I think I mentioned last week that as a direct result of my finding a Brown Recluse, we ordered a large number of glue traps to put in the closets and behind furniture?
Well, over the weekend Fred spent quite some time putting the glue trap boxes together (they come in a sheet of three, you separate them, and then fold each one into a two-sided box) and putting them in various places. Then he proceeded to check them every twenty minutes, all weekend long. He claimed to be relieved that we didn’t catch a single spider.
Which leads me to the question: where can I get tiny, realistic-looking plastic spiders? Like, a lot of them. A LOT. And if they look like Brown Recluses or Black Widows, so much the better.
We did some furniture moving on Sunday. I’d actually intended to move one piece of furniture (the desk in the guest bedroom) on Saturday, then the second piece of furniture (the bookcase in the guest bedroom) on Sunday so as not to do too much heavy lifting in one day. But I forgot about moving the desk on Saturday until it was late in the day, and similar to how I refuse to work out in the garden past 9:00, Fred refuses to do any heavy lifting that will make him sweat past the time he’s taken a shower.
So Sunday after I got up, I told Fred to let me know when he was ready to start moving stuff. The desk was pretty easy, because it’s really not that heavy. We carried it out to the garage and up the stairs to the top floor where we throw all our crap.
(When I am 90 years old and that desk’s drawers is loaded down with evil mutant spiders, the spud will thank me for tossing so much crap up there as she carts me out the door to the nursing home.)
Then I pulled all the books, DVDs, and CDs off the bookcase, and we moved it out into the front room. I dusted it, and put everything back. I was afraid that putting the bookcase out into the front room might make it look too crowded, but it doesn’t. It’s a big front room, and both bookcases fit on that wall quite nicely, with plenty of room for the cat tree between them. Now it’s set up so that the cats can jump onto the top of either bookcase from the cat tree, if they so desire.
(I think the dude from My Cat from Hell would approve at how much vertical space our cats have to roam. Speaking of, are you watching that show? Did you SEE the man DIG IN THE LITTER BOX WITH HIS OWN HAND? As someone who spends far too much time digging in the litter boxes my own self, I have this to say: he was going for the shock value with that move. You can see what’s going on in a litter box without having to DIG IN IT WITH YOUR OWN HAND. I don’t know – LITTER BOX SCOOP, perhaps? Ya think? Gah.)
The guest bedroom looks a lot more roomy now – there’s the bed, the dresser, and various and sundry cat furniture in there and not much else. I told Fred recently that since we’re housing cats in there more often than people, it was time to make more space so that if one of the little fuckers goes on, say, a pooping spree, I won’t have to move so much furniture to clean it up. (“One of the little fuckers” meaning one of the foster kittens. Not one of the occasional human guests who sleeps in there.)
I did have to take down the pictures that were hanging on that wall in the front room, though, so I need to figure out where to hang them instead. Maybe the hallway – those picture-hanging strips should work well for that, as for some reason unknown to me, those walls are apparently made of steel and I cannot hammer a nail into the hallway wall to save my life.
I also emptied out the drawers of Fred’s dresser, made him go through everything to decide if anything could be gotten rid of, and then folded the clothes that he was keeping, and neatly put them away. Then I cleared out the guest bedroom closet, and moved a bunch of stuff out to the garage. Friday night, I did the same to the hall closet. Fred’s been positive that we’re harboring at least 73 Brown Recluses in each closet, but I have yet to see another one.
I still have a lot more clearing and organizing to do. I’ve got empty boxes in one of my closets that can be broken down and recycled. If I’m a hoarder of anything other than cats, it’s cardboard boxes. I do a lot of online shopping, and stuff arrives in these awesome, sturdy boxes and I think “This is a GREAT box! I can totally use this box!”, toss it in my closet, and then never use it. I don’t mail out nearly as much stuff these days as I used to – haven’t sold any jam or hot sauce in months and months – so I think it’s time for the boxes to go. Joe Bob has his box in the dining room, there are a couple of boxes in the front room, and Spanky’s taken a shine to the box I put in the computer room for him, so I think we’re all set as far as boxes go, at least for the time being.
The great thing about using the cardboard boxes I get in the mail is that when they do get peed on or vomited on or whatever horrors the cats like to visit upon the nearest surface, I can toss them and replace them with another awesome box.
So I guess the theme for my weekend was organizing and cleaning. Maybe the theme for my week should be getting out the sewing machine and using up some of that cat material I bought a few weeks ago?
(Probably not, though.)
I delivered Maggie and her boys to Petsmart Friday morning. They were fine – they were a little confused about what was going on, but they didn’t howl all the way to the store as I’d expected. When I was getting their cages set up, they explored the cat room a little, and then settled back in their carriers and watched me work.
I ended up putting Cillian and Finnegan in one cage, Maggie in a cage by herself, and Macushla, Fergus Simon, and Declan in another. (Don’t feel too sad for them – they all get to see each other in the morning and evening when their cages are cleaned.) I gave everyone a last snuggle and kiss, and put them in their cages. Then I stopped to pat Maggie and thank her for trusting me enough to let me help her raise her babies, and ohhhhh how the tears came tumblin’ down.
None of the McMaos were adopted Friday, but I got the word Saturday evening that Cillian and Finnegan were adopted – TOGETHER! That makes me really, really happy. I told Fred of the adoptions, and then I started thinking about how I saw them every day of their little lives, and now I’ll probably never see them again, and got teary-eyed. But then I got over it, because those boys will have each other, and no doubt they’ll be loved to death by their new family.
I had originally thought that Ciara would be able to go to Petsmart tomorrow, but it’s been one step forward two steps back with her, so now I’m thinking she’ll be here ’til at least Friday. I hope she doesn’t forget her brothers and Maggie before she gets to see them again!
Like I posted over at Facebook, Ciara turned from a slightly standoffish kitten into a puppy overnight. She wants to follow me around, and when I sit down, she sits at my feet. She wants to be petted, and if I’m not paying enough attention to her, she howwwwwwls like nobody’s business. I wish she’d get over whatever it is she’s got (the vet was unable to find anything at all wrong with her) so I can take her to Petsmart and she can lovebug her way into a new home!
The Spice Girls don’t seem to notice that Maggie is gone. I’m sure they’d be happy to see her come back, but they’re pretty happy without her here – I’ve made a point of spending time just hanging out and petting them. They are such sweet little monkeys – and now that they’re all over two pounds, it’s just about time for them to be spayed!
Clove, nuzzling at Maggie. Maggie’s all “Please, is it time to GO yet?”
Snoozin’ Macushla.
Fergus Simon and his catnip cigar.
Cillian’s a quiet little observer.
That’s quite the little pile of kittens, no? Maggie’s under there somewhere.
I love how, over there to the right, Fergus Simon is straddling Declan. And in the middle, Clove is all “This bed of kittens is lumpy. I am displeased.”
Maggie’s all “I HAVE HAD ENOUGH.” The look on Clove’s face, there, in the middle, is cracking me UP.
It’s a Newtie in a box!
Maggie says “You about done in there? I’d like a turn.”
Newt says “You go ‘way. This are MY box.”
Previously
2010: No entry.
2009: No entry.
2008: I hate the fucking SHIT out of pattypan squash.
2007: “It tastes awful… chickeny,” he said.
2006: I thought I was going to die from the sheer annoyance factor.
2005: But really, is there anything less threatening than giving someone the FINGER?
2004: No entry.
2003: Ever have one of those days, or is it just me?
2002: He can’t close a drawer all the way to save his life.
2001: What next, I ask you?
2000: Surely y’all know me better by now?