Month: June 2011

So, a couple of you – several of you, really – noticed that Alice is not the teeny tiny miss she used to be.

Truly, I don’t know when it happened – one minute we were talking about how small she was, and the next she was pretty much full-sized! I weighed her over the weekend, and she weighed in at 7 pounds, 13 ounces. (She also turned one year old on June 6th, which we completely failed to notice!)

Let me remind you, when the vet saw her at around 8 months old, she said she didn’t think Alice would get much bigger than 6 pounds. She was 4.5 pounds when we got her!

I guess it’s amazing what regular feeding will do.

A couple of you also thought – when I posted the picture of Maggie and all those babies nursing – that Coriander was Alice. Alice has no use for the little kittens, but I managed (with Fred’s help) to snap a few pictures of the two of them for comparison.

Cori, swiping at Alice’s tail.

Sharpening her claws… (That’s NOT a look of love she’s getting from Alice!)

Her reaction after Alice smacked at her.

Alice is all “Seriously?”

::fume::

So there you go: Alice is now full-sized (maybe on the small side of full-sized – at least for now!), and she and Cori look like they could be mother and daughter. Or sisters. Or cousins. They resemble each other, is what I’m saying, but Alice is three times Cori’s size.

One thing all the fosters we’ve ever had in this house have in common: they all eventually love to hang out by the back door! (That’s Macushla and Fergus Simon in the back, and Ciara hanging off the front.)

“If I don’t look at him, this isn’t happening.”

I love it when they sleep like this, all curled up in a sweet ball of unbearable cute.

From the ham-mick to the scratcher!

Jake likes to follow Cori around and stare adoringly at her.

Cori’s not quite sure what she thinks of Jake, though.

Miz Poo stays where she can keep a close eye on those kittens – and push them off if they get too close!

Previously
2010: I was about to lose my shit, slam the gate closed, and yell at the chickens that they could just SUCK IT.
2009: Our dogs are awfully sweet and it amazes me that anyone could be scared of them, but I have to admit that when they bark with their serious bark, they can sound kinda scary.
2008: No entry.
2007: Gives new meaning to the term of endearment “shithead”, doesn’t it?
2006: No entry.
2005: I said “You shut up, motherfucker, or I’ll unleash my wifely instincts on you” and he said “Shut your unmaternal mouth, woman.”
2004: Wound report: It’s sensitive and weepy. Just like me!
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Have you ever felt like your hair looks like a really bad wig?

I went to Publix yesterday because I needed to pick up a few groceries (“No, really, Robyn! You don’t say! What a fascinating reason to go to the grocery store!”). In front of Publix, there was a wrought-iron table and chairs. I think they were selling that kind of furniture for a while and were down to just the one table.

As I headed from my car to the store, I noticed that there was a man sitting at the table, all kicked back and relaxing. What caught my eye, though, was that he was wearing a purple t-shirt with white letters on the front. Fred has a purple t-shirt with white letters on the front – I think it’s his “Does it look like I care?” t-shirt. Fred likes the snarky t-shirts, if I haven’t mentioned.

In the interest of full disclosure, I also like the snarky t-shirts. Please admire the latest addition to my collection:

So it became, for some reason, very important to me to find out if it was, indeed, the same t-shirt that Fred possesses, but I didn’t want Mr. Kicking-Back-and-Relaxing to think I was staring at him or anything. I’d walk a few steps and glance over at him, then repeat it. That went well for a brief amount of time, but as I approached the building, I lost track of myself and eventually realized I’d been staring at him. I glanced away, and a moment later he said “Hello.”

“Hi!” I said, all perky-like, and smiled.

“I’m at Publix,” he said.

Which is when I realized he was on his cell phone and melted into the ground in a puddle of embarrassment.

(I never was able to tell if it was the same t-shirt or not.)

I happened to read Swistle’s Baby Names over the weekend, specifically this post. I guess, after reading the comments, that I was one of the lucky ones in that no one objected what I decided to name the spud – though I’m pretty sure my mother lobbied for “Molly” at some point or another.

The spud’s real name is Danielle, for those of you who don’t know. Early on in the pregnancy I decided on Jessica and the spud’s father was okay with that (he was pretty easygoing on the subject). Then, not long before she was born, I heard or read the name Danielle somewhere and immediately changed my mind. Of course, I don’t think there’s anything TO object to in the name Danielle, but you never know. I don’t even remember what I was going to name her if she was a boy – possible Jeffrey. I liked Christopher, but my oldest brother had already used that. Actually, I think we’re a family of pretty good, solid names. Chris, Danielle, Brian, Mireya, Jeff (and Jordan for my great-nephew). The only slightly unusual name is Mireya, but even though I had never heard the name before (Spanish I think?) I thought (and still think) it was pretty.

(Though it is occasionally mispronounced as “Mariah.”)

Back before Fred and I decided we didn’t want to have any children together, we decided on the names Samantha Jayne for a girl and Seth Forrest for a boy. I still like those.

Anyway, before I went off on a tangent, all I meant to say is this: I’m pretty sure I’ll be naming a kitten “Everett Peppers” in the future, because I REALLY like that name for a kitten. Is that weird? If I get a litter of boy kittens, I’ll probably name his brothers “Henry Peppers” and “Waldo Peppers.” The Peppers Gang!

You have been warned.

Cilantro (left) and Cori. Sweet snugglin’ sisters.

Ordinarily, Clove would be there with them, but she must have wandered off. Probably harassing poor Maggie.

Now Cori’s on the left and Cilantro’s on the right. They sure do like to move around.

There’s Clove!

Grumpy are we, Clove? Don’t like Cilantro’s tail over your face?

Pile of McMaos.

Such a happy, happy boy.

I’m seeing all three Spice Girls, but only half the McMaos. Why, it’s practically a vacation for Maggie!

Cillian (I think) on the left, Cilantro on the right.

“MY stump.”

Previously
2010: Look, when you’re woken up at 4 am by a screaming little kitten wanting to be let OUT of the horror that is a room fully stocked with food, water, and all the toys he could ever possibly want, I think a nap on the couch is warranted.
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: “Hey! I’m not a complete idiot. Of course I know who Vernon Jordan is!”
2006: It was the weirdest hyper-real instant of cognitive dissonance I have ever experienced in my life.
2005: “Oh, look a finger! I feel so relaxed and unfrightened now…”
2004: Then I sang “Iiiiiiiiiiii am the Stuuuuuuuuump of Constant Sorrowwwwwwwwww!”, which amused Fred to no end.
2003: No entry.
2002: Readers, if you love me, you will never, NEVER allow someone you don’t know who isn’t a cop (ask for identification, and LOOK at it, don’t just glance at it) inside your home when you’re alone.
2001: No entry.
2000: Black widow. Lovely.

I would like to know what motherfucker thought it would be an excellent idea to plant bush beans this summer. What a fucking PAIN IN THE ASS it is to go down a row of those fucking things and find all the beans that are big enough to pick.

That motherfucker was me, by the way. I was all “Nah, let’s do bush beans this year instead of pole beans!” and Fred was all “But what a pain in the ass!” and then I was all “Well, I’ll take care of picking them. You always pick them when they’re too big and they get all stringy and shit.”

Spring Robyn is always FAR too happy to sign up Summer Robyn for shit like that, and as Summer Robyn, let me just say: Shut the fuck up, Spring Robyn, you fucking asshole.

Next year we’re doing pole beans (and no doubt Spring 2012 Robyn will be ALL too happy to sign Summer 2012 Robyn up to pick those fucking beans, too). Why do we grow so many goddamn green beans, anyway? Who loves beans THAT much? We always end up with ten tons of them in the freezer and have to eat them at every meal and by December we’re all “O goody. Beans again!”

Note, because I know someone out there is wondering and doesn’t know the difference (I sure didn’t before we had our own garden): bush beans grow in bushes so that the beans hide under the leaves of the plant. Pole beans grow up a pole or – in our case – a fence panel. The pole beans can still hide under the leaves of the plant, but you don’t have to spend as much time bent over, digging through the fucking plant to see them. Also, bush beans produce beans all at once and then stop, whereas pole beans keep producing them – thus, with bush beans the work of blanching and freezing (I don’t much care for canned green beans, for the record) happens all at once, but with pole beans the work is more spread out.

I’m sure next summer I’ll be bitching about the pole beans and swearing to do bush beans in 2013.

One thing I bought this year that has come in really handy is a garden cart, like this one (I bought it at Lowe’s, though). I was able to sit on that thing and scoot down the row of green beans rather than having to stand bent over. It was a lot easier on my back. It also came in handy when I was going down the row of tomatoes pruning and checking for early blight (which I haven’t seen since I sprayed for it twice).

Speaking of tomatoes, we’ve eaten exactly three cherry tomatoes. We have a bazillion green tomatoes that are inching ever closer toward ripening, and hopefully that’ll happen this century.

We’ve been eating the hell out of squash and zucchini – for dinner last week, we had scrambled eggs every night, with sides of veggies. Thursday night, I made pattypan squash stuffed with sauteed zucchini and yellow squash, roasted yellow squash, and sliced raw zucchini with ranch dressing for dipping. Oh! And leftover zucchini fritters. When dinner was over, Fred said “This is the most squash-centric meal I’ve ever eaten.”

The squash side dishes have just begun! ::evil laugh::

Last week I got an email from Burpee exhorting me to start thinking about my Fall garden (seriously, wtf? It’s not even July, motherfuckers!), and one of the links in the email was to their selection of garlic. So I clicked on that to go over and see what was what with the garlic they had (I’ve never grown garlic before, but I’m thinking of planting it this Fall so it’ll be ready to harvest next summer. I love me some garlic.). A few days later, I got an email from them proclaiming that I could get FREE shipping on garlic.

Fucking stalkers. They could be a LITTLE more subtle about the fact that they were following me around the internet looking over my shoulder as I perused their site, no?

(I haven’t decided about the garlic yet. If I do plant some this Fall, I’ll probably get it from the local co-op.)

Speaking of, um, stinky veggies, I don’t know if I mentioned this before, but this Spring I planted about 150 onions. Currently, I’ve got about 20 growing. I find that SO FUCKING ANNOYING. I love onions! (Between my onion and garlic love, don’t you wish you were kissing acquaintances with me?) Fred mentioned the possibility of doing a long raised bed next year for the onions, so that’s something to look forward to.

All the kittens are doing well. It’s like a crazy house in here these days, with kittens hopping everywhere like fleas. It’s surprisingly quiet in the middle of the day, with them flopped everywhere sleeping – but wild little monkeys first thing in the morning and at dusk.

I weighed the Spice Girls over the weekend. Cilantro and Cori are both a couple of ounces over 2 pounds, and little Clove is at 1 pound, 10 ounces, so it’ll be a bit longer before they all go to be spayed. Fred reported that he saw Clove rooting around in Miz Poo’s belly fur, clearly looking for a nipple, and Miz Poo was not appreciative of this development, so hissed and smacked at her.

Poor Clove (but I can’t say that I blame Miz Poo!)

Macushla’s in charge of guarding the food.

Ciara, trying to latch on. Poor Maggie – she tries her best to ignore them when they do this. Eventually, she either gives in, or jumps up where they can’t get to her.

Sleeping McMaos.

There’s a bed RIGHT THERE, but noooo, he has to curl up in a miserable ball on top of my sewing basket. Weirdo.

They’re so ridiculously long and lanky at this age.

Okay, well, THAT looks comfy.

So proud of herself for flinging that pink hat off her head.

Cilantro, eye on the feather teaser.

Planning her jump.

Whoaaaa…. back she goes!

Still swingin’!

Clove in profile.

Cilantro in profile.

Her little smile just slays me.

Maxi keeps me company when I do outside chores.

Previously
2010: No entry.
2009: No entry.
2008: You spoil them rotten until they get big-ass, then you slaughter and eat them, of course!
2007: Is it just me, or do these look like weirdly posed scenes, like something you’d see in the JC Penney catalog? I imagine a photographer yelling “Frick! You WANT him, you want him with every feather on your body, but Sugarbutt! You don’t even notice Frick, you’re just standing there being beautiful. Be beautiful, Sugarbutt! Be beautiful and feisty and unattainable, and Frick! Want him! Want him badly, but sadly, knowing that you can never have someone that beautiful. He’s out of your league! PERFECT!”
2006: The meals sucked, but we got t-shirts that were pretty cute, so I guess it all worked out.
2005: Can I sue for emotional distress?
2004: No entry.
2003: I never said I had a long attention span.
2002: You can imagine the zany situations.
2001: No entry.
2000: Beggars can’t be choosers, I suppose.

P.A.W.S. Wakefield, an animal rescue shelter in Wakefield, Massachusetts, just rescued eight mothers and thirty-five kittens from one house (let me repeat: FROM ONE HOUSE) in Melrose, MA. They desperately need funds to get the cats spayed/ neutered and cared for,
and if there’s anyone out there in the Melrose-Wakefield, Massachusetts area, I’m sure they could use more foster homes, or adoptive homes for kitties! Their website is here, and you can donate here.

Y’all help out if you can, and help spread the word, please?

No Crooked Acres pics today – it’s been kind of overcast and drizzly all week, which doesn’t lend itself to great picture-taking. There’ll be pics next week, I’m sure!

The baby robins have moved on, it appears. Or they’re learning to fly – I went out to check the mail yesterday morning, and stopped by the tree to look in the nest. I saw no babies in the nest, but two robins were squawking and diving at me, so they may have been in the tree somewhere.

I did make Fred stop feeding the babies so we wouldn’t interfere with the natural course of things, but he insisted on going out to the front yard and tossing worms for the parents to snatch up and carry to their babies.

Those worms, let me add, were not worms he was able to dig up, because it’s been so dry here (well, at least until the last couple of days). They were worms that he bought at a convenience store (some convenience stores around here sell bait)(you know you’re jealous), which cost him $10.

Do you think I’ll be bringing up that $10 (FOR WORMS) every single time he tries to give me a hard time about money I’m spending on toys for the cats? Oh, yes indeedy I will. I look forward to it!

So, on Sunday I was out working in the garden. I was laying feed bags down around the peppers. Fred had been piling feed bags in the blue coop all year long so that come this gardening season, I could use them to block weeds. I carried 10 bags from the blue coop to the garden, carrying them up under my arm. I worked in the garden for a couple of hours, and when I was done, I was headed back to the house when my armpit started itching like crazy. I scratched at it a few times, but the problem is that half of my armpit area is still numb from the surgery I had in February, so even though it was itching, scratching it wasn’t really helping. Which was odd.

It itched for a while longer, and I asked Fred to look at the area and tell me what the hell was going on, but he couldn’t see anything. The itching finally went away. Sunday evening, it started to hurt, alternately aching and stinging. I actually took a hydrocodone to make it stop hurting and also because I figured it’d help me sleep.

Monday morning it was neither better nor worse than it had been the night before, so I decided to just keep an eye on it and go without a bra.

(What? The bra strap was irritating the swollen area. And any excuse to go without a bra, amIright?)

Tuesday morning, Fred looked at it before he left for work, and said he thought it was getting bruised-looking and that I should go to the doctor. I did – well, saw the nurse practitioner – and she prescribed an antibiotic and told me to come back if it got worse.

All this time, Fred had been INSISTING that I probably got a bite from a brown recluse, that there MUST be brown recluses living in the piles of feed bags in the blue coop, that my side was going to rot off. I would say, in fact, that he was disappointed the nurse practitioner didn’t insist I immediately check myself into the hospital and undergo lifesaving surgery (or whatever). He was also disappointed that it wasn’t anything that had to be lanced so that gallons of crap would come shooting out.

He was mostly disappointed, though, that he had to stop on the way home and pick up my antibiotic prescription for me because I didn’t want to wait around for it. (He was NOT disappointed that it was free, though. Gotta love Publix!)

As of last night, the swelling had gone down considerably. I think I’ll live.

Someone Fred knows was actually bitten on the cheek by a brown recluse. He had to have skin removed from his butt to replace the necrotic tissue caused by the bite. Gives a new meaning to “butthead”, no?

Tuesday afternoon, I had to take Declan to the vet. I noticed that he wasn’t playing with the other kittens, all he wanted to do was lay in the cat bed near the back door and watch the kittens run by. He also seemed to be favoring one paw, and felt warm to me. He howled and howled on the drive to the vet, only quieting down when he realized he could crawl under the blanket in the carrier. Once he did that, I didn’t hear another peep from him.

The vet looked him over thoroughly – he did have a temperature – and couldn’t find anything obviously wrong with him. She prescribed antibiotics in case he had an abscess forming. By the evening, he was hanging out on the couch next to Fred, chasing his tail.

Tuesday evening, I made dinner. The veggies have started coming in from the garden, most especially zucchini. I decided to make baked zucchini fritters (I use plain panko bread crumbs, though, because I’m not crazy about the Italian herbs. Don’t look at me like that, I just don’t like them! I think it’s the basil. Did I mention don’t look at me like that?). Sooooo we were eating dinner, and Fred went into the kitchen to get something, and he called “She ate one of the fritters!”

“She” would be Maggie, who is pretty much a stomach on legs. I can’t blame her, she is letting nine kittens nurse, for the love of god, but it’s kind of annoying that if I even think about walking near the kitchen, she appears and gives me the bright-eyed hopeful look.

We’d stupidly left the leftover fritters on the counter while we were eating dinner, and Maggie saw her shot and took it. The problem is that there was not only onion but also garlic in those fritters, both of which are toxic to cats.

(Human foods to avoid feeding cats.)

Now, there wasn’t much onion in the fritter she’d eaten – the recipe calls for 1/4 of an onion, which was spread over 8 fritters – but I didn’t want to take any chances. I called the vet and talked to her, and she suggested that since it had just happened, we should try to make Maggie vomit. If we weren’t able to, we could check her red blood cells every couple of days to make sure there was no damage.

We grabbed Maggie and took her into the bathroom, then gave her 3 cc of hydrogen peroxide. She was surprisingly good about letting Fred shoot it down her throat, and then she paced around the bathroom, licking her lips and swallowing. After 10 minutes, we gave her another 3 cc, and then both left the bathroom to get some evening chores done. Five minutes later, Fred went to check on her.

“You have GOT to see this!” he yelled, and I went to see.

I’m pretty sure she vomited up everything she’d eaten over the past week. It was awe-inspiring, to say the least. And there, in the middle, was every bit of the fritter she’d eaten. She recovered pretty quickly, and by bedtime was back to her usual “You have food for me?” self.

For dinner last night, I made more fritters (we are seriously getting quite a bit of zucchini from the garden right now and we both like these fritters). This time, I made two without onion and garlic, and let her have one of them. It’s not anything we’ll make a habit of, but after making her vomit the night before, we figured she deserved a treat.

It’s always something around here, y’know?

“Here, here, pass it here! PASS IT HERE!”

“PASS IT TO ME, YOU STUPID CENTER!”

So close, and yet so far.

Doesn’t seem to bother her that she keeps missing, does it?

Clove loves to stand there and watch Maggie lovingly as she eats.

Clove.

Coriander.

Cilantro (couldn’t get her to look at the camera!)

“Why yes, I AM sitting in the basket watching my brothers drink. What of it?” (Declan in the basket, Macushla front left, Finnegan front right)

Have I mentioned that they love this cat tree beyond all reason?

Ciara, up close.

Macushla, up close.

Fergus Simon and Finnegan. I love how FS has his big ol’ rabbit feet pressed against Finnegan.

It’s time for your weekly reminder: Corbie is gorgeous. That is all.

Previously
2010: All the fosters, ever.
2009: (A story we recounted, and I do not exaggerate here, at least five times over the course of the weekend.)
2008: Taking a few impromptu days off.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: I’ll try to drum up some drama for tomorrow, m’kay?
2004: (For the record, I do vacuum out there every couple of months…)
2003: A Day in the Life
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: I will be hurting bad tomorrow, though.

P.A.W.S. Wakefield, an animal rescue shelter in Wakefield, Massachusetts, just rescued eight mothers and thirty-five kittens from one house (let me repeat: FROM ONE HOUSE) in Melrose, MA. They desperately need funds to get the cats spayed/ neutered and cared for,
and if there’s anyone out there in the Melrose-Wakefield, Massachusetts area, I’m sure they could use more foster homes, or adoptive homes for kitties! Their website is here.

Y’all help out if you can, and help spread the word, please?

One of these things is not like the others….

Two of these things just don’t belong…

Can you tell which three things are not like the others…

By the time I finish my song?

(You can click on the pictures to go to Flickr, where there are notes on each picture pointing out who the interlopers are!)

So yes, as you might have guessed, the Spice Girls have gotten the run of the house along with the McMaos. It is, let me tell you, utter madness. But it’s also kind of delightful. I let them out in the morning, and then at bedtime we put the McMaos in the guest bedroom and the Girls in the foster room. We discussed putting all of them in one room, but I think it’s best to keep them separate at night for now. A couple of the McMaos (Ciara and Macushla) were a little hissy at first, but they relaxed pretty quickly.

Cori at the trough.

Let me tell you, I actually pulled all of those kittens off Maggie after a few seconds (before I snapped those pictures up there), because I was afraid she was being overwhelmed, but she gave me a dirty look and then called to the kittens to come to her. Who am I to interfere with her mothering?

Maggie, in the window in the dining room.

“What’s over HERE?”

Macushla, with Clove snuggled up behind him. Yeah, I’d say he’s adjusted well.

Coriander would like you to know that she’s no fluffhead. She’s got BRAINS in that head of hers, and she knows how to use them!

One day last week I was watching something I’d taped several weeks ago. I can’t for the life of me remember the name of the show, but it had three litters of kittens, and followed them from birth to six weeks (?) old. At one point, there were baby kittens on the screen crying, and Maggie came in, all “WHY ARE BABIES CRYING! BABIES DO NOT CRY ON MY WATCH!”, and sweetness ensued. (Sorry for the length of the video, I do try to keep them to under a minute, but I am no editor!)

Stinkerbelle keeps an eye on those kittens from her perch up high.

Previously
2010: I’m always behind on everything always, is what I’m saying to you.
2009: The airport for the night, then.
2008: No entry.
2007: No Mister Boogers.
2006: No entry.
2005: Oh, the hilarity that ensues when your car and foster kitten have the same name! I could almost hear the laugh track in the background.
2004: PMS, anyone?
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001:No entry.
2000: Charmed life, have I mentioned?

P.A.W.S. Wakefield, an animal rescue shelter in Wakefield, Massachusetts, just rescued eight mothers and thirty-five kittens from one house (let me repeat: FROM ONE HOUSE) in Melrose, MA. They desperately need funds to get the cats spayed/ neutered and cared for,
and if there’s anyone out there in the Melrose-Wakefield, Massachusetts area, I’m sure they could use more foster homes, or adoptive homes for kitties! Their website is here.

Y’all help out if you can, and help spread the word, please?

Paula sent me the link to this page yesterday – Louis vs. Rick – and it made me cackle. He hasn’t posted anything since November 2009, but that certainly didn’t stop me from adding him to my Google Reader.

So, recently I was laying in bed and wasn’t ready to go to sleep just yet, so I looked on my iPod to see what TV shows I had to watch. I went ahead and bought this season of Gossip Girl on iTunes, but I wasn’t in a Gossip Girl mood. I did have an episode of Private Practice – the one where Charlotte is, y’know. I don’t want to say, so as not to spoil it for anyone who hasn’t seen this season.

I don’t watch Private Practice, but I’d read somewhere that that episode was a pretty powerful one, so I bought it, and then it sat on my iPod for lo these many months.

I blather these fascinating details to you so that I can then say that whatsherface, the surgeon who is McDreamy’s sister, mentioned to another character that she’d been drinking “a little too much” lately. And in an expository manner, it was revealed (though I’m sure that those of you who watch the show already knew this) that she is a recovering drug addict.

Which is when I was all, hold the phone here. Is it truly okay – an accepted practice – for a recovering drug addict to drink? I mean, to me it seems obvious that if I’ve got an addiction to drugs, I might fairly easily transfer that addiction to alcohol annnnd that could be a problem. No? What am I missing here?

I didn’t drive the sweeper around the back forty yesterday morning because something bit me in the armpit when I was working in the garden on Sunday (some sort of bug, I mean – not like a rabid skunk ran up and bit me. Though that would be an excellent entry, wouldn’t it?), and wearing a bra is annoying because the strap rubs right on the swollen, bitten part, and also I took one step out the back door at 6:30 and it was already hot and muggy out, and I thought “I do believe I’m going to take this armpit-bite as an excuse to not do any outdoor work today.”

So I didn’t.

Which means now I gotta. Well, I don’t HAVE to, but I want to get it done and over with, so today’s the day. I’ll probably only do it for a couple of hours, though, since it’s supposed to get super hot again today and there’s no shade in the back forty. Since the back forty’s a decent distance from the neighbor’s house, I’m going to get started at about 7:00, I think. They shouldn’t be able to hear the lawnmower, but if someone stumbles out the back door and gives me a dirty look, I’ll wait ’til 9:00.

“You SEE what I have to put up with?”

Fergus Simon’s goofy little face makes me laugh every day.

“Why, it’s AMAZIN’!”

“Yes, I’m wearing my tiny hat. What of it?” (Macushla)

“Howdy, pardner.” (Ciara)

::thlurrrp:: Miss Cori.

“Hello, I am beautiful.”

I love it when they smile.

Rough life, ain’t it?

We bought a cat tree for the foster room, and the girls really like it. At some point in the future, we’re planning on doing a kind of built-in tree with platforms attached to the wall and such, in which case we’ll move this tree somewhere else in the house. Kittens need cat trees, is what I think, and this one will do nicely for the time being.

What’s funnier than a tiny cat on a little kitten? Nothing, that’s what.

“I’m wearing my cowboy hat and you are not!”

“I’m a cowgiiiiiiiirl!”

Alice, on the cement pad in the back yard.

Previously
2010: Fred pointed out yesterday that the kittens are always free, but the puppies never are.
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: Needless to say, Maxi’s persona non grata when the chickens are present in the back yard from now on.
2006: The discerning decorator always considers that cats are decor accessories as well as beloved, spoiled-rotten pets and takes into account the decor of their home before adopting said animals.
2005: “If I can make four percoset get me high for the next year, you just might.”
2004: (Don’t lecture me, I KNOW. I swear I’ll wear sunscreen from now on okay, MOTHER?)
2003: No entry.
2002: Hell. O. Dolly. God in heaven, they were SO DAMN GOOD.
2001: Plus I’m taking this newfangled thing they call “pen and paper.”
2000: No entry.

In case you missed it, I posted an entry about Coltrane yesterday.

Thank you all for your kind words, here and on Facebook and Twitter. Even though Coltrane hadn’t been spending much time inside with us since the weather turned warm (he was briefly banned from the house after we realized he was spraying all over the place every time we let him in, but he looked so sad at not being allowed inside, that we relented because we are suckers. The boy had a bladder the size of Texas.), his absence is definitely felt. He was always so very happy to see us in the afternoon, when it was time to feed the pigs, and he’d follow us around and talk to us until we picked him up or at least petted him.

This is my favorite picture of him, from last September, though I didn’t post it yesterday because I was afraid he looked a little, um, not completely alive in it. (He was, though, he was just delirious with joy. He LOVED being held.)

So, the garden is coming along. Today I’ll be driving the sweeper all over the back forty to pick up as much as I can of the grass clippings out there. Then I’m going to dump them in the back of the trailer, and go a-sweepin’ some more. I hope I don’t pick up anything too gross (as that’s where the dogs poop and all), but you better believe I’ll be wearing my gloves when I handle those clippings, just in case.

Saturday I weeded around the watermelon and cantaloupes in the big garden (as opposed to my watermelon that are growing in the straw bale in the small garden), and then I put down feed bags around the first row of pepper plants to stop weeds from coming up. I used landscape anchor pins in each bag, to hold it down. I used plenty of those things, and I suspect that come this Fall when it’s time to pull them all up, I will be HATING myself. But at least the damn bags won’t blow all over the place.

Sunday, Fred and I put landscape fabric down around the watermelons and cantaloupes. Weeds will likely still be able to come up right around the plants, but unlike a couple of years ago – when the weeds around the plants were waist-high after a little bit of neglect, causing us to give up on them – the plants will have fabric to spread out on, and won’t have to compete with weeds for sun.

Fred went off to do other things around the property, and I finished putting feed bags down around the rest of the row of peppers I’d started the day before, and did the same on the second row of peppers. Then I started pruning tomato plants (just cutting off the lowest branches) and was about a third of the way down the first row when Fred came to see what I was doing. I asked him what time it was, found out it was 9:00, and that was all she wrote. I think I’ve mentioned that I don’t work outside after 9:00 in the summer.

So today I’ll spend as much time as I need to (EVEN if it means I have to work outside past 9:00! Gasp!) gathering clippings from the back forty. Then Tuesday I guess I’ll start dumping clippings on the garden. Perhaps I’ll take Wednesday off from this “gardening” nonsense. We’ll see.

About those baby robins in the nest in the front yard. I told Fred what Doodle Bean said – that baby birds get all the water they need from the worms and bugs their parents feed them – so he stopped giving them water. However, it took a couple of days before he accepted that they were probably getting enough worms and bugs from their parents to keep them alive, so he fed them some more worms.

This time, I followed him with the camera.

It was hard to make a video, because the nest is higher than I am, so I wasn’t quite sure if I was getting anything with the camera. I swear, I always thought that mama birds would eat the worms/ bugs and then vomit them back up into their babies’ mouths (or something gross like that) and I even told Fred that if he truly loved those birds he’d do the same (hee), but these babies sucked down the worms like they’d been doing it all their lives.

(I did make Fred stop feeding them. They seem perfectly healthy and active, and it’s better to let their REAL parents take care of them.)

“OH MY STARS! Doesn’t ANYONE ever vacuum this room? Look at this mess!”

“::sigh:: And the MIRRORS!” Look, I clean them all the time! If these kittens would just stop sticking their noses on them!

Clove takes notes on this “cleaning” business in case there are any tips she can pass on to me.

Maggie wonders how she ended up in this room again, this time with three babies instead of six. Why, it’s like a vacation!

I love Cilantro’s crazy little face.

Maggie continues to clean whilst waiting to be let out.

Hmm. I wonder if I could train her to sit up like this for a snack?

Cilantro and the teaser.

Ciara in the sun. She knows she’s a pretty girl.

Fergus Simon’s serious little face always cracks me up.

Newt’s keeping an eye on the kittens from the Newt Cave. The kittens aren’t sure whether it’s safe to approach or not.

Finnegan wonders if perhaps it might be time for the snuggle?

Sleepy Declan.

Ciara really likes the cedar scratching post.

Macushla gets a little time to himself.

The McMaos are still nursing – TRYING to nurse, I should say – and Maggie puts up with it for a bit, then decides they’ve had enough. Yesterday, Maggie was following me around in hopes that I might be overwhelmed with the desire to give her food, and she was in turn being followed around by Finnegan and Fergus Simon, and every time she stopped, they tried to nurse with her standing there. It was too funny.

One day last week she let them nurse briefly, and I happened to have the camera at hand. So I made a video, of course! (Please note: all that stuff was on the floor because Maggie knocked it down and I hadn’t had a chance to pick it up.)

Tommy in the back yard. I love it when they lay like this!

Previously
2010: No entry.
2009: No entry.
2008: This weekend I’ll probably give vacuuming a try and give the Roomba a break.
2007: And since it’s still muddy in the garden, no weeding for me again today. Darn!
2006: “Save your breath,” I said, gasping for air. “I don’t believe a word you say, you lying liar.”
2005: “Spot caught a copperhead!”
2004: No entry.
2003: Poor Gram.
2002: Oh, quit with the gasps of horror.
2001: Lynn is very very nice, but as I’ve mentioned, she doesn’t appreciate the beauty of silence.
2000: I was giving out dirty looks left and right, let me tell you.