Scenes from around Crooked Acres.
(But first! Some leftover vacation pics.)
I got this t-shirt at the Pet Pantry in Freeport. I was going to provide a link to where y’all could buy your very own (they had a dog version, too), but I don’t see it on their site, and I’m not finding it online anywhere.
This is the house on the other side of my brother’s house. No one lives there, and I don’t think it’s actually been abandoned – I think someone shows up from time to time to make sure it’s still standing – but still, what a waste. It’s right on the water.
This is the view from my brother’s house, and to the side a bit. You have to walk, like, 30 seconds to get to this view.
Same place, pivoted to the left a bit.
I think of chipmunks as a forest creature, so it was surprising to see this guy on the rocks near the water.
And still from the same spot.
My parents got out the furbie for the baby. They gave one of these to the spud the year they were the big toy, and it freaked the spud out a little. I found it facing the wall in her closet, with the closet door shut. Heh.
Oh my god, the bread from When Pigs Fly (in Freeport) is SO GOOD. They also have a blueberry/ raspberry lemonade bread that is TO DIE FOR. I brought a loaf of the Carrot Cake bread and a half loaf of the blueberry/ raspberry lemonade home with me in my suitcase. It’s enough to make me take up artisan bread making. Almost.
Please note that I am halfway wet, here. I got into the pool a little past my waist, and decided it was too cold. The pool finally got up to about 90 the next day, and it was perfect.
Yesterday, Fred sent me an email telling me that it was supposed to get very hot, and asked if I’d run the hose over to the pigs’ wallow and fill it up. (It’s been really dry around here lately.) I went out there a little after 9:30, and pulled the hose over toward the wallow, but the fucking thing didn’t reach the entire way. I stomped and swore.
Then I solved the problem.
The pigs were appreciative.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go yank up some tomato plants that have THE MOTHERFUCKING BLIGHT, so I’m going to yammer on about the kittens and call it an entry.
I adore Martin’s eye makeup. See how it goes around his eyes at the bottom and then goes out at the sides with a dramatic flair?
This boy, oh he is SO CUTE. He’s gotten past this whole “feral” nonsense at breathtaking speed. Now when you walk into the room, he doesn’t run and hide, he just sits there. And then when you lay down with him, he comes right over to play. He purrs, he rubs, he rolls onto his belly and play-fights with you.
I think he’s lonely, honestly. I think giving him some playmates will be a good thing. I hope they get along!
We’re still worried that he must have siblings out there somewhere. Last night, Fred put the trap out with a plate of tasty mackerel inside, hoping that we’d catch one of them, or possibly even his mother. (Martin’s mother, that is. Not Fred’s. Fred’s mother isn’t partial to mackerel.)
We caught Maxi. Probably tonight we’ll catch Newt or Coltrane. Hopefully our cats will figure out to stay away from the trap eventually. All we can do is keep setting it.
In the meantime, Martin is safe and well-fed. He’s using the litter box like a champ (he’s such a skillful litter box user that for the first two days I was beside myself with worry because he wasn’t using the litter box. Then I went digging with the scoop and found out that he’d been using it plenty. He just managed to make the litter box look completely untouched!), and he’s putting up with being kissed.
It’s hard to stop kissing his sweet face.
Someone asked if we might make Martin a permanent resident. In the past when I’ve categorically said “NO MORE CATS,” we’ve gotten another cat within seconds. So I’ll carefully say that at this point, we do not intend to keep him. We plan to raise him ’til he’s neutered and there’s room at the adoption center, then we’ll kiss him and wish him a happy life.
We’ll see how that goes.
Sofia, mid-knead.
Sleepy Hermano.
I love that all the kittens love this hammock on the cat tree.
Sending Sofia off to her new home seems to have changed the dynamic in the kitten room. Pancho’s as friendly as he ever was, but now Hermano’s started to come around. When I walk into the room, they both come right over and purr and rub against my ankles. Evita, on the other hand, runs and hides behind the chair. She’s a bit skittish – and thus the reason you haven’t seen many pictures of her. She’s starting to come around slowly, though. Last night she almost let me pet her.
I figure she’ll turn friendly about ten minutes before I have to cart them off to the adoption center tomorrow!
Corbett, in his favorite spot on the couch. Which used to be Spanky’s favorite spot.
Bolitar makes himself at home on top of the pantry. We put that cat bed up there when we brought the pantry in from the garage, intending for Joe Bob to sleep in it (he always slept in the cat bed on top of the bookcase that used to be there), but he wasn’t interested. I guess it’s good that someone is getting use out of it!
Pretty Rhyme.
Someone asked for an update on Coltrane.
Coltrane is doing just fine, after his neuter surgery. He’s mostly forgiven us for that.
We don’t always see him every day (I’m still not completely sure whether he belongs to someone in the area, so he very well might be spending most of his time there), but he’s around most mornings and evenings. I think he spends a good part of his night in the back yard (which is fenced in and safe, though small possums can get under the fence, apparently), and usually Fred sees him in the mornings. He hangs out in the back yard ’til it starts to get warm, then he disappears for the better part of the day.
If I have my way, we’ll set up a place where he can stay safe and warm when it starts to get cold out. He could hang out on the front porch, but Maxi is pretty sure that that territory belongs to her and Newt, and she’s not inclined to share.
Previously
2009: Dehydrating zucchini slices.
2008: It’s a rough life, but someone’s gotta live it.
2007: No entry.
2006: Maine facts.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: “Okay, first of all she wasn’t married to Frank Gifford, that was Kathie Lee, and secondly FRANK GIFFORD ISN’T DEAD!”
2002: “Hallo, Clarice,” he said.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.