No entry.
2002: It seems like yesterday.
2001: The term “give my feelings” cracks me up for some unknown reason.
2000: Mark my words, it’ll be back to looking crappy in three days flat.
1999: “Take credit card. Buy computer. Big monitor. Go fast. Go buy. Now.”