I can’t help it, this made me laugh and laugh, probably because Taylor Momsen strikes me as an annoying emo twit. I love a good typo.
I will remember Tami from The Real World and “It wasn’t not funny!” until my dying day, I swear.
I’m really really ready for about a month of no rain. We got pounded with rain early Sunday morning, and this is what it looked like around 9:00.
From the back door, looking left. (Large version here.)
From the back door, looking toward the right. (Large version here.)
Off the side stoop. (Large version here.)
We went out to do some shopping – looking for a new TV console – and by the time we got home about an hour and a half later the water had fallen drastically, but there’s still plenty of standing water to make it highly unpleasant out there.
Fred had a guy come out and talk to him about moving dirt around on our land so that when it rains like this, the back forty doesn’t flood, and under the Poltergeist tree (between the house and the small chicken yard) isn’t knee-depth mud from October to June every year. One of the things he recommended was – can you guess? – to have him dig us a pond so he can use the dirt from that to kind of shape the rest of the property.
Long time readers might remember that we used to have a pond, out between the back yard and the beginning of the back forty, and we had a year and a half of such dry weather that the pond was dried up most of the time, and we were all “This is ridiculous! We could use that land for so much more! Let’s have it filled in!” We had it filled in about two years ago, and guess what we’ve done with all that land?
Not a goddamn thing.
We’ll likely have the pond dug out in the back part of the pig yard so that they can get in it and swim around, rather than put a pond right back where it used to be.
Fred said something yesterday about having fish in the pond, and I was all aghast, all “But the pigs are going to be swimming around in the pond, shitting it up! I’m not eating pig shit fish for dinner!”
Fred just laughed at me. But I’m serious! No pig shit fish for me, THANK YOU.
Even the birds are sick and tired of the damn rain. (This woodpecker was on the pecan tree right outside the window over my desk. He’d been halfheartedly pecking at a pecan, then gave up and just sat there staring up into the sky.)
For the rest of the month (well, it’s been all month long, I’ve just been a slacker about linking to it!), 10 Top 10 Lists For Cat Lovers will donate money from every sale of their ebook to Challenger’s House. Go give it a look-see!
83% of the way to goal for sweet Misty!
(You can read more about Misty at her ChipIn page.)
So, on Saturday, we separated Fagen and Steely Dan for the day. Fagen was SO super friendly every time I went into the room to hang out with him, that when I opened his door that evening to go inside and he ran out of the room, I decided to let him have the run of the upstairs for the rest of the evening, and see how that went. I pulled the half-door across the hallway so that in addition to having the run of his room and part of the hallway, he could go into my room and the bathroom as well. He did a lot of low running around, and when I approached him, he’d skeedaddle away from me. We brought Steely Dan upstairs to hang out with him, and Steely Dan was more curious than scared.
At 9:30, we went upstairs to gather them up and put them in the foster room. Dan was no problem at all – Fred went upstairs, picked him up, and carried him into the foster room. Fagen, on the other hand, was hiding under my bed and wouldn’t let either of us touch him. We finally got him to run out from under the bed, and when he ran toward the foster room, Fred opened the door, and Fagen ran right inside.
So separating them seems to have had a different effect on each of them – Steely Dan is pretty much your average kitten now. If you approach him and hold out your hand to him and talk softly, he’ll come over and bump his head up into your hand for a pet. Fagen is friendlier than he was, but if you give him too much space to roam, it makes him nervous, and he reverts to his scaredy-cat ways.
Yesterday, we let Steely Dan have the run of the house, and brought Fagen downstairs to hang out in the guest bedroom (with plenty of visits from Fred and I, and Jake and Elwood, and even Steely Dan a few times). It went well – Steely Dan really likes having the run of the house, and doesn’t run from us or hide. He sat with us last night while we were watching TV. Fagen just needs a little more time, apparently!
That’s okay, we’ve got plenty of time.
When I say to him, “Fagen, are you the pretty boy?” he stops and thinks about it for a moment, and then meows. Apparently the answer is “Yes. Yes I AM the pretty boy!”
Dramatic Kitteh is Dramatic.
Dan in the guest bedroom.
Talk about your sultry look!
Suggie in the Sug Cave! (Also known as the Room with a View, which I got for half price back in December! Sugarbutt has claimed the cave part as his own, and the other cats seem to be respecting that, for the most part.)
Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: Yes, he’s cute. No, we’re not keeping him.
2007: That damn sponge will never glare malevolently at me again, I’m sure of it.
2006: “Thy-y-y-yme is my crack! Yes it is!”
2005: He emailed me back immediately. You’re already too old to die tragically young.
2004: No entry.
2003: No entry.
2002: And Mildred and Myrtle were hanging out merrily in their very sheer bright yellow bra, waving at all and sundry.
2001: Just thinking about it makes me grumpy.
2000: Y’all stay warm, now!