that parent or guardian receives less of a sentence than they would have if they’d molested a child they didn’t know?
This horrifies me so much that I am without words.
Contact your Representative and ask him or her to co-sponsor the CARE Act of 2005. Do it now.
* * *
There are Mondays when I go to the pet store and the cats are all sweet and friendly, they play nicely with each other, and I leave so relaxed I feel like I’ve had an hour-long massage.
Yesterday was not one of those days.
Yesterday, all the cats were hissy and growly, and wouldn’t play with each other, and they kept jumping into the cage I was trying to clean, and I’d have to shoo them out and fix the newspaper they’d messed up, and they were just all OVER my nerves.
In the top cages, there were a couple of cats that just didn’t want to come out. In such cases, I do my best to clean around them, because I figure they’re traumatized enough already, if they don’t want to be put down on the floor to play, or put in another cage while I clean their cage, I’m not going to force it.
So I was down to the last cage, which housed
Ashwin, who was adopted out about a year ago, and then returned on Saturday. The shelter has a life-long return policy on all the cats they adopt out. If I suddenly, six years after I adopted her, decided that I didn’t want to have Miz Poo anymore, I could return her to the shelter, and they’d take her back.
Not that I have any intention of returning Miz Poo. Or any of the cats, really, though Mister Boogers needs to WATCH HIS STEP. (Just kidding. We could discover that Mister Boogers sneaks out of the house and murders people while we’re sleeping, and Fred would totally cover it up.)
Anyway, I tried to pick Ashwin up a couple of times, but there’s that tensing-and-backing-up thing that cats do that gives off the clear “Back off, lady” signal, and Ashwin did that. So I shrugged and began cleaning around her. She was no problem, moved from one side of the cage to the other when I needed her to. I tossed the dirty newspaper, swept out the cage, and wiped it down.
The problem came when I needed to put fresh newspaper on the floor of the cage. Ashwin had apparently decided that she’d had quite ENOUGH, goddamnit, and she wasn’t going ANYWHERE. I tried coaxing her to the other side of the cage, sweet-talking her the entire while, but no luck. Finally I decided to just try picking her up and moving her, and when I reached into the cage, she sank her fangs into the meaty part of my right hand.
I am, I believe I’ve mentioned many times in the past, not good in situations that require fast reflexes. For at least five full seconds a big cartoon question mark appeared above my head and my brain flipped frantically through the instruction manual trying to figure out just what the fuck was going on. Finally I let out a loud gasp which surprised Ashwin, who let go of my hand, and I pulled my hand out of the cage and held it against me.
“Damn… CAT!” I said, my feelings hurt. After all, had Ashwin not GOTTEN the memo that I’m a friend to all cute and fuzzy four-legged creatures (though the creatures with more than four legs are on their own)? Did she not KNOW that I loved all cats, that I was doing my best not to traumatize her stupid ass?
Ashwin gave me a look of “Try to get ME to move to the other side of the cage, will you?” look, got up, and sauntered to the other side of the cage, then flopped down again.
Keeping a wary eye on her, I put down the rest of the newspaper, put her litter box back in the cage, gave her clean water and fresh food (THOUGH SHE DIDN’T DESERVE IT), and shut the door.
This, after having to drag
Samoa down from atop the cages (stupidly, I’d left the cage door open while I was cleaning Samoa’s litter box, and turned around when I heard a rattly sound, only to see the end of a fluffy tail disappearing over the top of the cage, far out of my reach. My solution was to get the stepladder and a feather-on-a-stick toy, climb onto the stepladder, and wave the toy in Samoa’s direction, juuuuust out of her reach. No cat can resist the feather-stick toy for long, so when she came closer and grabbed the toy, I grabbed her and put her back in her cage), you can believe that I was more than ready to get out of there when I was done.
Damn cats.
* * *
We’re still dealing with ants, as you
may have read. Fred’s interest is in killing the ants; my interest is in making sure they don’t get in the damn house. Fucking presumptuous ants with their “Oh, food! You don’t mind if we SWARM all over this food, do you?” Since Friday, we’ve been dealing with them coming in the kitten room, though each time we thwart them, we get less of an invasion the next time around. I know that what I really need to do is go in there with a bucket of hot water and ammonia and scrub down the baseboards so the next time they find their way in, they won’t be able to follow the tracks of their dear departed predecessors. Maybe I’ll do that tomorrow.
I tried cinnamon along the windowsill with no luck, though it’s worked before. Last night, I realized that the cinnamon wasn’t working because they weren’t coming in under the windows, they were coming in through cracks underneath the windows, and so Fred caulked the fuck out of every crack in or around the windows, and today I haven’t seen a single ant.
I did stuff Bounce dryer sheet under the windows, though, because someone said that ants don’t like them at all. I don’t know if it’s the caulking that’s keeping them away or the dryer sheets, but it certainly smells good in the kitten room.
I note that
Jane is dealing with an ant invasion, too. My theory is that the last time she mailed something to Jane and I,
Nance sent some ants, too. I think she’s trying to drive us into the loony bin so that she can have the
Smart and Sassy empire for herself.
Hahahahah! “The Smart and Sassy empire”! Oh, I slay me.
* * *
Currently
reading:
Their Wildest Dreams, by Peter Abrams.
Finished last night:
The Survivors Club, by Lisa Gardner. GOOD book, I always like Lisa Gardner.
Finished before that:
Not Tonight Honey, Wait ’til I’m a Size Six, by Susan Reinhardt. Funny title and there were some funny parts in the book, but I have to say that I wasn’t thrilled with it at all. I don’t recommend it, I’m sorry to say. With a title like that, I WANT to recommend it, but I don’t know – it’s just as though the author was trying a little too hard to be funny, and ended up being not so much so. She’s apparently a syndicated newspaper columnist who’s won a lot of awards, so I’m probably in the minority when I say the book’s not very funny (“Yeah? Well YOU aren’t very funny either, bitch!”). It’s just my opinion; take it with a grain or six of salt.
* * *
Sugarbutt seems to be doing just fine. He cracks me up, with his little barrel-chested bowlegged stance. If he was a dog, he’d be a bulldog. He’s little, but he’s solid. Kind of like Tubby was.
I’ve put up so many kitten pictures in the past months that y’all are probably forgetting what our adult cats look like. How about some adult cat pics?
(Fear not, I’ll still upload some kitten pics over at Flickr.)
After chomping on a kitten, Mister Boogers licks his lips and reflects upon the fact that they taste startlingly like chicken.
The most indecisive cat in the house – and that’s really saying something. “Do I want to go out, or don’t I? In or out? Out or in?”
Miz Poo and Spanky, hanging out in the yard.
“Heyyyyy, Macarena!”
Miz Poo hides from those kittens. (See the ear of one of those kittens on the left side of the picture)
I put this bed on the floor to clear space on my desk for it, and within 60 seconds, Miz Poo had climbed in, curled up, and gone to sleep.
Miz Poo really likes this bed, can you tell?
Kittens, snoozing under my desk.
All uploaded pictures from today (including more of the kittens), are
here.
* * *
Previously
2004: Myrtle Beach recap.
2003: No entry.
2002: Poor, deformed Miz Poo.
2001: Ya gotta love the Poo.
2000: Remember that episode?
1999: I just love it when I don’t have to cook.]]>