Peeper and her three kittens are at a vet, where they’ve been since October. They are well now and ready to travel to their foster homes, but their bill has to be paid before the vet will release them, plus they all need to be vetted and spayed/neutered too.
Her ChipIn page is here.
If you would like to confirm with the vet or donate directly, the contact info is:
Pet Vac Animal Hospital
2920 Reidville Rd.
Spartanburg, SC 29301
(864) 574-6200
I know I’ve been posting a lot of these pleas lately, but it’s that time of year when the need is great and funds are low, you know?
I swear to god, this has been THE slowest friggin’ month in the entire history of months. And NOW I have to get through 10 days of February before I can go in and get my damn surgery over with.
(I see you, skimmers, hoping that I’ll tell you what the hell surgery I’m talking about. You’re hoping I’ll just tell you so you don’t have to search on it, aren’t you? Very well. If you MUST know, I’m going for brain surgery. They’re going to remove my brain completely and see how long I can yammer on about cats before my body gives up the ghost. The prediction is that I can go for a year or more.)
Yesterday marked five years since I had weight loss surgery. I need to do my yearly update over at OneFatBitchypoo, but still need to have Fred take pictures of me so that I can post them, so everyone can see that nothing’s changed since last year.
I came so very, very close to blowing off my yearly appointment with the surgeon who did my weight loss surgery. Mostly because I had to go see the nutritionist first, so they could do the InBody scan and the surgeon could have those results.
Now, look. The nutritionist is a really nice guy, I have NO problems with him at all. But the yearly appointment with him is absolutely mind-numbingly torturously BORING. Because I have yet to learn anything that I didn’t already know. I take in a list of what I ate over the previous week, he looks at it and suggests a few tweaks, tells me to keep doing what I’m doing, and then I leave.
For the past five years, he’s told me to come back again in a year. This year, he wanted me to come back in six months. In previous years, the nutritionists (there used to be more than one who worked with the surgeon’s office) used to be in a different office space across the hall. This year all the equipment has been moved to the surgeon’s office space, and when I went across the hall to the nutritionist’s office, there were boxes everywhere in a clear indication that they’d be giving up that office suite.
So is it such a stretch for me to conclude that the only reason I would suddenly need to meet with the nutritionist twice a year instead of once is because they charge $75 (which is an out-of-pocket expense, as insurance doesn’t cover it) and the surgeon’s office is taking a hit on account of the economy? Because let me tell you what – I would happily pay TWICE that to NOT have to go through the godawful BORING ASS appointment in six months.
Which is to say, I will SO not be attending any such appointment in six months. Because I don’t believe it’s warranted, and while I am sympathetic to the economy woes being suffered by my surgeon’s office, I can’t possibly force myself to attend that appointment. It’s cruel and unusual.
I have my appointment with the surgeon later this week and then, THANKYOUBABYJESUS, it’ll be over for another year.
Speaking of medical things, I had my mammogram last Tuesday. It went fine, and I got a letter from the breast center on Friday letting me know that there were “no significant signs of abnormalities.” I’m guessing that if there had been signs of abnormalities, that would probably have delayed my surgery.
Haven’t heard anything about the blood tests, but no news is good news AMIRIGHT?
I had to have more blood drawn on Thursday, because my WLS surgeon orders those every year. I went back to the same testing center where I went the week before (when I had two lab slips from two different doctors, one covered by insurance, one not, which threw the admittance clerk and phlebotomist into a bit of a tizzy). When the admittance clerk called me back, she squinted at me and said “Weren’t you just here?” I started to remind her of the two-lab-slip kerfuffle, and she remembered me right away.
This time there were no issues, and I was in and out of there pretty quickly.
We had an absolutely gorgeous weekend. It got up into the 60s both days. Saturday was bright and sunny with not a cloud in the sky, and Sunday was intermittently sunny and cloudy. We’re supposed to have a couple more days of warm weather before it drops back down for a few days.
Fred puttered around outside a lot this weekend, and on Sunday morning processed 11 roosters. The rooster population in the back forty has really gotten out of hand. There were way too many roosters out there for the number of hens we have, and it was well past time for processing.
(He actually intended to process them last weekend, but it was so cold that he put it off for one more week.)
Instead of plucking or skinning the entire chickens, this time around he cut the breasts off the roosters so I’d have some boneless, skinless chicken breasts, and then he skinned the legs, brought the breasts and legs inside for me to package up, and gave what remained of the carcasses to the pigs.
Turning chicken into bacon, if you will.
There are probably another 10 roosters out there who need to be processed, but they’re still fairly young and aren’t terrorizing the hens just yet, so Fred will wait a while before processing them. The back forty is a lot calmer and quieter now, and it was nice to see the hens out enjoying the sun yesterday afternoon instead of hiding under the coop from the asshole roosters.
Roosters are absolutely gorgeous, but almost every one of them is a complete asshole. I’d like to see the rooster population culled down to two or three, total.
The chicken legs and breasts will sit in the fridge for a couple of days. I’ll put the legs in the freezer Tuesday or Wednesday, and then I intend to lay the breasts out on a cookie sheet, flash freeze them, and then put them in a big bag in the freezer.
I’ve been wishing I had boneless, skinless breasts for a while now, so that I could make some of my favorite recipes that call for them, so it’ll be nice to have them on hand.
I’ll be spending this week making meals that can be frozen, so that when I’m recovering and healing after surgery, Fred can just pop a pan in the oven for dinner, instead of having to do any kind of labor-intensive cooking. So far, I’m planning to put up a couple of pans of chicken and rice casserole, lasagna, meatballs, and Crockpot Texas Goulash. Oh, and of course a big bunch of Chimichangas.
Like I told Fred, I’ll get all these meals stowed in the freezer, and then neither of us will feel like eating any of it. We’ll end up eating a months’ worth of egg sandwiches instead!
We had turkey for dinner Sunday afternoon. Now, I am 43 years old, and we’ve been eating our own chickens and turkeys for about three years now.
At what point do you suppose I’ll figure out which way is breast side down when I’m getting the turkey or chicken ready for the oven? For some reason, I can look at a chicken, and I’ll know that those are the legs and those are the wings, and I can even hold the chicken with its legs down, and yet somehow I cannot force myself to understand that THAT is the breast and THAT is the back.
It didn’t help matters on Sunday that when I had the turkey in the oven bag and held it up for Fred and said “Is this breast-side down?”, he misunderstood what I was saying, and said “No, that’s the wrong way.” because he thought I meant breast-side UP.
We got it figured out, but good god almighty. It ain’t rocket science! Why can’t I figure this shit out?
(Note to future Robyn: legs down = breast-side down. Not that you’ll remember, dumbass.)
Miz Poo, Jake, Elwood, Reacher, Tommy, and Sugarbutt, hanging out in the kitchen.
Rhyme loves him some Loony Jake. EVERYone loves Loony Jake.
Corbie in the Room with a View (aka: The Sug Cave.)
And now Reacher.
In case you missed it on Saturday, there was an entry posted with some bad news, good news, and updates. Cindy was returned Friday night, and then adopted again on Saturday, which doesn’t surprise me at ALL.
Poor Jan still hasn’t been adopted, but I expect it won’t be long until the right person comes along, she’s such a little lovebug. Fred says that I condemned her by naming her after the most annoying Brady!
Speaking of names, Alice has earned herself some nicknames from us.
Fred likes to call her “Alice MOrales”, or “Alice Moe” for short.
I think “Mini” (or, I suppose, “Minnie”) would be a good name for her.
“Princess Alice of Smugonia” also fits very well.
I’m working on getting pictures of her with some of the grown-up cats, so you can get a feel for her small stature. I expect that’s what Wednesday’s entry will be comprised of.
Yesterday, I made blueberry muffins. I left one on the counter, wrapped in a piece of paper towel. A few hours later, I walked into the kitchen to find that Elwood had knocked the muffin onto the floor, and he and Alice were busily eating it.
I took the muffin away from them, and for the rest of the day every time I set foot in the kitchen, Alice was there meowing at me to let me know that she’d like some more blueberry muffin RIGHT NOW PLEASE.
Maxi in the sun.
Previously
2010: No entry.
2009: No entry.
2008: Time to clear off the memory stick!
2007: Spring, where art thou?
2006: No entry.
2005: Hey, can you eat raw kale?
2004: No entry.
2003: My whole life is a vicious circle, really.
2002: No entry.
2001: I mean, what the fuck did I do?
2000: Yeah, I know, woe is me.