It’s (more than) halfway through the month, and I’m finally remembering to put up the other very cool banner I got for October. This one was made by Aly, who makes a lot of my banners. How lucky am I, to have not one but TWO awesome banners this month!
Thanks, Aly!
Yesterday morning, I was looking through pictures I’d taken, and I came across this one, which was a picture I snapped of Sookie on Saturday as she snoozed on the cat bed on Fred’s desk:
Please note that at the front of the picture is the insole from a shoe. Fred has used that insole in the past to cushion his arm because resting it on the hard desk hurts the bony part of his arm near his elbow, and in fact rubs it raw.
I remain uncertain where he got that nasty thing, or how it is that the light dawned over his head one day as he rubbed his aching arm, and came to the conclusion that the insole of a shoe was the perfect solution, but it’s been there for as long as I can remember.
But as I looked at the picture and the way that nasty-looking (though, I’m sure, perfectly clean) insole detracted from a perfectly cute kitten, I tried to remember seeing Fred ever actually use it, and concluded that he didn’t. So I spun my chair around to yell at him to get rid of that nasty goddamn thing.
And there he sat at his desk, his elbow gently placed in the warm embrace of the insole.
You know how there are things that really aren’t that funny, but they hit you just right? This hit me just right, and I spun back around in my chair without saying anything, and I laughed until I cried.
For several days, starting the week before last, we had a turkey who walked around the back forty with his wings hanging low, his feathers ruffled, and his head drawn back into his shoulders. He acted, in short, like a pouty teenager who hadn’t been allowed to go to the John Mayer concert (do teenagers actually like John Mayer, or is it only mommy bloggers? No, John Mayer, YOU say what you need to say and then shut the fuck up about it.).
Fred dosed Sad Teenager Turkey with tetracycline for a few days, but still the turkey dragged sadly around the back forty. Then, one day last week, he called me from work.
“I know what’s wrong with the turkey!” he said.
“What’s that? Is the head cheerleader ignoring him and going out with the quarterback, leaving him to drag sadly around the back forty and write bad poetry?”
“I think he has Blackhead.”
“Well, that seems appropriate. Is there anything you can do to treat it?”
“Metronidazole. Do we have any?”
“I’m in the middle of scooping litter boxes right now,” I said. “Let me call you back.”
I finished scooping litter boxes, searched in 300 locations for the Metronidazole (I really need to come up with a more organized approach at keeping all this crap in one place), and found a bottle with four pills in it. I called Fred and reported that we only had four pills.
“Can you crush the pills, mix them up with water, and give him his first dose?” Fred asked.
I set aside my initial reaction, which was to say “FUCK no, turkeys are YOUR job.” because he’s helped me dose foster kittens more times than I can remember, and I think we all know that foster kittens are MY job.
He gave me the directions for how much water to add and what the dosage should be, and I went off to crush the pills and mix them with water.
Now, I’ve crushed metronidazole pills and mixed them with water in the past because I’ve had to treat foster kittens for giardia. The kittens invariably react to metronidazole by making the most disgusted faces and flailing and foaming at the mouth and gagging.
I’ve always figured they were just being drama queens because you KNOW how baby kittens can be. It’s just drama drama DRAMA all the damn time with them. “WhineWhineWhine, I’m peeing in the litter box and she keeps batting at my tail and I don’t liiiiiiiiiike it!” or “WhineWhineWhine you was petting me and then you stopped, why you not love me no more?” or “WhineWhineWhine, that toy mouse is three inches away from me and I can’t reach it, waaaaaah!”
So I crushed the metronidazole and mixed it with water, and then drew up the correct dosage for the turkey, and I headed out to the chicken/ turkey yard. As I crossed the back yard, I rubbed my mouth with one hand.
And it appears that I had gotten some Metronidazole powder on my hand, and when I rubbed my mouth I got it on my mouth. Then a few moments later I licked my lips.
That is some godawful NASTY FUCKING HORRENDOUS FUCKING SHIT. I made the most horrendous face and gagged and foamed at the mouth and had anyone been near me, I would have kicked them.
GOOD FUCKING CHRIST. We can put men on the moon, but we can’t make Metronidazole palatable to kittens or humans?
JESUS CHRIST.
(But kittens are still little drama queens. Just not about the Metronidazole.)
I located Sad Teenager Turkey and lured him close to me with scratch (which is cracked corn mixed with some secret ingredient – crack cocaine, I’m guessing. Maybe a titch of heroin. These birds would kill your mother for a handful of scratch.), then grabbed him up. Now, I’ve never medicated a turkey on my own before – usually Fred holds the turkey and pries his beak open and I squirt the medicine in his gullet, and when Fred lets go of the turkey, the turkey gets a thoughtful look, stares off into space for several moments, and just as you think he’s about to share the secrets of the universe, he stretches out his neck and swallows.
So I put the turkey in the doorway of the coop with his back to me, and I kind of held him against me and reached one arm around him to grab his beak. He tried to pull away, but before he could, I stuck the end of the syringe in the side of his beak and squirted the medicine in. The entire time this was going on, Hjonkie, who is apparently the head of the turkeys, was distressed and disturbed. He paced back and forth, getting ever more distressed and disturbed and vocal about it as he paced. I just knew that as I was bent over Sad Teenager Turkey, Hjonkie was going to peck me in the top of my head, and he’s a big fucking turkey (not fully-grown, but certainly getting bigger every day) and I was sure that after he pecked me, he was going to be yanking some brain matter out the top of my head.
I need all the brain matter I can get, I think you already knew that. So I kept a wary eye on Hjonkie and said in a stern voice “You back off, fuckface.” and squirted the medicine into Sad Teenager Turkey’s beak, and then let him go and backed away just as Hjonkie decided he’d had Enough of this Shit and stomped over in my direction. I stopped backing and looked at Hjonkie and said “OH. Did you have something to say to me, fucker?” and magically Hjonkie was all “Oh, is that a fly over there?” and headed off in the other direction.
Had you told me ten years ago, when I started this site, that one day I’d be medicating a Sad Teenager Turkey and showing a pushy bastard of a turkey just who was in charge (hint: IT AIN’T YOU WHO’S IN CHARGE, HJONKIE, YOU FUCK.), I completely, totally, 100% would have thought you were a bored weirdo who was making up things to freak me out.
Never know where you’re going to end up, do you?
Edited to add: After a few days of Metronidazole and a few more days of Tetracycline, Sad Teenager Turkey seems to be pretty close to normal again.
So, Lafayette, Bill, Hoyt, and Sam were not adopted this weekend, not any of them. ::SIGH:: At least the four of them are sharing one (big) cage, so they can entertain each other.
I absolutely hated leaving them there Friday morning, but I spent almost an hour letting them sniff around the cat room and play with toys before I picked up and snuggled each of them, one by one, kissed them and hugged them and told them I loved them and to be good, and then put them in their cages.
(They started out with Bill and Lafayette in one cage, and Sam and Hoyt in another. But another cat got adopted that evening, freeing up one of the big cages, and so they all four ended up in one cage, which I like.)
I stood at the end of the aisle, where they couldn’t see me, and I watched them for a few minutes (you KNOW I was all teary-eyed like a great big baby), and they were curious and sniffing around and checking out toys, so I left and went over to Target to buy some groceries. By the time I was done at Target, it was past 9:00 (which is the time Petsmart opens), so I went back to buy cat food, and then stood at the end of the aisle and watched them. All four cats were flopped down in their cages, sound asleep.
When I got home, Sookie and Terry greeted me at the door, and they seemed a little confused like something was missing, but they weren’t quite sure. I didn’t put them in the kitten room that night, because we’d decided that we’d leave the two of them with full access to the house until it’s time for them to go to the adoption center. Besides, we were going to move the Wonkas to the kitten room Saturday morning.
I woke up at some point very early Saturday morning with seven cats on the bed with me – Terry and Sookie, Jake and Elwood, Miz Poo, Tommy, and Spanky. Most of them were pressed up against me, and I was as warm as I could be. I accidentally brushed Terry with one hand and woke him up, and he blatted at me until I started petting him, and then he purred and blatted some more.
He certainly does crack me up.
They seem to have adjusted seamlessly to the way things are, now. Their routine is that at bedtime, they run around with Jake and Elwood and race up and down the stairs, jump on each other and play-fight, and then when I turn the light off, they (eventually) settle down. Things are going well – but I sure wish the boys would get themselves adopted so I can stop worrying about them!
::thlurrrp::
I don’t know if Jake has a crush on Sookie or Sookie has a crush on Jake, but they certainly like to snuggle up together.
Awww, last pic I took of Hoyt before we headed off to the adoption center!
Bill and Hoyt, right before we left for the adoption center.
Clean pile of cat beds on the table + 10 seconds = two kittens claiming the tower o’ beds for themselves.
If you didn’t check Love & Hisses over the weekend, you missed an awesome picture of Gus.
I moved the Wonkas up to the kitten room Saturday morning, and it went quite well. I scrubbed the room down and vacuumed it, then got it set up for them, carried their litter boxes and food upstairs, then put them in the carrier and took them up to the room. It’s actually smaller than the room they were in, but it’s also a lot more kitten-friendly. There are more cat trees to climb, more toys to play with, and there’s a water fountain! They slunk around the room, sniffing at everything and occasionally coming over to me for a reassuring pat. I finally left them alone to get acquainted with their new home, and when I went back to check on them an hour later, they were all curled up in a cat bed, and were happy as could be.
Since I moved them to their new home (for the next seven weeks, at least), I decided to do away with their morning and evening bowls of watered-down formula. They’d been off the bottle for three days (I think), and I’d been watering down the formula I’d been giving them a little more every day.
Now, I give them a can of kitten food in the morning, and another can at night. For the rest of the day, they have bowls of Babycat available at all times. I’ve noticed that Gus has zero interest in the canned food, but the other three belly right up to the plate when I bring it into the room. I guess Gus marches to the beat of his own drum.
I’ve seen Gus, Veruca, and Violet drink out of the water fountain, and the pee clumps in the litter box are as plentiful as ever, so I think we’re successfully off the bottle and formula and onto the real food!
My next step with be transitioning them to Science Diet Kitten – but I’ll give them a few more days to adjust before I add that to the mix.
This will be the cover of Gus’s upcoming album of soulful love songs. The first single will be the heartbreaking ballad Why She Always Gotta Bite My Toes?
I don’t know what’s got Gus alarmed, but it must really be something!
Can someone tell me how to stop these babies from growing up so fast? Mike’s getting long and lanky!
The halo proves he’s an angel baby brought to earth to torture us all with the cute.
OH. A comment the other day reminded me that I haven’t mentioned this – the lady who was going to take Gus? It appears that she’s rethought that. Gus is still available, if anyone’s interested.
(They all are!)
Stinkerbelle shoots me a look o’ hate from atop the canning cabinet.
Previously
2008: No entry.
2007: I do an excellent Bob Dylan imitation. Just ask Nance!
2006: I know. I’m going to hell. At least I know I’ll have good company!
2005: I WILL BE THE VICTOR, DAMNIT!
2004: More Myrtle Beach.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: I’ve turned into a crazy cat lady for real, haven’t I?
2000: The spud turns 12 next week, can you believe it?
1999: I’ve been out of sorts all day.