Month: July 2010

Everybody loves Martin.
(Or loves to taunt him, anyway!)

::ignore::

::ignore::

“Hey! Where ya going???”

“Come on, punk. Come here and do your best. You know I’ll wipe the floor with you.”

::plbbbbbbt::

“Whatsamatter, little man? You scared of the GIRL?”

“Whatcha doin’ with that paw, you little BABY?”

“That’s right, ya little wimp. Run off and cry to MOMMY.”

A mancat can only take so much, y’know.

Previously
2009: Maddy does not approve of this “Twitter” nonsense.
2008: Oh tomatoes, how you PISS ME OFF.
2007: No entry.
2006: Y’all are good for my yellow ego!
2005: Maine recap.
2004: Hawaii recap.
2003: Maine recap.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: The cats are suddenly deciding to take closed doors as a personal affront.

Thanks, you guys, for your suggestions on what to do with the dill. Right now my plan is to use most of it to make Ina’s chicken stock (which I will then can!) and some of it to put in egg salad. The rest, I’ll print out and use next year when I have my very own fresh dill from my very own herb garden!

Our garden this year is just head-to-toe FAIL, I’m telling you. The goddamn something-or-other bugs have hit the squash. And while it’s fine with me if we don’t get any more scalloped squash, I’d like more yellow squash, and I’ve been so intent on shredding and freezing the zucchini we’ve gotten so far that I haven’t even made any zucchini bread yet.

The two regular tomato plants are putting out nice green tomatoes, but they’re getting big mushy spots before they have a chance to get more than half ripe. I told Fred yesterday that we’re going to pick the tomatoes green from now on, and oven fry them and use them in green tomato chili. Oddly, the cherry tomato plants are going like gangbusters, so I guess I’m not going to complain.

We got a ton of spaghetti squash, but when I started roasting them so I could pull the squash out and freeze it for future use, the squash wasn’t stringing. It wasn’t a matter of the squash not being ripe – they were definitely ripe – and it wasn’t a matter of being undercooked, so fuck if I have any clue what the problem is.

Did I tell you about the corn? Fred planted 7 rows of corn. Guess how many ears we ended up with.

GUESS.

17 fucking ears. Luckily, we still have a ton left over from last year, so we won’t go corn-less for the next year, but GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY, this year has sucked garden-wise.

Oh well. Maybe the second round of green beans will do better than expected. Here’s hoping.

Yesterday morning I was sitting at my computer, and I heard the driveway alarm go off. I glanced out the door and saw a regular egg buyer walking toward the door. I opened the door and he called that he wanted two dozen eggs. I got them for him, and went out to hand them over to him.

“I was here, oh, two weeks ago?” he said. “Both vehicles were here – ” he motioned toward my car and the truck, “but the house was closed up tight and no one came to the door!” (“Both vehicles” amused me, because I don’t think anyone in town knows that Fred actually has his own car, since he parks it in the garage.)

He put both hands on his hips and looked at me like he expected an explanation for this. Like it’s a rule that if both vehicles are here SOMEONE BETTER BE HERE TO SELL HIM EGGS DAMNIT.

(The “Eggs for sale” sign wasn’t up, for the record. It bothers me a lot less than it used to when people stop by to buy eggs even when the sign isn’t up because the driveway alarm goes off and alerts me that people are approaching. I guess my real issue before was that I’d be sitting at my desk minding my own business and then look up to see someone RIGHT THERE on the other side of the door which always startled the hell out of me. Now that I know they’re coming to the door it’s still an annoyance, but one I can deal with.)

“I was on vacation in Maine,” I said.

He nodded, handed over his four dollars, thanked me, and left.

I went into the kitchen to make lunch, and as I did so, I glanced out the window over the sink. This window, I’m sure I’ve only mentioned 340 times before, looks toward the next door neighbor’s back yard, and I could see her sitting on her deck talking to two men who were wearing suit pants and button-down shirts.

I immediately wondered who they were. They seemed like some sort of professionals, maybe lawyers in business casual clothing. They would talk and she would talk, and they were filling out some sort of form. There was a large book they’d occasionally refer to.

Obviously my inner Gladys Kravitz was in residence, because I spent far too much time watching them through the window while I made my lunch.

I actually went out at one point to move the water in the garden (I watered the garden row by row, all day long, so of course it rained yesterday afternoon.) and oh-so-casually didn’t look over in their direction, but I had my ears perked and listening, and couldn’t hear a damn thing.

They must have been there sitting on her deck talking for at least 45 minutes – don’t look at me like that, I didn’t stand there and WATCH them talking the whole time, I’d just peek out there every once in a while. Nosy, me? NAH. – and when I went into the kitchen to check on my green tomato chili, they were gone.

I’d just started chopping up yellow squash to boil, when the driveway alarm went off. I went to the porthole window in the dining room to see who was out there, and as it turned out, it was the two guys who’d been sitting on her deck for the last 45 minutes.

My reaction, when I look out into the driveway and see a stranger getting out of their car, is inevitably “Oh, hell no.” If I don’t recognize the person/ people, and I’m not expecting anyone, I don’t answer the door. This might be a bad habit, because maybe they’re thieves and if I don’t answer the door they’ll think no one’s home and they’ll break into the house and steal all the cats (IN MY DREAMS), but it’s a habit I intend to keep up, ’cause ah hates strangers.

They went to the front door (another reason to not answer the door – if someone has bought eggs from us before, they know to come to the side door. If they haven’t bought eggs, the sign isn’t out and I’m not expecting them, why would I want to deal with them? Ed McMahon will probably come back with my $30 million check if I don’t answer the first time.) and knocked. I didn’t answer, just kept chopping squash, and they left pretty quickly.

When I heard the driveway alarm go off again, I went and watched them pull out of our driveway, to see where they’d go. They pulled into the driveway of the house across the street, but either those people weren’t home or they didn’t answer the door, or possibly they sent the strangers on their way when they heard what they wanted, but in any case five minutes later the car was gone.

Wow. I just used an awful lot of words to describe a completely unfascinating afternoon, didn’t I? Don’t you wonder how I get shit done around here, given that I spend all my time with my nose pressed to the window watching to see what’s going on?

Funny that when I lived in a subdivision and there was always stuff going on outside, I rarely even looked out the window, isn’t it?

Poor Miz Poo. She’s all “Do you SEE what I have to put up with, here?”

Sugarbutt thinks Bolitar’s just a little too close. Bolitar doesn’t care.

Jake’s face is KILLING ME. He’s like “PARDON ME THIS IS JAKE’S CAVE THIS IS NOT MEANT FOR KITTENS TO COME TROMP ALL OVER THIS IS MY PRIVATE PLACE FOR PRIVACY.” And Corbett’s all “See my butt?”

Something I learned yesterday – Moxie is scared of thunder and will hide under the chair in fear every time the thunder happens. She doesn’t want to be coaxed out from under the chair, she doesn’t want to be snuggled safely in your arms. She wants to hide under the chair, thank you.

Melodie could not be less scared of the sound of thunder. A particularly loud crash of thunder happened yesterday afternoon and Moxie dove under the chair. From her perch on the cat tree, Melodie just sat and gazed out the window at the rain. I would have surely expected it to be the other way around.

Martin and the pink fluff.

That’s Moxie’s tail he’s chewing on. She puts up with this for far longer than I would expect, and then when she’s had enough, she turns around and smacks him. It’s a system that seems to work well for them.

Melodie, following Martin around.

“What?”

This morning, Melodie came immediately out of her Melodie cave (the condo on the cat tree) to greet me when I went into the room. Either she’s getting more comfortable with me (she was ALL OVER Fred last night, purring and rubbing on him. The lady cats love Fred, for sure.) or she’s figured out that when I come into the room for the first time in the morning, I give them canned cat food. Either way, it’s progress!

A couple of weeks ago, I said that Stinkerbelle spends 99% of her time on top of the bookcase in the front room. Well, she must have gotten word of what I’d said, because she immediately set out to make a liar out of me. She’s been coming out more and more, sitting angrily in the computer room glaring at me, climbing up onto the top of the cupboards in the kitchen, sitting on top of the canning cabinet in the dining room. She’s been a social butterfly, if by “social butterfly” you mean a cat who stalks around the house smacking at any kittens who venture too close to her, that is.

Previously
2009: I screamed at the top of my lungs, and then I took a gasping breath, and I screamed some more.
2008: No entry.
2007: (Unless there’s a secret “Robyn is a blithering idiot” message board somewhere, which is possible but – given that the world apparently does NOT revolve around me (even though it should), my blithering idiotness probably doesn’t occupy the minds of others the way it occupies mine.)
2006: I look like a fucking Simpson!
2005: “I dropped my purse!” I lied.
2004: I’m a slug in a family of energizer bunnies.
2003: No entry.
2002: My primitive mind can’t grasp these concepts.
2001: No entry.
2000: I’m just not feeling very chatty today.

I made refrigerator dill pickles over the weekend to use up all the cucumbers in the refrigerator, and for the rest of the day my hands smelled like dill, and it was surprisingly pleasant. Now I’ve got a package of fresh dill in the fridge and the cucumbers are mostly played out, so I don’t think there’ll be any more refrigerator dill pickles. I’ve been half-assedly searching for recipes to use the dill in, but haven’t really seen any that strike my fancy.

What’s your favorite way to use fresh dill?

I didn’t grow dill in my tiny herb garden this year, but only because I thought I’m not crazy about dill. As it turns out, it’s the dried stuff I’m not crazy about. I grew cinnamon basil, but one day last week I finally got around to trying a leaf of the cinnamon basil, and it had a black licorice aftertaste to me. I loathe black licorice, so I yanked the cinnamon basil up.

I’ve got sweet basil in the herb garden, lemon thyme, and rosemary. I planted cilantro, but it died out (probably Jane was sending hate rays toward it).

Yesterday for dinner we had pork shoulder steaks (if I haven’t mentioned it before, pork shoulder steaks, when grilled, taste exactly like beef steaks), zucchini sticks, zucchini pie, and pineapple casserole. It was a pretty fabulous meal, and the best part is that there are plenty of leftovers.

Apparently I’ve got food on my mind this morning.

I made these no-bake cheesecake bars on Friday, and realized (or I guess I should say “remembered”, since I always seem to forget somehow) that I’m not really so crazy about cream cheese unless it’s on a bagel. I liked the whipped cream part, and the melted chocolate drizzled over the top part, and of course the graham cracker crust part, but the chocolate cream cheese part? Not so much.

I’ve got nothin’ to say today. I’m going to blather on about the kittens, then vacuum the house, spend some time with the kittens, and catch up on some vital tv-watching.

Stay cool.

Los Gatitos are now at the adoption center. I haven’t heard that any of them were adopted, so I’m assuming they were not. That surprises me, honestly, because I was sure they’d be snapped up in no time flat.

However, I DID get to witness Garrity and Franco being adopted, FINALLY. Friday marked three weeks since I took the Rescuees to the adoption center, and while Sheila was adopted fairly quickly, the boys just sat there, unadopted. Every time I went into Petsmart the four of them were either playing or snuggled up to each other, and they seemed happy enough, so I wasn’t too worried about them.

Garrity and Franco were adopted by two girls, roommates (each girl adopted one kitten), so they’ll have each other to play and hang out with. That leaves Lieu and Gavin, and I hope it won’t be long for them.

When I put Los Gatitos in their cage, Pancho was all “Hey, look! TOYS!” and Evita and Hermano went into the litter box to hide.

I HATE IT when they hide in their litter box!

They’ll adjust, they almost always do. I’m not surprised that they were scared at first, but I’m glad that they have each other for comfort.

Meet Martin’s new sisters!

Moxie. Doesn’t she look like a little panther?

Melodie. She’s in the condo on the cat tree, snuggled up to her stuffed cat “baby.”

Moxie is a lover. She’s a people cat. She wants you to pet her. She wants you to snuggle her. If you stop petting her, she lets you KNOW that things have gone amiss and there is no petting going on, please resume the petting.

Melodie is a skittish, sweet girl. She’s a cat’s cat. She’s been hiding out in the condo on the cat tree a lot. I go up and hang out in the room, pet Moxie and Martin, and talk to Melodie. She usually starts out in the condo, then comes out to see what’s going on. A few times she’s come down off the tree to walk around the room.

She seems to like Martin. And for his part, when we walked into the kitten room and let Melodie and Moxie out of the carrier Friday night, you should have SEEN Martin’s face. Oh, did he think it was Christmas! He said “You brought me friends to play with!”

Moxie, for the most part, thinks he’s annoying – but she’ll play with him when the mood strikes.

Melodie definitely likes Martin – and when I walked into the room yesterday afternoon, who came out of the condo?

Martin! Have you been SNUGGLING with Melodie??

So far, things are going well. I’m letting Melodie go at her own pace. I always greet her when I come into the room, pet her (and she starts purring immediately, so underneath the skittishness she’s a lover, too.) I know she’ll come to me asking to be petted when she’s ready. We’ve already had a few “conversations” where she meows at me and I meow back. I don’t know what I’m saying to her, but it gets her to come out of her cave, so it can’t be bad. I hope!

“What? We’s snugglin’. Go away.”

So, I might have put a little basket of laundry (dish towels and cleaning rags) on the table, and Bolitar might have found it and turned it onto its side and climbed in to hang out on the clean laundry. Annnnd three days later, it might still be there. What? You don’t leave your clean laundry on the table so the cats can sleep on it? It’s a good excuse not to fold laundry! (Which will need to be washed again, I suppose. At least the stuff on the top of the pile.)

One day I should walk around the house and take pictures of all the boxes I have sitting on the floor just in case the cats want to sleep in them. In the kitchen alone are at least four boxes. When WILL House Beautiful call to ask if they can feature my fabulous home, do you suppose?

It’s gotten consistently hot enough outside that even Newt is spending his days inside trying to stay cool. Now THAT’s hot.

Previously
2009: And no one was even drinking!
2008: No entry.
2007: I think y’all know that I happily contribute to charities and have donated to a lot of your causes and will continue to do so, but I don’t support Blogathon, haven’t for a couple of years, and don’t intend to in the future.
2006: I may have Hepatitis.
2005: But not to worry, it was just cramps. Whew!
2004: I want to rip her goddamn fucking ::fliiiip::TAP::TAP::TAP::FLIIIP::TAP::TAP::TAP::FLIP::TAP::TAP::TAP::FLIP::TAP::TAP::TAP:: head off her stupid fucking goddamn neck
2003: No entry.
2002: I caught the eye of one of them, who noticed my intensely guilty terrorist-like face, and waved me over to wand me down.
2001: No entry.
2000: Because, you know, my life is so damn chaotic. Yeah.

Speaking of white kitties…! I have a question about mine. I don’t know anyone else who has had as much experience with kittens, so I’m going to ask my question here. Robyn, have you ever had foster kitties with conjunctivitis? I just got two new kittens, sisters – one tiger and one white with a tabby patch on her head. They are about 11-12 weeks old and the tiger has conjunctivitis. Do you or any of your readers know how long this lasts or what possible complications may be? I know to be careful about spreading it: the sisters are separated and I wash my hands – including a quick rinse with a bleach solution – after I handle the tiger. I did take her to the vet and got some eye ointment, but I was hoping for some advice not just from a vet or the internet but from someone who has actually had to take care of a kitten with conjunctivitis.

Also, how long after getting spayed can they play together? Zelda (the white kitty) was just spayed and I had them separated for about a day and a half, and then I let them together but they were playing so roughly. It was only a couple of days later that Mrs.Parker (the tiger) got conjunctivitis so I had to separate them again anyway, but also, one of Zelda’s stitches had been pulled out. I don’t know if she herself licked it so much that it came out or if Mrs.Parker ripped it out while they were fighting. Mrs.Parker didn’t get spayed at the same time because she was too little, but she’s scheduled for Thursday. How do you deal with so many spayed kittens at the same time?

I’m going to throw this one out to the readers – I don’t remember having a cat diagnosed with conjunctivitis or how long it might last. Readers? Experience?

As far as how long to wait before you let kittens play together, I would think that by the third day after surgery, they’d be healed enough to play together, even if they’re rough. I’m lucky in that the vet who spays and neuters our kittens uses surgical glue to close the incisions, not stitches, so there’s not as much of a threat of them reopening the incision by playing roughly. I could be just not remembering correctly, but I don’t think I’ve ever had a problem with any of the incisions on any of my fosters.

(Someone also asked last week why my just-spayed Bookworms weren’t wearing collars, and that’s why – I’ve never had an issue with them worrying the incision or pulling out stitches (since there aren’t any), so I’ve never put collars on just-spayed/neutered kittens. The only time I’ve had to put collars on kittens was last year when the True Bloods had their eye surgeries, and even that only lasted a day or two.)

“Momma! Momma! MOMMAAAAAA!”

“HEY. What do you want? Why are you banging on our door? STOP MAKING ALL THAT NOISE!”

“I want the Momma! I’m hungry! Why is she hanging out in there where I can’t GET to her? Do you have food in there? I smell food!”

“There’s no Momma in here.”

“…….”

“…….”

“But she’s right there. Sitting next to you. Pointing the camera at me.”

“You don’t see nothin’. You understand me? NOTHING. No Momma. No food. No white kittens. It’s a figment of your imagination, you big baby. Now, quit banging on the door. We’re discussing the correct way to pet a kitty. With the Momma who isn’t here.”

“…….”

“…….”

::pout::

Sofia has gone to her new home – I got to meet her new mom last night, who was VERY excited to be bringing Sofia home. I’m sure I’ve got more pictures of her to share, because she’s such a gorgeous cat that I couldn’t stop snapping pictures of her!

The rest of Los Gatitos are going to the adoption center on Friday – and I’ll be bringing home two new kittens to put with the little feral so he won’t be lonely. Their names are Melodie and Moxie, so going along with the “M” naming theme, I circumvented Fred’s demand to name the little guy “Tony Rocky Horror” (The guy in Pulp Fiction who got thrown out of a window for giving Marsellus Wallace’s wife a foot massage.) and named him Martin.

The name Tony Rocky Horror will be showing up again, though, I guarantee it. Had Melodie and Moxie not already been named, I had thought we might go with a naming theme of characters who are mentioned in a movie or TV show, but never actually seen. Unfortunately, the only other character name I could think of off the top of my head was Maris (Crane, wife of Niles on Frasier).

More on him (and pictures, too) tomorrow, I promise.

I actually had the option of taking the Bookworms (at least a couple of them) to the adoption center on Friday. But I know Los Gatitos will be adopted very quickly, so I figured it’d be best to take them and let them be adopted rather than having them sit here waiting for room to open up at the adoption center.

When I told Fred, he accused me of just wanting to keep the Bookworms around longer.

I deny that.

I have a dream that one day, I’ll figure out how to consistently take pictures that aren’t all crooked as if I’d just held out the camera and snapped a picture without looking.

Previously
2009: (Don’t answer that. Let me live in my dream world.)
2008: Out of curiosity – anyone still think we won’t eat those pigs?
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: Handwritten.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Jemima J.

I just went out and took a dead mouse away from Elwood, who was tossing it in the air and batting at it. Now Jake, Elwood, and Tommy are all diligently sniffing the ground where the mouse was laying.

Then George and Gracie started barking wildly, both looking at the garden shed, so I ran out to see what was going on. I’m still hoping that the litter mates to the feral kitten who showed up on Sunday will show themselves. There was nothing by the garden shed, but George and Gracie are still out there barking. They like to bark at nothing an awful lot. I’m thinking they see something in another dimension that mere mortals can’t see.

I hope it’s not a dog going after my other-dimensional chickens.

I got a fantastic night of sleep last night, for the third or fourth night in a row. It’s amazing how much better I sleep when I don’t have Bolitar (bless his wet nose and snuggly little heart) climbing all over me. At bedtime, I go into the guest bedroom and call “Little bitty kitties, little bitties, little bitties!”, and all four of the Bookworms come running in. Some of them come in sooner than the others, but they all eventually come in. For the past two nights, Jake has been running in there with them, so I shut him in. They’ve got a litter box, food, and water. What else do they need? Jake loves his Bookworms.

I was concerned about the new feral kitten yesterday, so I mixed up a batch of KMR and took it out to him. I tried giving it to him in the bottle – he mostly licked at the nipple. Then I tried syringing some into his mouth, and he swallowed what I put in his mouth, but he wasn’t that interested in it. He was mostly curious about it – but after I’d given it to him, he became super friendly. He goes back and forth between skittish and friendly at the moment. Right now he’s spending his days in Fred’s room and his nights in the downstairs bathroom. He’s a jet setter!

I shouldn’t tell y’all this, but we’re planning to turn the blue coop (not the big coop in the back forty – the medium coop in the side yard near the garage) into an outdoor kitten room. I had the little feral out there for most of the day yesterday. Even with the windows open and a fan on, it got hotter than I liked (I know, right? Alabama in July. Who knew it was going to be hot? CRAZY!), which is why we brought him inside. We’ve ordered an air conditioner, which should be here before the weekend. The plan is to use it as is for the time being if we need to, and then this Fall we’ll get serious. We’ll have an electrician out to run power to the coop, Fred will build a screened-in entrance so the kittens can’t escape. We’ll insulate and sheet-rock the inside, paint it. It’ll be awesome – or at least that’s the plan! Right now even though Fred spent a good part of Sunday cleaning the coop, it stinks in there. Which is to be expected – it was a chicken coop, after all. I’m going to get out there before the weekend and do some more scrubbing. I fear that it might always smell faintly of chickens, but it certainly could be worse. I have PLANZ for that coop, believe you me. There’ll be shelves under the windows! There’ll be toys hanging from the ceiling to bat at!

It’ll be spectacular. I hope!

Before I went wandering off up there, I meant to say that I brought the kitten bottle in to clean, filled it with water and left it in the sink. When I went to actually wash the bottle, the nipple was missing. I have no clue where the damn thing is – but I know that Bolitar’s the one who stole it, because at one point yesterday afternoon he had the scoop that I’d used to scoop out the formula with, and he was licking it, then proceeded to bat it around before I rescued it. He’s a little thief, that one. When I was giving the feral his flea bath yesterday (the Advantage killed the fleas, but the poor guy was covered in flea dirt and he was one stinky little guy, so he needed a bath), Bolitar was sitting on the kitchen floor howling and howling like he was afraid he was missing out on something good. He’s such a brat (and I love him).

Today, I am scattered (which is no different from any other day, I know) because I have a lot of stuff to do. I have a hair appointment, an appointment with the hematologist, and then tonight I’m taking Sofia to the adoption center to meet up with her new mother and go home. There’s a gap of about two hours between my hair appointment and my appointment with the hematologist. I’m trying to decide whether to come home and shower before I head back out, or just stay out. Both appointments are in the same general direction, and coming home to shower would be backtracking. I have errands I can run, so I may just stay out. I want to go by Sam’s and Costco and Best Buy to look at the netbooks they’re selling. Someone made a good point in my comments yesterday – I should actually put my hands on the netbook I’m thinking of buying rather than just ordering it online.

But before I leave for my first appointment, I need to put together a turkey and rice casserole for dinner tonight (I’ll cook it this morning so we can just reheat it tonight), do some laundry, figure out what I want to do with the squash Fred brought in from the garden last night.

So let me babble on about the cats for a bit and then we’ll call it an entry!

Pancho is a little goofball. And SUCH a snuggler. When I go into the foster room and sit on the floor, he climbs into my lap immediately.

The bros. Pancho, left, and Hermano, right.

Three of the four. But their eyes are closed, so I don’t know who’s who! (Tonight, I buy collars.)

Hermano, left, and Sofia, right.

Pancho, the luvah.

These kittens, I swear, have got the softest, silkiest fur. It’s such a pleasure to pet them! I mean, it’s always a pleasure to pet kittens, but these guys are especially pleasurable to pet.

Tonight, Sofia goes to her new home! I think she’ll be happy with her new parents and her new brother. It was nice to have her here, even though it was for such a short amount of time.

The feral (who pretty much has a name, if Fred gets his way. We’re negotiating.) is doing well. He was tested yesterday and is negative (yay!). Right now he’s living in Fred’s bedroom during the day and in the downstairs bathroom at night. He’s scared and skittish, but also playful and likes to be petted. He SO did not care for his bath yesterday afternoon, but he was terribly stinky and covered in flea dirt, so he desperately needed it.

Corbett, on the tree in the front room.

Looking up at Stinkerbelle, who pretty much lives on top of the bookcase next to the cat tree.

Rhyme, about to fall off. Does he care? Not in the slightest.

Snoozin’ Bolitar.

Suggie say relax.

Previously
2009: I should have demanded a decorator’s fee.
2008: The last time I wore a bikini, I was around five, and I expect that unless I lose my mind, that’s the last time a bikini will come anywhere near my body.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: And then he looked at ME, like I was the instigator or something!
2000: “Where’s my food?! Where’s my FOOD, bitch?! I need fat, I need salt, I need sugar, and GIVE IT TO ME NOW, or I’ll drive you completely insane!”

Things on my recent List of Annoyances.

1. The company that provides our phone service and internet. I’m pretty sure they’re trying to make me have an aneurysm. SLOW SLOW SLOW FUCKING SLOW. Every single day I can be found in front of my computer screaming “EVERY DAY! EVERY FUCKING DAY! GODDAMN YOU TO FUCKING HELL EVERY FUCKING DAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY!” And what’s worse is that we thought we were SO FUCKING SMART, that we decided to host our own server, and with the slowness and the always going down, guess what? Every time the internet goes down ALL OUR FUCKING SITES GO DOWN TOOOOOO.

Fred was instructed to find us a new host while I was on vacation, but didn’t even pretend to look. Fucker.

So tell me about your host, but only if you think they are the BEST! HOST! EVARRRRRR! (Or, you know, if you’d like to bitch about your host, too, go for it. You know I feel your pain!)

2. Fred

a. Laying in bed the other night.
Me: So, I was listening to Bob and Sheri, and this female rocket scientist called in, and she said that she was ditched in the middle of a blind date. It was going well ’til the guy found out she was a rocket scientist, then he went to the bathroom and never came back.
Fred: Huh.
Me: What is it? Do guys not like smart women?
Fred: (long pause as he considers the question) I don’t know.

It took him a long moment and a “Hmph!” from me before he realized what he’d said and started laughing.

b. I want a netbook. I WANT A NETBOOK. Lugging the laptop to Maine and back reiterated to me that I WANT A FUCKING NETBOOK. I know I bought one from Woot last year and it didn’t work out. I know I only travel a few times a year and hardly ever use the laptop while I’m at home, but did I mention? I WANT A NETBOOK.

I cannot get Fred to even feign any kind of interest in my need for a netbook.

“You’re not even feigning interest in my desire for a netbook!” I whined the other day.

“That’s because I’m not interested,” he said.

“I WANT A NETBOOK!”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t HAVE a netbook,” he said. “I just don’t know anything about them and I’m not interested.”

I sent him an email that said I’m thinking that when it’s time to buy a netbook, we should go for either the Dell Mini or the Toshiba Mini – I’m thinking the latter. They both got pretty good ratings on Amazon, the Toshiba’s ratings are slightly higher, and I’m leery of Dell.

His response? Okay.

Is it too much to ask that he pretend to be interested in the topic? Apparently so. HMPH.

You guys love me, right? What kind of netbooks do you recommend? I’m leaning toward the Toshiba, but I’m open to suggestions.

3. We were watching Friday Night Lights the other night, and there was some important play or another going on, one that could take them to… the semifinals? State? Something like that? But anyway, this play was going on and the camera panned to the sidelines, where several of the players were standing watching the play with sweaty intensity.

“Huh,” I said. “That looks like an important play.”

“Yeah….?” Fred said.

“So why are QB1 and the running back and the greasy Tim Riggins* standing on the sidelines?”

“Because defense is on the field,” Fred said.

“So?”

“Because it’s a defense play, not an offense play.”

It took a long time before I understood. Apparently in football, a team does not have its offense and its defense on the field at the same time.

I am 42 years old. I have watched (though not particularly paid attention to) many football games. Both my brothers played football when they were small. I was a CHEERLEADER when I was 8. WE’VE GOT SPIRIT, YES WE DO, WE’VE GOT SPIRIT, HOW ‘BOUT YOU??? Also when I was 8, I declared that I was going to be the first woman playing football in the NFL.*

(You see how that worked out.)

How did it escape my notice for all these years that a team’s defense and offense are not on the field at the same time?

Days later, this still BLOWS MY MIND. I keep trying to find the loophole. In the car yesterday, I said to Fred “But if one team’s offense fumbles the ball, the other team’s defense could take the ball and run it to the goal, right? THEN AREN’T THEY ACTING IN AN OFFENSIVE MANNER, MAKING THEM THE OFFENSE?”

Yeah. He seemed unimpressed with my argument. I can’t imagine why.

*I jest. Tim Riggins seems to have taken a shower over the summer.

**Can you imagine? Coach would be all “Anderson, it’s time for you to take the field and lead us to victory!” and I’d be all “But the defense isn’t on the field yet, Coach!” I DODGED A BULLET THERE!

4a. Arbitron, a marketing research company, called the house in mid-June. I squinted at the caller id, and doesn’t “Arbitron” sound like it could be a company that hires software engineers? Well, it sounded like it to me, so I answered the phone in hopes that someone might be calling Fred for an interview. (This was before he got the job where he is now, and is deliriously happy, might I add.) Anyway, I answered it and the woman told me that they wanted to conduct a radio survey in my area, blah blah blah, would I be willing to keep a diary of the radio stations I listen to?

Because I was feeling charitable, I agreed, and then we hung up the phone. The next day, Arbitron called again to let me know my radio diaries (I agreed that Fred would keep one, too) were on the way. A few days later, I got a letter from them with a crisp dollar bill in it, letting me know that, hey, my diaries are on the way! A week later, the diaries, each with a crisp dollar bill, arrived. Arbitron called to let me know that I should have my diaries. They took to calling every single goddamn motherfucking day. I stopped answering the phone. They called twice a day, hanging up on the answering machine each time.

I filled out the goddamn diaries (and we got yet another crisp dollar bill in a letter letting us know that the diary-keeping period was over and we should send the diaries back) and I sent them back but CHRIST ALMIGHTY, let me tell you what. Next time Arbitron needs me to fill out a diary detailing my radio listening patterns (and I spend maybe 20 minutes a day TOTAL listening to the radio, unless I’m going somewhere), they are SHIT OUT OF LUCK. Talk about your needy motherfuckers.

b. UAH, Fred’s alma mater, wants to put together an alumni directory. They desperately want Fred’s contact information. Fred is uninterested. Every 10 days or so, we get a postcard in the mail letting us know (in case we’ve forgotten in the past 10 days) that the deadline is approaching, and they want to be sure Fred’s information is correct. Fred doesn’t call them. I don’t call them FOR him. It sounds like UAH is shit outta luck. Maybe they could get together with Arbitron and start up a needy relationship where they call and write each other constantly.

5. “He actually swore yesterday,” Fred said, of a coworker.

“Really?” I said. “What did he say?”

“‘Shit.'”

Now goddamn it, I OBJECT. I will never fucking understand why “crap” is not a swear word, but “shit” is. THEY MEAN THE SAME GODDAMN THING. But “shit” is always bleeped out on TV and “crap” never is. NOT FAIR.

6. My hair. My HAIR. GOOD CHRIST ALMIGHTY ON A CRACKED PEPPER AND OLIVE OIL TRISCUIT WITH A BLOP OF ONION DIP ON TOP, my hair is driving me NUTS.

(Don’t be fooled. I took one step outside and it went POOF.)

I SUPPOSE, if you must be technical, it’s my own damn fault. Back when Fred first lost his job, I was in “I shall spend not one penny more than I absolutely must!” mode (pay no attention to those cat toys behind the curtain), and I cancelled my hair appointment the first week of April. Then Fred got a job, and I didn’t make an appointment. And my hair grew. Three months later, here we are: a big frizzy shapeless mass of what the fuck.

I have a hair appointment tomorrow, and that shit’s going to be chopped off, believe you me.

7. Cats. Seriously. See the next section for the “WHAT THE FUCK?” of THIS weekend.

I was preparing to get into the shower yesterday morning, and I heard Fred come upstairs and down the hallway. There was a pause, and then a knock.

I opened the door and said “What?”

Fred found himself a feral kitten. Going out into the back yard, he saw something dart from next to our fence to the massive boxwood bush a few feet away. The neighbor who was in his back yard practicing his fishing technique, told Fred that he thought it was a rabbit. Fred thought about just going out to do his chores, but his innate nosiness overcame him, and he went to investigate.

Hello, feral kitten.

He had to do some chasing before he caught the little guy, who fought and hissed and growled like a good little feral. Fred put him in a carrier and then came up to get me. I took my shower (come on, I had hair color on my head and needed to rinse it out!) and then went downstairs to check out the situation. In the carrier on the front porch was a little guy, voraciously eating the canned food Fred had given him.

He had fleas (I put Advantage on him), he’s got the big round belly that usually indicates worms, and he desperately needs a bath, but all in all he seems to be in pretty good shape. But this morning with the help of Gerber Chicken and Gravy (which is like crack to kittens), not only did he let me pet him, he stood on my leg and kneaded, and then he rolled over and presented the belly for rubbing.

At the moment he’s not in the house, but once he’s been tested (which he will be in a few hours), we’ll bring him in. Or maybe we won’t – the shelter manager might have a lead on a foster home for him. We’re not going to name him just yet – if he goes to another home, his new foster parents can name him. (Annnnnd, not ten seconds after I wrote that, Fred informed me that he’d like to raise this guy ’til he’s ready to be adopted. I… guess we have a new foster!)

He’s a boy, a brown and white tabby, and initially I thought he was 7 or 8 weeks old, but this morning I weighed him and he’s just over a pound, so maybe 5 weeks old? I don’t know, I’m terrible at aging kittens. In any case he eats well, he’s lively, and he even played with a toy mouse briefly this morning.

I suspect there’s a mother and/ or more feral kittens out there somewhere, but we both went all over the property yesterday morning looking, and found nothing at all. We’ll have to wait and see.

I guess this is the year of the stray for us!

Los Gatitos are doing well, their first weekend here. They spent a lot of time sleeping (they had their first vaccination Friday night, which always knocks them out for a day or two), and I could hear them up there playing, and they spent plenty of time keeping a wary eye on me. Sofia and Pancho were the first to break and come to me for petting.

This is Sofia. Don’t get too attached…

Sofia’s already been adopted!

She goes to her new home tomorrow.

This is Pancho. He’s the friendliest of the bunch. You walk into the room, and he comes over and falls at your feet. Silly boy. (His eyes are green.)

Evita’s a little shy, but give her some time. She’ll warm up, I’m sure of it.

People have asked whether any of these kittens are deaf. Initially we thought that Hermano (the blue-eyed boy) was because he wasn’t responding to any of the noises I was making. However, on Saturday he was sleeping, and I rattled a toy behind his head. He woke up and turned around to look, so he’s got at least some hearing.

The rest of them appear to hear just fine, too.

Bolitar and Elwood.

Bolitar. I love this guy; he cracks me up. He likes to get whiny and howl at me, and I say, in a mocking voice, “Wahhhh! I’m da babyyyyy!”, and he howls again.

He doesn’t mind being mocked.

Sleeping Reacher.

Four nights ago, I hit my limit. After being woken up every half hour by marauding Bookworms, I decided I’d HAD it. The next night, we put the Bookworms in the guest bedroom and shut the door. There were some puzzled meows, but they were quiet all night.

I got a great night’s sleep.

And now at night, the Bookworms go into the guest bedroom, and I sleep most of the night through without cats climbing all over me.

I find that when I get a good night’s sleep, I can put up with the daily cat-related annoyances a lot more calmly than I do when I’m sleep deprived. Go figure!

Elwood is going to be a big, big boy.

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: Goddamn squirrels.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: No entry.
2002: OR I may have thought to myself, well, every author is entitled to a horrid piece of excrement or two.
2001: I’ve been packing in a desultory and lazy fashion this week, and have about half the upstairs done.
2000: I think if any of the kitties lose their mind and go on a human-throat-gnawing spree, it’ll be her.