Month: October 2007

* * * While I enjoyed Nance and Rick’s visit very much, there is one thing that happened, that I wish had not. Rick educated Fred in the ways of our new camera (the one we got last month), and now Fred knows (and as a consequence, so do I) that if you just hold down the button on the camera (the one you press when you want to take a picture. I fail to know the correct name for it.), the camera just keeps on snapping pictures, and so if there’s something of interest going on, like cats fighting, you just hold down the button and picture after picture is taken, and chances are good that you will capture one or two good pictures. Fred, however, does not ever ever ever clear pictures off the memory stick. I clear my pictures off almost immediately – the ones I want to save, I save to my hard drive and delete off the memory stick, the ones that suck I just delete altogether. So while Rick and Nance were here, Fred used the camera sometimes, and I used the camera sometimes and so I had to slog through thirty million pictures like this: and this: and also this: to get to the pictures I took, like such: I wish that Rick had NOT told Fred about that awesome feature, and instead only told me so that I alone could take picture after picture after picture, and Fred could just take one picture at a time. After I took my pictures off the memory stick, I took the memory stick over to Fred’s desk and copied the pictures from the memory stick to his hard drive so that when the time comes that he needs pictures like this: and this: and perhaps this: and also this: he’ll find them on his hard drive under “Memory Stick, October 18, 2007, Motherfucker.” YOU’RE WELCOME, BABY.

* * * Also, when Fred whines and moans about his big baby feelings being hurt that I didn’t fall all over myself gasping with horror that he’s now OFFICALLY a great big cripple, please be assured that: 1. I would feel more sympathy for his aches and pains if he didn’t say “Oh, my foot really hurts. It hurts a lot. God, my foot hurts. Hey, I’m going to go balance on the ladder for many hours and hammer the roof on the shed, buh-bye!” Because I’m so VERY sure that his doctor would suggest – nay, RECOMMEND – that he go balance his entire weight on that foot for hours at a time and then would be shocked and amazed that he hobbles across the floor like an 80 year-old man with no feet at the end of the evening. 2. I did NOT say “Sucks to be you. Hey, Nance fell in love with a kitten at the pet store!” There was a long, meaningful silence after I said “Wow, that really sucks”, while I contemplated the fact that chances are good I’m going to have to wipe his ass on a regular basis before he hits his 50th birthday, what with all his body parts falling directly off his body all the goddamn time, and then I felt it necessary to tell him that Nance had fallen in love with a kitten at the pet store, because it was a vital bit of information that needed to be immediately imparted. So hush up, YOU. * * * I am continuing to watch and enjoy Tell Me You Love Me every week, but when there are scenes that show both parties in a sexual encounter, appearing to be completely naked, rubbing together in a good approximation of intercourse, all I can do is get sidetracked by the mechanics of shooting a scene like that. It’s completely distracting to wonder how they’re not sharing body fluids. I don’t know that it’s necessary to show as much of the sex scenes as they’re showing. You know, if like Jamie and her man of the second flash a bit of nakedness and then they cut to Palek sitting there looking like a slack-jawed idiot (which he does so very well), I think we get the point that Jamie and whatshisface had sex. We don’t really need to see every thrust and grunt. I know the directors and producers think it’s cutting edge what with the people having sex, and I enjoy porn as much as the next person, but I’d like to either have an interesting story with sex alluded to, or porn without the distraction of a good story thrown in there. It’s telling, I think, that the couple who isn’t having sex is the one most interesting to me. * * * Kid Nation spoilers in this section. 1. I know it is wrong to hate a child who only parrots what her horrible parents have taught her, but when Taylor didn’t get the necessary votes to stay on the council, I danced a jig around the living room, and there was a great celebration here at Crooked Acres. Because I CANNOT stand that child. 2. Also, I cannot stand Olivia. I loathe her, and 73% of the loathing is just a visceral dislike for her FACE. I know it’s wrong, I know she’s probably a wonderful bible-thumping self-satisfied child and a boon to the community and all, but I really itch to slap her. Just a little. Just until I can stand the sight of her face. Except that my hand wouldn’t hold up to that amount of slapping. 3. There are too damn many kids on this show. At least twice every show, the camera pans across a kid’s face, and we say “Who the hell is THAT?” * * * The KATG fosters have gone to Petsmart. As usual, I still had a metric ton of pictures that I needed to clear off the memory stick, so here are a bunch. “Hey you guys! I could use some reinforcements over here!” Slow dancin’ while Chemda looks on. Khalili loves that toy more than anything on earth. “Whyyyyyyyyyyy does life have to be so haaaaaaaaaaard?!” “‘Sup?” Khalili’s got the giggles. Yoga Kitty. Keith, chillin’. Snuggly Patrice. Brolo gets his chomp on. Patrice wants to snuggle; Brolo wants to fight. Patrice is such a pretty girl. * * * Previously 2006: I hope I mean that in a good way. I’m not sure yet. 2005: For at least five full seconds a big cartoon question mark appeared above my head and my brain flipped frantically through the instruction manual trying to figure out just what the fuck was going on. 2004: Myrtle Beach recap. 2003: No entry. 2002: Poor, deformed Miz Poo. 2001: Ya gotta love the Poo. 2000: Remember that episode? 1999: I just love it when I don’t have to cook.]]>

* * * So Nance and Rick have come and gone, and it’s back to the drudgery of regular everyday life. LE SIGH. We had SO much fun while they were here. We maxed out the Catchphrase game (we started getting words we’d already gotten), so we switched over to Taboo, which is like Catchphrase in that you have to get your teammate to guess a word, but there are a list of words you can’t use, and it’s kind of a stressful game, but also more fun than it sounds like. As always, after they left, Fred said to me “Having them here makes me wish we had (local) friends.” He tried to convince them that they should move to Alabama, but they were resistant since they have things like “jobs” and “family” and “a life” at home, so they didn’t want to move down here to provide us with entertainment. SELFISH. Nance and Rick got to experience what life at Crooked Acres is like, and I think they liked it. I don’t believe I’ve ever had overnight guests who weren’t related to me (except Liz), so I was worried it would be weird, but it was completely relaxed and fun. Fred enjoyed having Rick around to help him do manly men things, and I loved having someone around who would listen when I chattered instead of tuning me out (FRED). At one point, Fred and I were on our computers and Nance and Rick were on their laptops in the dining room, and it was like a total dork convention. Nance and Rick got to try Fred’s habanero jam, and Nance totally lied and said it wasn’t hot at all, even though I could see the flames shooting out of her mouth. For her treachery, I loaded them up with habanero jam and hot sauce and even some of Fred’s “too banana-y” (according to him) strawberry/ kiwi/ banana jam. They got pickles and salsa and watermelon preserves, too. We were practically chasing them down the road yelling “Take some green peppers!!!!” Nance got to experience the whole foster kitten thing, too, and I’m not sure she liked the part where we had to take the fosterbabies to the pet store and leave them in a cage. In a last-ditch attempt to get Nance to take her home, Patrice hid in the carrier and broke Nance’s heart. They left without a cat this time, though – perhaps Queen Maddy taught them a lesson! We had dinner last night, and then they got on the road headed home, and we came home to our boring, quiet house. Later, I have a hair appointment. Can you stand the excitement?

* * * Nance called me the cat whisperer, but in actuality, Rick went in that kitten room, and kittens were coming from all over to sniff at him and play with him. It was seriously cute – but no pictures for you! * * * “And when I go to Maine, I like to go shopping for cards, and blah blah blah blah.” Fascinating! (flickr) How will Miz Poo survive without Nance around to spoil her rotten, I ask you? (flickr) * * * Previously 2006: And since I’ll be dead long before then from (1) PSC, (2) Weight Loss Surgery (3) Heart Murmur or (4) Throat Chewed Open By Crazy Wild Cats, I’m not going to worry too much about it. 2005: And I like Nicole Kidman and I loathe Sean Penn and didn’t want to see him rubbing his liver lips all over her. 2004: No entry. 2003: Poor Stanley. All he wants to do it play, and none of the big cats will play with him. 2002: That’s a lot of poop to scoop. 2001: “I don’t like it,” he said haughtily. “It’s not even REAL lemon juice. It’s citric acid!” 2000: Now I just have to decide what to spend it on. 1999: When I got to the top of the stairs I found Tubby huddled there soaking wet, and Mr. Fancypants circling him in a hostile manner. ]]>

(flickr) Fred also made a batch of vanilla ice cream, and he and Rick had big pieces of birthday cake and Nance and I had small pieces, and it was FABULOUS. Rick, playing with my little camera, caught me doing the “Who ready for the snackin’?!” song. (flickr) By 7:00, Fred could barely contain himself, and he made everyone come into the living room and sit down so we could start playing Catch Phrase. We played for hours, and by the time we were done I could barely keep my eyes open, and I think it was actually after 11:00 before we finally went to bed. I slept like a rock until about 5:30, when the cats ran through the house with their asses on fire. All I could hear was ::thumpthumpTHUMP:: ::smack:: ::hiss:: ::thumpthumpTHUMP:: I managed to snooze on and off until after 7, and when I got up, everyone else was up. Nance and I sat and shot the shit for hours while Fred and Rick went off to work on Project: Thwart Mister “Douchebag” Boogers. Late morning, Fred came in and suggested we have a big breakfast, and he and Rick went off to get bacon, then Nance and I made pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs. Fred had already made Nance try some of his habanero jam and she liked it so much that I told her she was taking some of it home with her (along with some of his banana/ strawberry/ kiwi (non-habanero) jam, and I think I told her she was taking some pickles, too, whether she wants to or not). I should take a moment here, also, to mention that Nance has become oddly obsessed with our chickens, and I think I’d better check her car when they leave, just in case she decides to steal one of the buffs. She and Rick both agreed that the eggs are really good, too – not “too eggy” at all! I don’t remember what we did the rest of yesterday morning – I think we sat around on our respective computers (warning: dork convention!) and did some surfing, then Nance went off to take a nap, and at some point Fred and Rick were taking naps on the couches in the living room while I read magazines. It was a very relaxing Sunday afternoon, for sure – I don’t think Fred’s had that much downtime on a Sunday in many months. We had BBQ for dinner – you can’t come visit the south and not eat BBQ! – and then we headed home for more cake. Last night, we played CatchPhrase, and for a while it was Nance and Rick against Fred and I, then Nance and I against Fred and Rick, and then Rick and I teamed up, and we came to the very sad realization that Rick and I are the weakest links, because Fred and Nance kicked our ASSES all to hell and back, goddamnit. I got mine back, though, when we pulled out the Trivial Pursuit Totally ’80s, and I totally kicked ass. By the time the game was over (Fred and I won, wahoo), we were all more than ready for bed, so Fred and I spent a few minutes with the foster kittens, then went off to bed. Again, this morning I slept until about 5:30, then the cats started in with their damn racing through the house and I got up for a few minutes, then went back to bed and dozed on and off ’til 7:00. It being Monday morning, I had to do my thing at the pet store, and Nance offered to come with me. There were quite a few kittens there (I can’t believe it, but Billy Bumbler, Jake, and Eddie Dean have STILL not been adopted! Also, Felicia, Elle, Punki, and Skittles haven’t been adopted, either (but Dulcinea has!)). Nance kind of fell in love with a little female Tommy lookalike. (flickr) (flickr) Nance has also fallen in love with the foster kittens upstairs – Keith is just a little hellion, and all Chemda does is walk around purring so loud her little body shakes. I think Nance could do without Brolo chewing on her feet, though. After we left the pet store, we stopped at Publix for Wickles pickles* (I got Nance hooked on them), and another grocery store for Big Bob Gibson Bar-B-Q sauce, then we met up with Rick and Fred at Cracker Barrel for breakfast. After, Fred and Rick went off for another round of Project: Thwart Mister “Douchebag” Boogers and Nance and I went off to WalMart. I don’t know what we’ll be doing the rest of the day – Fred and Rick are going to watch some big loud BOY movie, and I’m sure there’ll be plenty of game-playing this evening. The only bad thing about Nance and Rick’s visit is that our cats just can’t stand them at all. At ALL. No, really. Sugarbutt, filled with anguish and hatred. (flickr) Mister Boogers cannot stand Rick. At ALL. Obviously. (flickr) Miz Poo, the love slut, has attached herself to Nance for the duration. (flickr) *I’ve looked high and low for a Wickles recipe so I could make my own, but having no luck. If anyone runs across a recipe, pass it this way, would you? These pickles are THE SHIT.

* * * By the way, Nance can’t get her webcam to work, so there probably won’t be a video podcast. Or maybe she’ll figure it out and there will be – who knows? Stay tuned! * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: Pretty beach pictures! 2003: I’m afraid Miz Poo’s reign as Queen Shit may be coming to a close. 2002: Elvis sneer, zits, weird wiry hair. What next, I ask you? 2001: Cheater entry. 2000: No entry. 1999: Fascinating, isn’t it?!]]>

Nance is on her way here to Alabama AS I TYPE, and one of the things we’re going to do is a video podcast, and since the last time we did a podcast, we spent several minutes READING FROM A MAGAZINE to come up with topics because we’re just that lame, I’m looking to you, you fabulous people, to give us things to talk about. Suggest a topic, ask a question, make a comment you’d like our reaction to, anything goes! Either email me at mizrobyn (at) gmail [dot] com with “VidPodcast” in the subject, or post a comment, and I’ll print them all out, and when the video podcast has gotten to the “Hey, put Miz Poo in front of the camera! Smile at the camera, Miz Poo!” stage, we’ll break out your questions/ comments/ topic suggestions!

* * * It has been three days since I took Mister Boogers’ collar off, and do you think he’s jumped the fence? He has NOT. Not even once. I don’t even want to know what the fuck is up with THAT. * * * The comment-answering extravaganza begins…. NOW! Robyn, why do you use so goddamn many exclamation points?! It makes my eyes hurt. (Okay, I might have made that one up myself, brought about by the fact that I! Use! A goddamn lot! Of exclamation points!) Dear reader, I use exclamation points because I am a very exclamatory person – at least I like to think I am! – and to get the point across that I’m very emphatic in the point that I’m making, I need to use that exclamation point! I cannot help it! Sometimes I go back and edit my entries, and I take the exclamation points out! But sometimes I write the stupid entry, and I just post the goddamn thing and don’t look back! Also, if you’ve ever gotten an email from me, probably every third sentence! Ends in an exclamation point! It’s like people who use LOL for no apparent reason! I suspect they cannot help themselves, either! LOL! * * * My boyfriend and father of my fetus is insisting that I get rid of 4 of my six cats before the baby is born. He thinks cats are unhealthy for infants. Now, I will admit to being a very poor housekeeper, so there is definitely hair everywhere, and sometimes the odor of poo, and sometimes there are out-of-the-box accidents due either to illness or the boxes being dirty. So, do you think I can convince someone who thinks it would be okay to just put the cats out (will NEVER happen) that 1) it is not unhealthy to have an infant around cats per se (I know I need to be more vigilant with cleaning) and 2) I do not love the cats more than the fetus (that’s what he thinks). He just has a totally different attitude about pets and responsibility towards them. I am okay with adopting out two of the cats as they were originally fosters, but I have had trouble placing them, but the other four cats are MY cats. You know, I don’t know if you’re going to be able to convince him that the cats won’t make the baby sick or steal its breath while it’s sleeping. Will promising to clean more often convince him that it’s safe to keep the cats? Is that a promise you can keep, with having to deal with a newborn at the same time? Does he just have a vague “They’ll make the baby sick!” attitude, or is there a specific fear (ie, “The cats will go outside the litter box, the baby will get into it, and it’ll make him/ her sick!”)? Because, I mean, yeah – cats are nasty and kids will get into stuff they shouldn’t, but as far as I know (correct me if I’m wrong, readers, please) having cats in the house won’t necessarily make the baby sick unless the baby’s born with strong allergies to cats. I know I’m not being much help, here – what about you, readers? Advice, suggestions? Reader Liz offered: Sorry, Robyn, if this is out of line, but this is for Julie H.: Julie we’ve always had a cat and a dog, even when I was pregnant and when the kids were babies and up to today (4 cats, including the one I’ve had since 1992….longer than the husband and kids ;)and one dog). We’ve always kept the litter boxes in our attatched garage and the cat/s use a cat door to access it; this really helps control the stank, if you’ve let the box go too long. If you can do something like this it might be better for you, because pregnant women are at risk from Toxoplasmosis from an INFECTED cats feces, so the further away from living areas might make your boyfriend feel better. He also needs to be the one changing the boxes, at least for the pregnancy (you can usually play this out for the pregnancy and at least a year after!). My kids are now 8 and 10 and have not been “sicker” because of the animals, just have had the typical childhood illness, nothing pet related and always respected the cat/s and don’t tease them, etc. and we’ve always let the cat/s and dog be around the babies, within reason, and they now have their “own” cats to lurve. Once the baby arrives, he’ll know you love it more than your fur kids!! Good Luck to you!! I hope this helps and sorry about the hijack Robyn. * * * it’s not a chicken hawk, right??? not that there is a big difference as I suspect a regular hawk wouldn’t think twice about flying away with a chicken either. Glad you are armed with your… …camera just in case! The hawks we’re seeing around here are Coopers Hawks, also known as Chicken Hawks, but according to Wikipedia: The term Chicken Hawk, however, is inappropriate. Although Cooper’s and Sharp-shinned Hawks may attack other birds, chickens do not make up a significant part of their diet. This hawk sat on the fence and looked down at the chickens, but the sense I got was that s/he was more curious than threatening. And, hey – if I had to, I could probably throw the camera at the hawk and stop it before it got a chicken! * * * Kid Nation spoilers in this section! It seems I remember you saying you watch Kid Nation? If so do you still like it, and were you like me tearing up when Cody left? I was also slightly amused and bewildered by the fact that he is in love at the tender age of 9. Did you find that to be unreal? We watched it last night, and I have to take a moment to say that MY GOD IN HEAVEN I CANNOT STAND TAYLOR AND I HOPE HER PARENTS ARE WATCHING THAT SHOW AND COMPLETELY MORTIFIED BY HER BEHAVIOR. Though like Fred said, “I don’t think she got “Beauty queens don’t have to do dishes!” out of thin air. She heard it SOMEWHERE.” I didn’t actually tear up when Cody left, but I definitely felt bad for him – I think I’ve said it before, but I really think the younger kids are way too young to be on that show. I’m really amazed that so many of them have stuck it out this long. The young love thing – I don’t know, I don’t see why 9 year-olds can’t feel Real Lurve for their girlfriends (aside: who the hell has a GIRLFRIEND at the age of 9? What the hell?!). I think probably a big part of it is that she’s part of his home life, and he was so homesick that his Deep Feelings of Lurve were made all that much deeper from missing home. * * * Two things- my kitty had a distemper and rabies shot Tuesday. Vet said he may run a fever, but what about him being so lethargic? And if so for how long? I’d say give it four days – if the cat’s still lethargic at that point, give your vet a call. Also your super sleuth ways put you back in touch with Bonnie, how about Athena? I know she quit posting abruptly last year and said she may return at sometime, is she back anywhere? Her site was how I found yours. No, Athena’s still not blogging anywhere as far as I know. If she starts up again, I’ll definitely post a link to her. * * * Would you be willing to post your recipe for jalapeno jelly? My neighbor just gave me a bag of jalapenos out of her garden and you got my mouth all hungry for some jelly! That recipe is here – and though it doesn’t say it on that page, I got it from Cooks.com. Also, since I’ve never eaten it, is it sweet? What do you put it on? It’s sweet, and not hot at ALL. I like to eat it on Ritz crackers, but several people have told me that you can put a block of cream cheese on a plate, pour jalapeno jelly over the cream cheese, and then scoop up a little of the cream cheese with a little of the jalapeno jelly with a cracker. I haven’t tried that yet, but I’m sure I will in the future! * * * Ever see yourself setting up a farm business? I mean, in a few years, just a little stand with the eggs and some produce and canned things or something. Just seems like the natural progression of things, though I doubt you’d be thrilled about the extra farmy work… We talk about setting up a stand to sell eggs and produce and canned things, but I don’t know that we’re actually going to do it. I don’t know that our road gets enough non-local traffic to make it worth the effort. But never say never – and you never know! * * * Did you mention lately if Jack Frost ever got re-adopted? He got re-adopted, but didn’t mesh well with the family who adopted him, so he got returned. The thing with Jack Frost is that he’s a sweet boy, but he needs a lot of time to get acclimated to his surroundings, and while he’s adapting, he can be a little bitchy, to say the least. I have faith that the right family will come along and adopt him, though! * * * My favorite entries concerned the time Fred tried to “poison” you! Just for you, I made that entry public again. Is it wrong that I giggled when I re-read it? * * * So Sugar and Tommy are TWO now? wow. The time, it does fly. I know, hard to believe, isn’t it? Look how little they used to be! * * * Have you ever noticed how chickens saunter across the yard and in a small pause…squirt the poo…then just keep doing their ‘walk like the egyptians’ walk as if nothing even happened? BTW, your ladies are gorgeous. They look so fluffy and soft. It drives me CRAZY when a chicken is standing next to me watching me hang out clothes or whatever, and they just kind of wiggle their tailfeathers, shoot out a pile of poo and walk away like they don’t know who the hell did THAT. Damn chickens. Good thing for them they’re entertaining! * * * So surprised that the cats never think of getting a hold of one of those chickens. I think the chickens are almost bigger than the cats at this point. The chickens make the cats nervous, but I think the cats might just think that the chickens are another kind of cat. Mister Boogers meowed bitchily at Frick the other day when Frick got too close to him, then when Frick ruffled his feathers, Mister Boogers ran off. I prefer to have the cats scared of the chickens, personally. * * * When you said you wanted chicken yesterday to smoke — I honestly thought “well, they’ve got a few in the backyard there!” — is that wrong? Heh – no, I thought the very same thing! One day I’m sure we’ll kill a chicken and eat it, but I have a strong feeling that it won’t be from this current batch of chickens, since they’ve become like pets to us. * * * Please tell me you won’t kill and eat Frick. I can promise that if the time comes when Frick needs to be killed, it won’t be me who does it. But like I said, they’ve become so much like pets that I don’t see us eating any of them. * * * Robyn, where did you find your purple sheets? I’ve been looking for purple sheets for a long damn time and yours are the first I’ve seen that I like! I got them on Amazon, they’re Pinzon 300-Thread-Count 100% Cotton Percale in “plum”. The darker pillowcases are Regal 300TC Standard Lavender 100% Cotton Pillowcases. I prefer the feel of the Pinzon pillowcases to the Regal (the Regal are very, very soft and I prefer a crisp, clean feel to my sheets), but couldn’t get extra Pinzon pillowcases, which is why you might notice that the pillows with the Regal pillowcases are always on the bottom. * * * Robyn! In regard to hot spicy foods and coffee; truer words have never been spoken! I absolutely hate hot peppers and coffee. My husband loves both and my mother loves coffee. They both keep trying to get me to drink coffee, I’m 42 years old, I think my tastes are pretty much solidified! Curiously however, I do like horseradish sauce, I like the taste and it only burns briefly and washes away when you drink. I am not averse to alcoholic beverages either; I like some wine or a beer now and then. But coffee? Gah!! I should add that in spite of my dislike for hot stuff, I really like horseradish. Preferably on raw oysters, in Florida. Occasionally when I have boiled shrimp, I like to make a cocktail sauce out of ketchup and horseradish, and I think it’s the bee’s knees. * * * Do vegetables taste bitter and acidic to you? They all do to me, except corn, green beans, green peas, potato, and oddly enough, lima beans – which apparently everyone in the world but me loathes. I could LIVE on lima beans. Yummmm. I think you actually named most of the vegetables we eat on a regular basis, except for maybe carrots. Oh, and salad – though we haven’t had salad in a long while. And cabbage! But anyway, except for turnip and collard greens, vegetables don’t taste bitter and acidic to me at all. Maybe you’ve got weird taste buds. 🙂 * * * Odd Thomas is one of my favorite books!! What did you think of it? I really, really liked it. Actually, I originally read it years ago, but we got Forever Odd and Brother Odd recently, and since I couldn’t remember anything at all about Odd Thomas, I wanted to reread it. I’d be reading it, and have a vague remembrance of what happened, but I totally didn’t remember the very end with the… you know. I don’t want to ruin it for anyone who hasn’t read it yet, but the end surprised me again. I’m looking forward to reading Forever Odd and Brother Odd in the next little while! * * * I’m in Australia, but pretty sure you would get these over there, I’ve seen some great cat runs around, they connect to an opening from your house, and the cats can go in and out as they please, but cant leave the enclosed run, i saw one that went nearly all the way around a house and had sections that went upwards so the cats could climb, it was impressive. Have you ever considered one ? It sounds like you’re talking about something like this. It’s certainly on our radar, but we’re trying to come up with a solution that won’t cost us much. If we can’t get Mister Boogers to stop hopping the fence (if he starts again, that is!), that’s certainly one of the things we’ll look into! * * * Robyn, Last night we had a huge storm with thunder and lightning. At one point the fire alarm in our apartment building went off (at 2:30am) prompting us to think we’d been hit by lightning. We had to wrangle 4 freaked out cats into 3 carriers and get them to the safety of our garage just in case. (This in addition to getting dressed and grabbing my camera and purse.) My question for next week is, in the event of a fire at crooked acres will you wrangle all 7 cats into carriers and get them to a safer location or will you just open the door and let what will be be? You know how you read stories about stupid people who died in a fire trying to save their pets? I have a feeling that would be me. I can’t imagine just opening the doors and letting the cats fend for themselves, since their immediate instinct when scared is to hide (Sugarbutt always runs upstairs and climbs under the comforter on Fred’s bed when the doorbell rings). And once again, I’m recalling that we don’t have enough carriers for the number of cats that we have. I need to get at least a couple more. Possibly my self-preservation instinct would stop me from running into a burning house to rescue the cats, but I can’t guarantee it! * * * When you go to the shelter and let all the cats out to play, how do you remember which one(s) go back into the proper cage? It’s unusual that there are two cats who look so much alike that I’d mix them up. Usually if there are, say, two black cats, one will be smaller, or have a patch of white on it, or something to distinguish it. I always look at the tag on the cage and then the cat, and make a mental note about said white patch, or whatever. Sometimes I actually write down that So-and-So has a white patch, or more spots on his belly, or whatever. And if it came right down to it, all the cats have id chips, and if I couldn’t tell two of them apart, I could get out of the id chip reader, read the chip, and look on their paperwork to see which is which. I’ve never had to do that, but I could if I needed to. * * * do you happen to know the url of the apology site? * * * I actually don’t know what the apology site is, but Google offered up Joe Apology, The Apology Project, and Perfect Apology. Is it one of those, perhaps? Edited to add: Post Secret! * * * I have never ever had a cat. Neither has my husband. We’ve both been dog people all our lives. However, I have been thinking about getting a cat for awhile now, and my daughter is wild to do it. What advice do you have for someone who’s never had a kitty before? Should I get one, or would two be better so they have company? Any equipment I need besides feeding stuff and a litter box? I breathlessly await your wisdom. It really depends on the cat, but it’s been my experience that two cats are best, because they can entertain each other, tire each other out, and keep each other company when no one else is home. One cat is fun, but two cats is PURE entertainment, especially when they get along well – they’ll play-fight and occasionally snuggle up to each other. If you can find two cats who are already friends, that’s always a good way to go; if you can’t find two that are friends, it helps if they’re around the same age, I think. All you really need for cats is a litter box, litter scoop, food, and water. Oh, and a few toys – but even if cats don’t have a single cat toy to their name, they’ll find something to play with! Advice: cats can be trained, but you’ve kind of got to pick your battles and you’ve got to be consistent. I use a can of compressed air to “encourage” cats to stop whatever it is they’re doing – usually fighting on my head in the middle of the night – but if you stop them from doing something sometimes, but let them do it other times, you’re never going to get them to stop. Kind of like with kids, consistency is the key. Adjusting to the new members of the family will take time, and there’ll be adjusting on your part as well as theirs. If you’re not used to small animals crawling into bed with you, you might want to start keeping your bedroom doors closed – the cats won’t necessarily like it, but if you do it from the beginning, it’ll be less of an issue than letting them sleep with you and then deciding they can’t. On the other hand, I think most people can adjust to cats sleeping with them – I rarely notice when a cat jumps up on the bed unless they’re picking fights with each other, and then a blast from the can of compressed air will stop them pretty quickly. I don’t have an issue getting back to sleep, either, but Fred does, so he sleeps with his door closed, and I sleep with mine open. Look at me, rambling on and on. If anyone else has advice, feel free to share in the comments! * * * Following on from Fred’s recent post, just wondering if you’ve personally witnessed any strange, spooky goings-on in/around your house? Those sorts of stories fascinate me. What are your thoughts? I haven’t witnessed any strange, spooky goings-on around the house at all. I don’t believe in ghosts – but if one appeared, I’d think it was the coolest thing on earth. And of course I’d immediately write about it! * * * how do you trim (or cause to be trimmed) the claws of an almost-wild formerly-feral kitty? Noam Katsky is a real sweetie, but no one other than his immediate cat and human families will ever know that. We actually got him in a crate MORE THAN A YEAR AGO but he popped the door and ran away for a day and a half. He’s not an outdoor cat and, because we’re wimps, we haven’t tried since. Now he almost trips as he walks across the carpet, so we have to either do it ourselves or take him to a groomer/vet. Do they drug him? Do they give up? HELP! Our cat family awaits your advice (Noam, Roada, and Spot Katsky…Spot was Hercule Pawrot Katsky, but he’s too little and cute for such a stuffy name). I would suspect that a vet would be willing to at least give you something to calm Noam down so you can trim his claws – it can’t hurt to at least call and ask, and if what they give you won’t put him in enough of a daze so you can get the job done, they might be willing to put him under briefly to get the job done. To be honest, I’m not sure what to advise – but I KNOW someone out there has some kind of advice. Readers? (By the way, great cat names!) * * * A few days ago, Sugarbutt was running around with his ass afire, jumping and running like a fool. I got the camera set on “movie” mode and pointed it at him, and caught him pulling off a Matrix move. The movie would have been better except that I was a little too fast on the trigger and ended the movie before I should have, damnit. * * * Foster kittens are doing well. I go into that room and they crowd around my feet, I sit down, and they take turns piling into my lap. Keith might be a hellion, but he’s also the biggest baby and will just lay in my lap and let me pet him for a long, long time. Khalili has turned out to be a big biter – really the only one of the bunch – and I have to keep an eye on her, or she’ll come over and chomp down on my toes. Chemda is a sweetie, but doesn’t really care to be picked up, or even to sit in my lap, but she’ll sashay back and forth and demand to be petted. Brolo is a big lover and also enjoys fighting with the other kittens. Patrice has calmed down and there’s very little hissing in the kitten room these days, unless someone gets scared. I got their story from the shelter manager: they all came from a farm in Tennessee – there were several moms left at the farm, and most of the other kittens (I’m not sure how many) either died or were killed by other animals. These were the lucky ones. The foster mom ended up keeping the moms & SAAW had them spayed. Keith and Brolo are from the same litter, and Patrice, Khalili and Chemda are all “only children.” Brolo and Keith had a sister that the foster mom kept. Check her out: I told the manager that it’s probably a good thing the foster mom kept the kitten, given Fred’s weakness for blue-eyed girls! Brolo and Khalili cuddle. Brolo up close. It would appear that I haz a flavor. Pretty Chemda. “That TICKLES!” ******************************************* “::grumblegrumblegrumble:: stupid CHICKENS, stupid chicken POOP, always CHICKENS pooping all over the place, stupid! ::grumblegrumble::” The watchcats at work. * * * Previously 2006: “Dude, that’s gross,” I said to Spot, who didn’t care and gave me a nasty look as I picked it up and threw it away. 2005: I hate those stupid tests. I always think I’m going to find out some deep, hidden truth about myself, and then I get “Oh! You should be an artist! You’re the artistic type!” Bah. 2004: No entry. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: TV talk. 2000: I’m about the laziest chick in the world, I think. 1999: Yeah. I’m a bitch.]]>

she’s here now.

* * * You guys are so good for my ego. Did I mention thank you for reading? Because, seriously. Thank you for reading. If I had no readers at all, I don’t doubt I’d still be here five days a week writing entries, but the fact that y’all are out there reading just adds a little extra something to the experience! So, thank you for reading. Seriously! * * * Yesterday morning I had a hard time getting going – it’s gotten cooler these last few days*, and what with it being so dark in the morning when Fred leaves for work, I have a really hard time getting up and staying up. But I needed to dust and vacuum because I had Very Important Visitors coming later in the day and I did not want them going home and telling the internet that I live in a sty of piggy slothful dustiness with dust bunnies as big as the cats roaming through the house, so I finally hauled my butt out of bed and got the dusting and vacuuming out of the way, then I lay in bed for half an hour and read before going on to do laundry and then hang it out to dry. (On the laundry: I really should have done it Monday, but Fred was using the smoker, and I didn’t want our clothes to smell like smoked meat, so I didn’t do laundry, and then Tuesday I didn’t dare to do laundry because it was supposed to rain (though of COURSE it didn’t), so Wednesday was crunch day, since Fred was down to his last work shirt. And there was so much laundry it almost didn’t all fit on the clothes line.) I was in the kitchen loading the dishwasher when I heard Frick standing on the back steps and making a kind of alarmed cackling sound. Except for a speckled chicken, the rest of the chickens were still in the chicken yard (Frick and the speckle had flown over the fence into the back yard. Frick usually does that every morning and sometimes Flappy does as well; this was the first time I’d seen a speckle do it.). Frick was standing on the back steps staring toward the chicken yard, and as I looked over to see what he was looking at, I saw Tommy and Mister Boogers standing on the cement pad looking kind of agitated. The reason for their agitation: (flickr) Standing on the gate next to the chicken yard, a hawk. In the chicken yard, not a chicken to be seen (they were hiding under the chicken coop). I was so concerned for their safety that I ran and got the camera. Ahem. (flickr) The hawk seemed not at all worried about me as I walked toward him, snapping picture after picture. When I got close enough, he flew off to the gate on the other side of the chicken yard. (flickr) (flickr) And he stood there until I was within ten feet of him, whereupon he flew off and landed in a nearby tree. (flickr) I walked toward him again, and he finally decided I wasn’t going to leave him the hell alone, so he took off for greener pastures. We’ve had an issue over the last week with a hawk (I don’t know if it’s always the same one, or a different one every time – they always seem fairly small, so I’ve been assuming it’s a young hawk) spending a lot of time hovering over our back yard, eyeballing the chickens, and flying low over the back yard. They’ve never – so far as I know – attacked, but almost every day I’ve heard the chickens sound the alarm and run for the nearest safe place, then seen a hawk fly low over the back yard. We’d decided to leave the chickens in the chicken yard until Fred gets home, but the last couple of days I’ve actually forgotten that we were doing that, and let them into the back yard around noon. I guess we’ll see what happens! *Seriously! It was 83 yesterday! I practically had to put on my boots and winter coat! * * * So, the Very Important Visitors? Kathy and her DreamGuy! They had to be in the area, so she asked if they could stop by to visit, and of COURSE I was thrilled to finally meet her. (Okay, I was nervous too, because I’m just that kind of dork.) She is, you should know, the MOST ADORABLE woman. She’s tiny, and I thought about putting her in my pocket and carrying her around, but then I thought that might be weird, so I refrained. She is a smart and wily woman, so she brought me stuff, because she totally knows that my affections can be bought. An Amish egg basket! How perfect is that for me, I ask you? Also, some cool Alabama stuff (Fred’s an Alabama fan, of course, since he went to UAH) and some protein bars, and the very litter mats she’d mentioned in my comments the day before (to the person who asked, they’re just made out of plastic; she says they work like a dream!). I unloaded some habanero jam on them (and might have encouraged Kathy to wait a few days and then email Fred to tell him that the jam was good, but not hot enough, ha!) and some eggs (aigs!), and I made her admire the foster kittens, and I think she even got some Mister Boogers het on her. They weren’t able to stay long because she had an appointment, but it was so neat to put a face and voice to the name (well, obviously I’ve seen pictures of her, but they don’t nearly do justice to her tiny cute self), and she even offered me their lunch leftovers for my own lunch, which I totally took so I wouldn’t have to poke around the kitchen and wonder what to have for lunch. (Amish meatloaf, in case you were wondering, is REALLY damn good!). Kathy, I’m serious. Any time you guys want to stop by and admire my Girlz and my kittens, you are more than welcome! * * * The funny thing is that while we were standing in the driveway saying goodbye, someone going by slowed down and yelled out to ask if we sold eggs. I told her we didn’t have any extras at the moment, and she asked if she could give me her number. I said goodbye to Kathy and DreamGuy and went inside, wrote down Fred’s name and cell phone number, and took it out to her. I told her we might have a dozen in a few more days, and she said when we had some, to give her a call, because she’d rather buy them from us than from the store. We’re talking about getting more chickens, so we can sell eggs on a regular basis. We’d never get rich off selling eggs – at least not with the small number of chickens we’re talking about getting – but it would be nice to be able to provide free range eggs to people who are interested. * * * (flickr) Nothing Our Toms likes more than writhing around on Fred’s bed. (flickr) * * * Previously 2006: But there’s no horn on the lawnmower! 2005: Did you feel the earth shake too? 2004: No entry. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: My breasts are strawberry scented. 1999: I was ambitious today.]]>

* * * Yesterday morning I let the cats out into the back yard, and I had to go chasing after Mister Boogers not once, but twice. Finally, I brought him inside and took off his collar and shut the door. Tommy and Sugarbutt were still outside, and when I heard Sugarbutt banging at the cat door, I went and let him in. Like a shot, Mister Boogers went flying by me, out the cat door, and into the yard. He was still collarless, and I thought about chasing him down, but finally I said “You know what, you fucking DOUCHEBAG, run away! See if I care! Asshole!” He wandered around the back yard for a little while, then came inside and took a nap. Maybe it’s not that he wants to go out of the back yard. Maybe it’s that he wants to be able to leave the back yard if he wants. Oh, who the fuck knows? Fred’s still got plans to make the back yard like Fort Knox, we’ll see how that goes.

* * * Have I mentioned that egg production has dropped off since the days have gotten so much shorter? Apparently egg production is tied to the amount of light a chicken sees in the course of a day. You can increase it by putting a light in their coop, but since chickens are born with the ability to lay a certain number of eggs (or so I’m told), we’re going to let things take a natural course and see how it goes. I think Frick is a little in love with me. He flies out of the chicken yard, usually around mid-morning, and if I step out into the back yard, he runs over next to me, looking up at me hopefully, and if I walk across the yard, he heels better than any dog I’ve seen. I know he’s really just hoping for food, but even when it’s apparent that there’s no food for him, he stays right next to me. Yesterday I was standing on the back steps taking pictures, and he stood on the step next to me the entire time I was out there, just looking up at me. When I came back into the house, he stood on the top step, looking through the cat door, for several minutes before he hopped down and went off across the yard. (flickr) I just know that one of these days he’s going to figure out the damn cat door, and I’m going to have to kill him because I WILL NOT have a chicken shitting in my house. * * * The new fosters are doing well. They’re all friendly, at least to me, if not each other. They’re from four different litters and Patrice is the only really hissy one – she likes to stand in the doorway between the room and the closet (where the litter boxes are) and hiss at the other kittens when they go by. So far the litter box situation is looking good – no diarrhea, which is nice, considering what we went through with the Ka-Tet. Brolo REALLY likes that toy. Patrice really, really likes me. Keith is the most playful of the bunch, and very good at entertaining himself. Brolo goes for the sniff. “Hellew.” (Brolo) Pretty Chemda. Patrice is keeping an EYE on you. Such pretty markings, our Brolo. ******************************************** Tommy and Sugarbutt, feeling their oats: the pictorial. * * * Previously 2006: As of today, I’ve been journaling for seven years. 2005: What I’m not going to miss is the rotten-egg gas Sugarbutt’s been suffering from lately. 2004: Off to Myrtle Beach. 2003: Instead, we should probably go for “Shizzle M. Andersizzle.” 2002: Why I journal. 2001: No entry. 2000: Okay, enough of that mushy crap. 1999: So. Welcome to my journal.]]>

* * * Further proof, in case you needed it, that I’m a dumbass. Sunday, Fred and I went to Lowe’s, and we bought a smoker, because he’s been talking about how good a smoked chicken would be, plus he’s been wanting to try his hand at smoking jalapenos and bell peppers. Then we stopped at the grocery store and picked up a couple of chickens and a roast. Yesterday, when I was at the pet store and doing some grocery shopping, he began the smoking process. In the morning, he smoked the chicken and the roast, and once those were done, cooled, and put in the fridge, he smoked a bunch of jalapenos and green bell peppers. I had a little bit of the chicken, and it was just as good as it smelled (ie, fabulous), and so we decided to have the chicken for dinner. Since we had fairly fresh eggplant and okra in the fridge, I decided to oven fry them, and while that stuff was cooking in the oven, Fred started talking about his smoked jalapenos. “They’re really good!” he enthused. “I ate a couple, and they have a smoky pepper flavor, but they’re not hot in the slightest. I think I’m going to experiment with them.” While he mused in silence about the smoked jalapeno experiments he might perform in the future, I went completely Dumbass, and I thought to myself that a smoked pepper sounded like it would be REALLY good. (And lest you forget, I don’t like hot things, and I also don’t like bell peppers, which are not hot in the slightest to me. Why I thought a smoked pepper would be appealing, I do not know.) So I went into the laundry room and pulled the container of smoked jalapenos from the fridge, and I popped one in my mouth. And my mouth burst into flames. Instead of doing what someone with half a brain might do and spit the goddamn thing out, I finished chewing it and then swallowed. My mouth burned. My tongue burned. And Fred said “Oh, you’re not EVEN going to tell me that that’s hot!” For the next ten minutes, I did all I could to stop the flames that were burning my mouth to a crisp – drank water, sucked on an ice cube, ate yogurt. I know the best way to stop the pain is to drink milk, but I don’t like the taste of milk, so I didn’t. (Later, it occurred to me that it wasn’t like I was going to be able to TASTE the milk through the taste of burning flesh, but I didn’t think of that at the time.) Eventually, the pain went away and I ate dinner and it was good, but I’ve gotta wonder – WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING?! Don’t like jalapenos, don’t like peppers, and yet I thought popping an entire jalapeno in my mouth was a good idea? Hopefully I’ll remember the pain next time I’m tempted to do such a dumbass thing, but I’m not counting on it. ********************************* So. New kittens! I spent the weekend Fall cleaning and getting stuff moved out of the kitten room closet because I’ve decided to use the closet to put the litter boxes in, so we can hang out in the kitten room itself without worry about sitting in litter. Yesterday afternoon I went and picked up the new bunch of fosters, freshly tested and neutered/ spayed. They’re about three months old, and they were a little nervous at first, but warmed up very quickly. I named them after the people of my favorite podcast, Keith and the Girl. Chemda. Keith, doing standup while Chemda gauges audience reaction. Khalili. Patrice. Brolo. I would have named one Spooky, but we didn’t have enough boys, so I’ll save that for a future litter. ********************************* And… I am supposed to sleep where, exactly? Brudderly love. Doesn’t it just melt your heart?

* * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: No entry. 2003: I’ve SEEN Deliverance, and I have no desire to be forced to squeal like a pig. 2002: Well, duh. 2001: No entry. 2000: We like our fast food, we do.]]>

Odd Thomas, I was a little sad, so I went looking for a hug. Fred was in the kitchen making jam, so I walked in and demanded “Give me a hug!” He complied – he’s very obedient – and I demanded “Tighter!”, and so he tightened his grip just to the point of pain, and I thought I’d be funny, so I threw one leg around his waist and suspended all my weight from my arms, which were around his neck. He screamed in surprise and tightened his grip, staggering around the kitchen, and I screamed in response, then felt something pull in my back, and I put my leg down, and he let go of me, and we reeled around the kitchen, him grabbing his gimpy shoulder and I holding my pulled back muscle. “We are so fucking old and crippled,” he said, laughing. I had to go lay down and read some more, ’til my back stopped hurting.

* * * Saturday was a busy motherfucking day for me, and I didn’t do a single lick of canning. I got up and got going early – I think the cats did a Keystone Kops routine through the house a little before 7:00, waking me up – and by noon Fred and I had moved the spud’s bed out to the garage, moved the guest bed from the kitten room closet to the guest bedroom, set it up, moved furniture around until the guest bedroom looked decent, moved stuff from the kitten room closet to one of the guest bedroom closets, and just generally got the upstairs looking like it should have. I’ve only been talking about getting the guest bedroom set up since the week after the spud left, so that’s a mere three months from the first time I mentioned it, to the actual implementation of the plan. The guest bedroom looks good, though I still haven’t made the bed yet, since the cats will just get it all cat-haired up. The way the room is set up, there was no easy way to put the furniture, so we ended up putting most of it at an angle. Naturally, the cats helped. Tom squeezes his portly ass into the shelf of the bedside table. (flickr) The room – at least, part of it. (flickr) Shooting the rays of het. (flickr) “Look, lady. If I come help you move the mattress, who’s going to keep the shelf warm? NO ONE, that’s who. My work here is important. Find someone else to help you.” (flickr) Whither Tom-Tom goest, the Stank will follow. (flickr) I’ll take pictures of the entire room one of these days, promise! I know I still owe y’all a house tour, don’t worry – I haven’t forgotten. Did I mention that September 29th marked a year since we bought this house? I can’t believe it’s been an entire year, or that it’s been six months since I moved in. After we got the guest bedroom set up, I started doing laundry, and then I did something I’ve been putting off for ages – I went around and cleaned all the windows. I know I cleaned the inside of the windows as I cleaned each room, but I didn’t do the outside, so I did that. I also sprayed down the front porch and did some organizing, and then after lunch I cleaned the inside of all the windows, and did more laundry, cleaned the kitchen… and by the time I was done with all of that, it was almost dinnertime, and I still hadn’t taken a shower. So we ate dinner, I took a shower, and then spent the rest of the evening lounging around in my nightgown. I’d intended to get up Sunday morning and do more Fall cleaning, but after I spend an entire day cleaning I tend to have a hard time getting up and getting it done the next morning, so I kind of lounged in bed reading, kept an eye on Mister Boogers, Douchebag, did more laundry, picked up and organized, and advised Fred in his jam-making endeavors. Fred, if I haven’t mentioned it in the past, adores hot and spicy foods. He thinks there’s nothing better than eating something hot. Hot and sweet is, to his mind, even better. (This sounds kind of porny, doesn’t it? “I’ve got something hot and sweet you can eat!” Boom-chicka.) With this in mind, he decided that he wanted to make fruity habanero jam. Sunday, he made a batch of raspberry habanero jam, and then a batch of strawberry habanero jam. He tasted both, several times, and pronounced them very good. And then he got annoying. “Want some of this, Bessie?” he asked. And “Try some of this, Bessie!” Also, “You want some strawberry-habanero jam, you say?” And then “You know you want to try it!” The thing you goddamn heat-eating-loving people just do not seem to understand – or maybe it’s just FRED who doesn’t understand – is that I do not like to feel PAIN when I eat. When I eat something that is the slightest bit spicy-hot, it BURNS my goddamn mouth, and I DO NOT LIKE THAT and why the motherfucking fuck would I WILLINGLY eat something that causes me pain? WHY? Answer: I WOULD NOT. I do not like coffee, I don’t like bitter things, they taste fucking nasty to me, but EVERY goddamn time he discovers some tasty new coffee, I get the same “No really, Bessie, taste this! It’s not bitter at all, it’s SMOOTH, it’s so good, taste it!” And like an idiot, I taste it, and I HATE IT, because guess what? IT’S COFFEE. IT’S BITTER. IT’S GODDAMN NASTY. Not many things give me heartburn, but coffee DOES. Hey, I WANT to like coffee, you goddamn coffee drinkers make it sound so good, and the stuff smells awesome, but GODDAMN. I cannot stand the bitter taste of it, and just because YOU have ruined your taste buds and cannot taste the bitter doesn’t mean I cannot detect the nasty bitterness. It’s like alcohol – you can say “Oh, you need to try the so-and-such, you totally can’t taste the alcohol in it!”, but GUESS FUCKING WHAT? I can taste the alcohol in EVERYTHING that has alcohol in it, and I DON’T LIKE IT. Thus, I don’t drink it. How is that so hard to understand? I do not like dark chocolate. It’s BITTER. We have, I think, established that I don’t LIKE the taste of bitter things. I don’t give a flying leap if dark chocolate is GOOD for you. If I think it’s fucking nasty and it makes me gag, then guess what? IT’S NOT GOOD FOR ME. Don’t give me a hunk of dark chocolate and think I’m being childish if I DON’T LIKE IT. I like milk chocolate. Not everyone likes milk chocolate, and guess what? If I offer you a hunk of milk chocolate and you don’t like it, GUESS WHAT? I’m not going to try to force you to eat it and I’m not going to consider it a rejection of all that I hold dear. Because I don’t give a flying fuck if you EVER eat the milk chocolate, and in fact – I hope you DON’T eat the milk chocolate, because that’s more for ME. But GUESS WHAT? I have yet to meet a dark chocolate eater who refuses milk chocolate, because MILK CHOCOLATE IS NOT BITTER AND OFFENSIVE. (But really, you should try the Ghiardelli milk chocolate chips. They’re so SMOOTH tasting!) So I ate one teeny taste of the goddamn strawberry habanero shit, and it burned my mouth for half an hour afterward, and I got the disbelieving “Oh, it’s NOT that hot, your mouth DOES NOT BURN!” bullshit, and I will tell you what. When Fred is old and decrepit and I am responsible for his care, I am going to grow habaneros, and I will hobble in from the garden with an apron full of the goddamn things, and I will puree them in the blender, and I will brew a pot of habanero tea, and then I will pour it straight into his feeding tube, and as he screams and clutches at his gut, I will bellow at him (because he’ll be hard(er) of hearing (than he already is)) “OH, STOP IT! THAT’S NOT HOT! THAT’S NOT BLISTERING YOUR THROAT AND BURNING A HOLE IN YOUR STOMACH! JUST STOP THAT CATERWAULING, OLD FRED! IT’S SO SMOOOOOOOTH AND TASTY!” * * * Sugarbutt hides from those skeery chickens. (flickr) * * * Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: I’m just going to sit here and whine about being cold and thirsty, I suppose. Sounds like a plan! 2003: Just know that it was a little SKEERY. 2002: This is a mighty exciting entry, isn’t it? Could I be any more interesting? Should I do an entry about watching paint dry, or what? 2001: “Farm boy, fetch me some ice! Farm boy, fetch me a diet coke, chop-chop!” 2000: No entry.]]>

Give up and let those frickin’ cats run, Forrest, Run! They won’t go further than their own self-imposed territories and will alway come back in bad weather and for chow. They really never run away unless they totally hate you! and I must admit, I’ve been rooting for Mister “Douchebag” Boogers. I know that y’all are concerned about him getting himself hurt, but it seems he’s happiest roaming. I didn’t say anything back when it happened, but I was a little sad to hear the story that ended up with Boog rolling around in the dirt drooling because he was being zapped. I really couldn’t get it out of my head (and I mean it in a totally non-judgmental way — I own 4 cats myself and I can see how much you lurve and care for all of them). My 4th cat, Barnabas J. Barnkitten (of whom I’m DYING to share a pic — he’s a tuxedo cat & just the cutest, cuddliest boy you ever saw in your life), came to me as a stray — just showed up in our post pile one day. He’d be heartbroken if we didn’t allow him to roam and loves to go on walks out to the “back 40” with me and my dog, Lola — he also likes to mew pitifully at my sliding glass door at 3 in the morning so he can come snuuuggle with me on my piiiiillow. I’m not sure where I’m going with this — maybe just to ask you to consider letting the Boogs roam. I live on a busy road and none of my cats have ever been interested in it. The problems here are that Mister Boogers isn’t as tough as he likes to think he is, there are strange dogs who run across the property from time to time, and there are also coyotes in the area – and he doesn’t seem to understand the idea of keeping away from traffic. I’d absolutely hate to give up on keeping him in the yard only to have his stupid ass run out in traffic (we’re pretty close to the road here, and some cars go by really fast) or to have him venture into the back forty to be set upon by a coyote or six, or a stray dog. In the other house, we were unable to keep Fancypants contained, and he disappeared. (It’s been four years since Fancypants disappeared, by the way. Hard to believe – I still occasionally dream about him coming home!) I really want to do my best to keep him contained just to keep his stupid ass safe. OK, here’s my “real” Friday question, prefaced by some ass-kissing (sincere, but ass-kissing nonetheless): I really admire you guys for living your lives exactly the way you want to — you seem to not let anyone dissuade you from staying home, taking care of cats, etc. (end ass-kissing). Do you ever feel like you want to be doing something different? Are you ever dissatisfied with your life? You seem remarkably angst-free and I’m just wondering if we never see it, or if you really are this serene about your life. If the latter, I’m jealous! I have to say – and y’all might want to get out the barf bags, here – I really, really like my life. I like not working, I like being able to spend my day doing what I want to do, I like having time to can 63 million cans of green beans if I need to, and I like having the flexibility to drop everything and run to the pet store to cover for another volunteer if need be. I think Fred likes having me home, too – if he needs something, he just has to call and ask (which isn’t to say that I don’t act like a big baby and get pissy if he interrupts me, because I DO, I’m only human, y’know). Some people might get bored staying home, but I honestly can’t remember the last time I got bored; there’s always something to do; just sitting here right now, I can think of ten things that need to be done. Any angst I might feel is fairly temporary and usually hormone-driven. My only complaint is that I’m not a terribly organized person, and I can often end up wasting time that could be spent doing something more productive. There are about ten million things I’d like to have accomplished by now, six months after I moved into this house, that I haven’t even started. I am extremely lucky that Fred’s job pays well enough that I don’t have to work, and I’m completely aware of how lucky I am that he’s intelligent and accomplished and people are willing to pay him very well for what he does. Obviously, if circumstances changed and I needed to go back to work, I would and I wouldn’t bitch (much) about it, but yeah – I love my life!

* * * What is the difference between a torti and a calico? I thought they were the same thing. That’s a good question! As I understand it (and if I’m wrong, someone out there correct me, please), the difference is that with calicos, their colors are big blocks of color, whereas in tortis, the colors are intermingled. I also believe that a true torti doesn’t have white – if she has white on her, she’s considered torti-and-white. * * * Not really a question related to your (very entertaining) site, but just curious if you know where the heck Bonnie (Cheesey-goodness) is?? I can’t find her website ANYWHERE! Good question! I thought she moved to Same Ol’ Thang, but a quick look gives me nothin’. Bonnie, where the hell are you?!?! * * * Why can’t the other cats go outside and only Mister Boogers stay inside? ‘Cause I’m totally NOT spending my day standing at the door letting the cats in and out – and Mister Boogers is a quick and wily bastard, and he would totally shoot out the door before I could catch him. * * * My daughter moved back home for awhile and on Sunday is bringing her two female cats (both about 1 1/2 years old) to live with us. My cat (female also and same age) already lives here. What is the best way to introduce them? What has worked best for you? Should I have her keep her 2 cats in her room and bathroom upstairs with the doors closed or just let them free? Anyway, since you have so many cats I know you’ll have a better answer than any of those Cat Fancy magazines. Thanks. We’ve always just tossed cats together and let the fur fly, but I believe the conventional wisdom is to do it slowly – if you have room to keep the new cats closed off from the “old” cats, you can do that and let the cats sniff at each other under the doors for a week or so. Then, slowly introduce them with supervision – let them come face-to-face, sniff each other, maybe growl and hiss a little, then separate them. Do that for longer periods of time, culminating – in a day someone will be around all day – in letting all the cats roam through the house at will for the entire day. If that goes well, I’d just leave them out all the time – if it doesn’t, then I’d leave them out with supervision during the day, and then lock them up at night until things cool down. * * * Is anybody in Alabama doing anything about this? Any legal fights? Just wondering. Sherri Williams, owner of Pleasures (a line of adult stores in the Huntsville area) is fighting the law. It appears – according to this article – In what proved to be a crucial oversight, none of the legislators (including the bill’s sponsor, Tom Butler) read the bill before voting unanimously to pass it. When the portion banning sex toys was later brought to Butler’s attention, he sheepishly responded that he had nothing, per se, against them. There’s apparently no support for the law, and at this point it doesn’t look like anyone’s planning on upholding that particular law. * * * Expect the receipt of marketing materials from Adam & Eve soon. I expect that they will increase their marketing to a new “exclusive” market for their toys. Oddly enough, when I changed our mailing address on our magazine subscriptions, I changed the address our Playboy goes to, to the PO Box. I didn’t want it coming here to Smallville because, y’know, small town and all and I don’t necessarily want the maillady to discuss our magazine subscriptions with the neighbors (not that she would, but she might. You never know!). As soon as I started getting Playboy at the PO Box, I also started receiving mailings from Adam & Eve. I get about one mailing a week from them now, and I wonder if it’s got anything to do with the law banning the sale of sex toys? * * * Have you considered having Fred adapt one of the below products to use on ya’lls fence? Some of the angled ones might work. If I ever have a small fence (i.e. not 350+ft plus trees) I am planning on using one of the below so the kitties can go out. Cat Fence-In Do It Yourself Cat Fence Affordable Cat Fence Purrfect Cat Fence Kitty Klips I actually think that we’re going to give the Kitty Klips a try (and I keep reading that as “Kitty Lips”, by the way!). When Mister Boogers goes over the fence, he goes over the gate, and if there’s something there to deter him from climbing over the top, that might be all we need. The problem with the angled fence is that our fence posts are too far apart to support the weight on the top of the fence. I should point out, too, that Fred thinks it might be a wire issue – the wire we used for the cat fence at the other house was thicker than the wire we’re using now, which may or may not mean that it’s not putting out as much electricity. It could be a matter of just needing to replace the wire. In any case, we’re not giving up just yet! * * * Is it only the sale of vibrators that’s illegal or did they make possession illegal too? I can just see the undercover agents lurking at corners trying to sell their wares in order to fill up your jails. Which are probably, just like in our state, totally overcrowded. The law only bans the sale of vibrators, not the possession of them or (one hopes) the use of them – you can go up into Tennessee, for instance, buy a vibrator and bring it home. Right now there’s not really a concern that the fuzz will be pounding on the door of Alabamans saying “We hear an electronic buzzing in there! OPEN UP before we open fire!”, but it’s probably only a matter of TIME. * * * Maybe you could put Mister Boogers into a harness and on a leash. Of course he won’t like it, but that’s just too bad. He’d get used to it eventually. Actually, before we put the fence around the yard (and when I say “We” put the fence around the back yard, I of course mean “Not me!”) we tried putting a harness on Mister Boogers and tying him out, but he’s a wily and wriggly bastard, and when we weren’t paying attention he slipped out of the harness and ran off, causing us much anguish because – I think I probably haven’t mentioned this – he’s a DOUCHEBAG. * * * So, how did you explain this big door knob bruise? Did you tell Fred that the intruder tried to subdue you but only got one blow in before you pistol whipped him unconscious, drug him out to the back forty, and promptly buried him? Would you friggin’ believe that it didn’t leave a bruise at ALL? It hurts to touch, and by all rights I should have a great big black-and-blue mark, but nada. Not a thing. I think that when something hurts, it should totally LOOK like it hurts so that I can garner a great amount of sympathy. I’m not an easy bruiser, though, so no one can see my pain. ::SOB!:: * * * So, how exactly does one break a litter box? I’m scratching my head over here but I can’t figure it out! It helps if you’re a great big klutz and a dumbass to boot. What happened was that I have two litter box bottoms. When I clean out the litter box, I take the top off the litter box being used, dump the dirty litter from one box bottom into the other (there’s a strainer that sits in the empty box bottom), sift the litter for clumps, dump the clumps into a small trash bag, and then put the top back on the now-full box bottom. The other day there was a clump of litter stuck to the side of the box I was emptying, so I smacked the side of the litter box bottom so the clump would fall out into the trash bag, and when I smacked it, I also brought it down, hard, on the edge of the litter box bottom I was dumping the litter into, causing it to crack and rendering it unusable. You can’t buy mad skillz like that, I’m telling you. * * * Have you ever taken prednisone? Is it common to get flaky taking it?? I have never taken prednisone myself, and I don’t remember hearing that people tend toward flakiness while on it – how about it? Anyone out there on the prednisone and getting flaky? * * * I love you guys entirely so don’t take this as an attack on you personally but what is it with Americans and guns??? Is it a living in the country thing, a living in the South thing, a life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness thing? Geez louise the last thing I would be doing is grabbing a gun to take into the garage regardless of the circumstances. A hockey stick yes but a gun no. Having said that here is a question for your Friday extravaganza…have you ever fired your gun, gone to a target range or whatever? As far as I can tell, it’s a male thing. If it were left up to me, we wouldn’t have more guns than people in the house – in fact, I’d probably keep it down to one gun entirely rather than the several we actually own. I won’t deny that, living in the country, having a gun around makes me feel a little safer. We’ve had guns for about eight years now, and so far no one’s gotten shot, knock on wood! I’m not sure how safe I’d have felt carrying a hockey stick into the garage with me – if there was someone in there with bad plans for me, I’m fairly certain that my waving a hockey stick around would have made him laugh before he grabbed the end of it and beat me to death with it. On the other hand, pointing a gun at him would likely have stopped him in his tracks. Given that there’s a known crack addict thief who likes to mosey slowly by our house quite frequently, having a gun made me feel safer. We regularly visit a local target range, I’m confident that I could shoot to stop someone who was coming at me in a threatening manner, and I know how to load, unload, and clean my pistol – all of which are things that anyone who owns a gun should know how to do. * * * Tommy looks a little portly for that thing- he looks kind of cramped. Like most cats, Tommy ADORES trying to squeeze into places that are too small for him. If I put a teacup in the middle of the floor, he’d probably be trying to wedge his ass into it in before sixty seconds have passed. * * * Have you added to your cat egg collection to represent the additional cats (grey, black, etc.) you have added to your family? Actually, no. In fact, I ended up getting rid of most of them because they were cluttering up the house. I only kept the orange tabby one because I liked it the most. * * * Do you ever wanna go running and screaming with your pubes on fire, right the hell outta this freakin’ bible belt? Running and screaming out of the bible belt? Yes. Pubes on fire? Not so much, because the smell of burning hair makes me nauseous. * * * I am having issues in my dry county of people preaching the lawd and saying Red Lobster will bring out heathens in the street, drunken and buying sex toys I am sure! They forget we already have 5 private clubs for that. Sheesh. I didn’t know Red Lobster was the place to go to get drunk and dance on the tables did you? I had NO IDEA Red Lobster was such a den of heathenry. I am absolutely going to have to visit Red Lobster, and soon! * * * OK, I missed the Q&A. I have 3 strays that I caught, and they are about 6 months old. (We fixed and released the feral mama.) They are now in my garage. The boys are really sweet, but the girl is still skittish. I’ve made just a little progress, but she still is freaked when I try to grab her. I tried unsuccessfully to catch her last night and this morning to take her to get spayed. Am I going to have to borrow another trap to catch her in my own damn garage? I don’t think I can catch her to isolate her, either, as you’ve found to work. Also, what are your thoughts on just fixing the girl? Releasing them? (I had three strays last year, two of which I kept because shelters were full and none of my ads panned out. I have 6 and can’t keep any more.) Two are solid white, and I’d think that they were less able to hide from prey. And the cold months are coming up. That was definitely on my mind while my other cat was missing. It froze a few times. Also, we already have 3 strays that are outside and are “not our cats.” It sounds like you are going to need to use a trap to catch her again, which is quite the pisser, isn’t it? You might want to give Miss Pink’s idea a try to calm her down: Take a terry cloth washcloth, the thin ones, and get it wet with warm water and then wrap part of it around your finger like when you clean your ears in the shower, and then when you are with the kittens, just PIN one with one hand and start ’scrubbing’ their face with the cloth-wrapped finger. Gently of course. Believe it or not, this mirrors what their mom would do to wash them and calm them, so instead of making them feel trapped and freaked, they just totally put up with being scrubbed. You don’t pin them down hard, it’s just that you don’t do it by picking them up and holding them, just pin them where they are. They will shake their head and walk away and finish washing their faces and from then on out, they will start to think you are the Mom-Lady who gives them a tongue-bath and not a bad sort of demon, after all. I do this with any cat I get when they are a kitten, and it makes it so you can handle their faces and lips and clean out their ears all their lives because they think it is a mom-love action. As far as just fixing them and letting them go – honestly, if you can’t find homes for them and there’s no shelter in your area that will help, I don’t see any other choice, and I can’t find fault with the idea. It would be one thing if they were pets and you wanted to send them off into the wild to live, but these kittens were born and (so far) raised outside, much like our Newt, who absolutely refuses to come inside. That might not be a popular opinion – and it might be a surprising opinion from some one who’s spending so much energy to keep Mister “Douchebag” Boogers quarantined from the rest of the world, but as I see it, you either fix and release them, or have them put to sleep, right? * * * Didn’t Fred say he was busy planting bushes? Was he planting your “privacy” foliage outside your kitchen window? What did you end up planting? Yeah, he was planting our privacy foliage, because I decided it was time to get it DONE – hopefully there’ll be some growing before the weather gets too cold for it! We got three Butterfly Bushes and two Rose of Sharons. He planted them so that the Rose of Sharons are in one row, and the Butterfly Bushes are staggered in a second row. * * * SO I would LOVE to know how you feel about illegal immigrants. This is one of the MANY topics I can see both sides of. On the one hand, I think if people are going to immigrate to the US, they need to do it legally. On the other hand, I understand that’s a difficult process, and if you want to come to this country to make a better life for your family, it seems easier to enter the country illegally (and yes, I know there’s nothing “easy” about paying a coyote money you can ill afford to help you make the arduous and dangerous journey across the border, often dying in the process). I mostly think that if you’re going to live in this country, you need to learn the language (if I were to immigrate to France, I promise you it would be my number one goal to learn French as quickly as possible), because it pisses me off to go into the grocery store and see shampoo that has only Spanish writing on it, no English at all. (I should confess that I’ve considered taking Spanish classes, because it REALLY bothers me to not know what it says on those stupid shampoo bottles.) In high school, the spud told me that a friend had pissed her off because he “doesn’t like Mexicans.” When I asked why, she said “Because he says they come to our country and take our jobs!”, and I said “Well, really, the truth is that they come to our country and do the jobs no one else wants to do.” Probably, question asker, you were looking for a more heated and definitive answer about my feelings on the subject, but I don’t have a clear and straightforward opinion on the subject – my opinion changes with the weather, it seems – so there you go. * * * When you say “my entire family reads” your journal time to time does that mean mom and dad too? Yes. * * * But seriously….how is the skinny sex? Any different than the pre surgery sex? * * * So, the kittens that I just got Tuesday? Off they go, to the pet store later this morning! That was a fast turnaround, and too bad – I really like those girls. They’re sweet, playful, enjoy being petted, like to kick the ass of the occasional toy mouse, and so very soft and silky. I think they’re going to find homes FAST. I don’t think it’s possible to take a bad picture of Elle. Elle and Felicia. Dulcinea and Skittles, hiding under the dresser. Punki REALLY likes that mouse. ******************************** Proof that if you whine long enough and annoy everyone around you, you’ll eventually get what you want: “I gots me a snuggle.” “It’s NOT a snuggle, it’s just sharing the same bed.” “I gots me a SNUGGLE!” “It’s NOT a snuggle, I’m barely even touching you!” “I gots me a snugglllllllllllllllle!” “It’s NOT a snuggle… Oh, shut UP.” * * * Previously 2006: The rags used on that closet: ONE MEELLION. 2005: And then the last straw came along and broke the fat woman’s back. 2004: Because he’s a skinny bastard. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: Day One. 2000: So obviously I don’t know nothing’ ’bout picking out no paint.]]>

* * * When I read that the Supreme Court heard that they’re outlawing the sale of sex toys in Alabama, and they said “Um, yeah. Nah, we don’t think we’ll hear that case. In fact, we think it’s A-OK for the state to come right into the bedroom of any Alabaman and make sure that no sex is being performed in any position other than strict Missionary, and if no one feels any kind of pleasure while the sex is taking place, that’d be best, buh-bye.”, I was so very relieved. Because where I want my tax dollars to go is NOT to fight the horrifying meth problem eating alive the rural areas of this state, nor would I like to see some tax dollars maybe thrown toward, I don’t know, education. No, my number one concern is that a woman, somewhere in Alabama, might have purchased a device to ensure that she’s able to get off. A woman having an orgasm is an abomination in the eyes of The Lawd, you know. Well, The Lawd told me that he doesn’t actually give a shit what people do in the privacy of their own bedrooms – the exact quote would be “As long as it’s between two consenting adults of WHATEVER sex, I don’t give a shit what they do. Oral, anal, the braiding of each others’ pubic hair, go at it, just leave me the hell out of it, I’ve got better things to worry about. Floods, earthquakes, Phil Hellmuth acting like a big baby about the fact that he lost this hand. I have to go call Satan and make sure that Phil Hellmuth really isn’t his son, ’cause he certainly does a great big crybaby job of making me believe he IS, and I really kind of want to smite his ass.” – but some random men once wrote this book, claimed it was The Word straight from The Lawd*, and it says right there in Lemumblemumble verse sixty-six “Thou shalt not use any device to ensure the pleasure of any female in any sort of bedroom situation thou might encounter, especially if a male is not present, because the fact that a female could feel pleasure without a man’s direct involvement (and even WITH a man’s direct involvement, gigglegigglesnort) is an abomination in the eyes of The Lawd, go forth and buzz no more.” My issue with this law is this: Alabama’s anti-obscenity law, enacted in 1998, bans the distribution of “any device designed or marketed as useful primarily for the stimulation of human genital organs for anything of pecuniary value.” So, then, when they find out that women are, in droves, purchasing electric screwdrivers**, will they be adding to the law banning the sale of electric screwdrivers to women? And if they find, after that, that women have gone, shall we say, acoustic, will they then go around knocking on doors and amputating the fingers – nay, the entire hands – of all women, just in case? This is one of those times when I’m just so very pleased to be living in Alabama. *The Lawd said “Those guys? Please. I never could stand them, and now they’re all crowded around My house acting holier than ME, and I think I need to smite them, but I did too many shots the day they banded together and asked me to swear on the name of Me that I wouldn’t smite them, so I can’t because I’m not the King of Lies, that motherfucker Beelzebub is, and he can’t – WON’T – come up here and smite them for me, ’cause he’s a douchebag. Also, he plays a mean hand of poker, and that REALLY pisses Me off.” **As an extreme example, because ouch. I suspect that would hurt. Except for maybe one of the slow, cheap ones.

* * * I was on the phone with my mother yesterday when call waiting beeped. I looked to see who was calling, didn’t recognize the number, so continued talking to my mother. When we got off the phone twenty minutes later, I checked my voicemail to find that the volunteer who cleans at the pet store on Wednesday mornings wasn’t feeling well. Since I wasn’t doing anything that couldn’t wait, I happily took her place. Would you believe that none of my babies got adopted Tuesday night? DAMN IT. They all howled when they saw me, but they weren’t “Oh, woe is us! We have missed you horribly, please come give us love!” howls. No, they were “Let us out so we can go PLAY, lady we’ve never ever seen before!” howls. So I let them out to play, and I let another cage of kittens – three brown tabbies, one buff tabby; when I first saw them, I thought “Oh, they moved Susannah and the brown tabbies?”, until I saw that not a one of them has a full tail. A couple have short little stumps and a couple have longer stumps, but none of them are full-length tails – out to play, and it was like a circus in that cat room while I cleaned. Usually on Monday mornings when I go to clean, I feel rushed, because I have a thousand and ten errands to run and I want to get the cages cleaned before the pet store opens so people won’t walk by and stare at me, but yesterday I took my time, only got stared at once or twice, took plenty of time to love on the kitties, and left the store all relaxed, ran a few errands, and got home in time to watch some TV, clean the kitchen, and hang out with the new fosters before lunch time. I think I might start going in later on Mondays and just take all morning to get my cage-cleaning and errand-running done. I don’t know why I always feel so rushed on Mondays, but it’s ridiculous that I do, and it’s just a self-imposed rushed feeling. I could stay away from home for the entire day, it’s not like I need to be back by a particular time for anything! * * * Mister “Douchebag” Boogers has ruined – RUINED, I say! – it for everyone. Yes, the batteries in the collar are working – that’s the first thing we checked – and although Fred ran the electric fence far enough inside the perimeter of the yard that the cats shouldn’t be able to get close enough to the fence to jump up onto it, Mister “Douchebag” Boogers is still managing to do it. He behaved himself all day yesterday, until early evening, and then he just HAD to be outside the fence, and I glanced up from my computer to see him land on top of the gate over by the garden, and I yelled to Fred, who went out and tracked him down (he gets over by the garden, then can’t seem to decide where to go) and brought his ass in, and now all the goddamn cats are going to be inside for the foreseeable future, all because of that DOUCHEBAG. Grrrr. * * * I got a call from the shelter manager Tuesday morning asking if I could take some fosters, and of COURSE I was willing, since the Ka-Tet was going to Petsmart. I dropped them off, came home, cleaned the kitten room and got it ready for the new fosters, then after dinner I went back to Petsmart and got them. Their story is that they’re 5 sisters, about five months old, and they were, I believe, the kittens of a feral cat. They’re only staying with us for a little while, until there’s room at Petsmart. They’re a little timid, but they’re very, very sweet. They have short, silky fur, and they’re beautiful in an exotic way. I almost think they have a bit of some exotic breed – perhaps Abyssinian – in them. So, meet the five sisters: Felicia. I think she looks kind of like Felix the Cat, but obviously you can’t name a girl cat Felix (also, Felix had already been used), so I feminized it. Skittles. So named because she’s the scaredy-cat of the bunch, and ages ago when I was trying to come up with cat names for the fosters who ended up being Gilligan, Spanky, Maryann and Tina Louise, Kath suggested Skittles, and I think it’s a cute name, so Skittles it is! Punki. My sister has a dilute calico named Punki, and this one is dilute (but a torti rather than a calico), so I stole the name. Punki’s the most playful of the bunch – all you have to do is wave the feather-on-a-stick toy, and she’s across the room in a flash to smack at it. I was going to name her Reese, as in Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup (to follow the Skittles/ candy theme), but Reese made me think of Reese Witherspoon, which made me think of Elle, and I liked Elle better. So Elle she is. Dulcinea. My brother has a cat named Dulcinea, I like the name, so I stole it! Elle gives off the ‘tude. Dulcinea (left) and Skittles, hiding under the dresser. Punki keeps an eye on her sisters. Dulcinea shows off her coat. ******************************************** “Wh-what do you mean, we can’t go outside because Mister Boogers is a jerk who keeps outsmarting the electric fence around the back yard?!” * * * Previously 2006: The stinkin’ kitten is not so cute! 2005: Annnnnnnnd that’s just a little glimpse into the dorkiness that is my life. 2004: ARRRGH. 2003: No entry. 2002: Wow. Apparently I’ve been doing the pet store thing for three years now. 2001: Day Zero. 2000: I’m back!]]>