Author: Robyn

2/7/07

these carriers in the larger size, and I very highly recommend them. In fact, I’m going to go add them to the “recommended” page right now!) Except that when I leaned over to drop her into the carrier, she went all starfish on me, and no matter how much I struggled, I couldn’t get her ass into the damn thing, and then she flailed around and being that she’s not a small cat (I think her insides are made of lead) I couldn’t keep my grip on her and she went flying across the kitchen, down the hallway, and upstairs. “DAMN IT!” I yelled. Here I was, not particularly wanting to take the damn cat to the pet store (though she really had worn out her welcome with the screaming and the bitchiness) and especially not wanting to have to chase her ass around to force her into the carrier. I went upstairs and started searching with her, starting with under the spud’s bed, which is where she first hid all the time when we initially let her and Joe Bob out of the room we were keeping them in. She wasn’t in there, wasn’t in the guest bedroom, wasn’t in the cat room. “Where the hell’d she go?” I asked Sugarbutt, who seemed to be under the impression that it was Snackin’! Time! and if he followed me around long enough I’d stop this foolishness and give him a damn Snackin’! Time! snack. Sugarbutt seemed to neither know nor give a shit where Myrtle was, just looked up at me with big hopeful eyes. We walked into my bedroom, and saw that she was hanging out in the middle of the floor batting a toy mouse around. Apparently in the 90 seconds between the time she ran off and the time I found her, she’d completely forgotten what was going on. She meowed up at me, then rolled over on her back. I went into the guest bedroom, where we had one of the carriers, carried it into the bedroom where Myrtle was, and put it in the middle of the floor, expecting her to run like hell, maybe hide under the bed or in the bathroom behind the toilet. She looked at me, looked at the carrier, and kept batting at the toy mouse. I picked her up, carried her over to the carrier, and tried to shove her in the front. She became entirely liquid somehow, and flowed through my fingers and across the room, ending up under the bed. “GODDAMN IT!” I said sternly yet kindly. “Sweet baby, I know you don’t want to get in the carrier, but you’re GONNA!” From her spot under the bed, she appeared to disagree. I stood and thought about it for a moment, headed for the bedside table to grab a can of compressed air, then came up with a brilliant idea. Myrtle, you see, is a sucker for the laser. She loves to chase the little red dot around, even if you (FRED) make her run around in circle after circle until she’s dizzy. So I got the laser pointer out and Myrtle came running out when she saw the little red dot and I had her do a few laps around the room, then pointed the light into the carrier, and like a big sucker she went halfway in the carrier and stared at the little red dot. I ran over and pushed on her butt, knowing that she’d go the rest of the way into the carrier and I could shut the door and this story would be over. Except that she liquified once again and reappeared on the other side of the room, giving me hurt looks of “I said I didn’t want to go IN the carrier, why are you being mean to me?” A total of three more times I ran her halfway into the carrier and tried to push her in, and every goddamn time, no matter how suddenly I pushed her or how hard, she liquified and appeared elsewhere. Finally, SICK AND GODDAMN TIRED OF THIS, GODDAMNIT, I ran the laser light up the side of the bed, and she jumped up onto the bed, and I grabbed her firmly by the scruff of the neck. She went limp and motionless, and I carried her over to the carrier, shut the front door of the carrier, opened the top door, and dropped her in (though she did kick out one of her hind legs in a starfish attempt) and then shut the top of the carrier. And then I felt like an asshole because she meowed very, very sadly as I carried the carrier downstairs, out to the car, drove to the pet store, set up her cage, gave her some love, and put her in the cage. She immediately went into the litter box to hide. I wonder if I’ll ever get to the point where I don’t feel like a complete asshole for taking cats to the pet store and putting them in cages. (The only reason, by the way, that Joe Bob didn’t go to the pet store is because there weren’t enough cages.) Y’all send happy adoption thoughts to Myrtle, would you? I think she’d make someone a great pet. Maybe someone who’s a little hard of hearing.

* * *
Thanks, those of you who reassured me that the rooster curtains would look fine in the kitchen. I’ve informed Fred that we’re going to go for it, and I can’t wait to see them once they’re put up!
* * *
A few weeks ago I put the Best of Donny & Marie DVDs at the top of my Netflix queue, and yesterday I watched the first DVD. There’s not much that’s funnier than Donny & Marie Osmond singing Jive Talkin’, I’ll tell you that much. Also, looking around on YouTube netted me this bit of fabulousness. Note that she’s wearing the “Good Sandy” outfit rather than the “Bad Sandy” skin-tight leather pants and heels. Also, I think Donny blushes when she sings “Feel your way.” I was looking for a clip of the time Marie sang “He’s out of my life” on the show, but I didn’t see it anywhere. Hmph.
* * *
But of course. Why NOT hang out in the trash an and sniff the wall? What do you do with YOUR days? Harbl: Aired. Mission: Accomplished.
* * *
Previously 2006: I think that the next thing Apple should create is a cell phone/ iPod player. 2005: Yes, I use the same kind of lotion as my CAT. 2004: No entry. 2003: Anyway. Enough about my underwear. 2002: You’ve been warned, skank hos out there who would swoop down upon my husband in his grief and get him to marry you. 2001: Yeah, that’s me, not giving a shit if they can see me or not… 2000: Really, what other journaller will thrill you with pictures from the litter box?]]>

2/6/07

* * * We totally slacked this weekend. We left early Saturday and way early Sunday, and I don’t even feel guilty about it. Fred is eating, breathing, and dreaming chickens lately, so Sunday we left to visit the Dog Days flea market in Ardmore, ’cause he was hoping to find someone selling chickens (it was too damn cold out, though, and the flea market was deserted with hardly any vendors in sight). But before we went to Ardmore we stopped at Tractor Supply, dropped by Lowe’s for many different things, and then went to K-Mart so I could look at the curtains. We’d checked out the curtain selection at Lowe’s and to my chagrin I kind of fell in love with this curtain for the kitchen, (DON’T JUDGE ME) but I felt that since the kitchen is yellow and cream, the red-and-white checks of that curtain wouldn’t really go. (I’m willing to be convinced otherwise, y’all. But you’ve got to really CONVINCE me.) I spent a couple of hours looking at curtains on Amazon and while I like this sort of simple valance, I don’t want bright white curtains through the house because they bore me. Maybe in one or two rooms, but that’s all I’m willing to live with. And on the other hand, I don’t want anything fancy, because I prefer simple straight-across valances (except for the spud’s room, where I’m going to put long, heavy curtains so she can block out the sun and sleep 21 hours a day without being awakened by pesky things like daylight), and ugh. I just don’t know. Suggestions are welcome!

* * *
In the mail last week I got the proofs from the spud’s cap-and-gown pictures. They came out well, but instead of ordering pictures for everyone like I did with her senior pictures, I’m going to order an 8×10 to hang with her senior picture, and if anyone else wants one, they can order their own. Not that anyone but me and her father are going to be interested in getting one, I’m sure – cap and gown pictures are mostly taken for the parents of the graduating senior, I think. They’re as ridiculously expensive as the senior pictures were – $25 for a 5×7 is highway robbery. I’m paying $40 for a 8×10, though. ::sigh:: Goddamn ridiculous, I tell ya!
* * *
I did take the pictures to do an entry about how to switch out plugs, but need to take a couple more, so be on the lookout for that later this week. I may even wait until Saturday, so I can make it its own entry and not feel like a slacker. Or maybe I WILL be a slacker and just make that an entry on its own on Thursday or Friday. Can you stand the excitement? Actually, Sunday morning I switched out the plug on the wall behind where the fridge goes, and then went to vacuum off the door I’d sanded down a little (I swore to Fred that the instant I’m moved into the Smallville house, I’m going to start stripping every damn door in the house, down to the wood, and then repainting every damn one of them, one by one. AND I WILL. That’s what that workshop is for, y’know.), only the vacuum – plugged into one of the plugs in the dining room I’d replaced – wouldn’t turn on. Because the plug wasn’t working. And after some investigation I determined that several of the plugs in the computer room and dining room weren’t working, and I swore up a storm, turned off the power, and unscrewed the screws to one of the plugs that wasn’t working, double-checked everything… and the goddamn thing still wouldn’t work. Fred took a look at it, looked at a few other things, and then I don’t know what the holy hell he did, because I was MIGHTY FUCKING COLD, so I demanded his keys, grabbed my bottle of water, cell phone, and book, and went out to his car where I cranked up the heat (his car has seatwarmers, which we fondly refer to as “ass” – ie, “Give me some ass”, “Would you like some ass?”, “Ass! I need ass!”, “GODDAMN it’s cold, hit that ass!”, etc ad infinitum) and read until he came out, told me to move over, and drove to the corner store to find someone who had a clue about electricity and that sort of shit. I hung around the house doing random things – cleaned the kitchen, put stuff away – until I got cold and went back out to Fred’s car to warm up. After about ten minutes of sitting in a car that was blasting heat and warming my ass I decreed myself warm enough for the moment, and went back into the house. “He got it fixed,” Fred told me. “He said it was your fault!” The guy, standing in the computer room, gave me a deer-in-the-headlights look and started to protest. “I’m just kidding!” Fred told him. “She knows I’m kidding.” Later, I said “I guess he and his wife don’t kid around like we do, huh?” Apparently there were a couple of plugs I’d changed out where I hadn’t pushed the wires in far enough. Given that I’ve still got the front room, the hallway, the master bedroom and all the bathrooms left to do, I’ll be sure I do it right from here on out.
* * *
“Hey. Does this taste funny to you?”
* * *
Previously 2006: I’ve been watching a lot of TV lately. 2005: No entry. 2004: And then Fictional Woman and Fictional Child share an Isn’t he DISGUSTING? look, and bid each other goodnight. 2003: Taking a nap looks like a good idea. 2002: I decide who’s King Shit of Turd Mountain, y’all, and don’t forget it. 2001: Everyone enjoys a good fart story! 2000: No entry.]]>

2/5/07

thought the free Hellcat with every case of water promotion at Sam’s was over, but apparently they’ve extended it. Now I’m torn. I need to get me some bottled water, but our house limit on wearing-out-her-welcome Hellcats (ie, MYRTLE) is at a maximum right now. Actually, if you consider that Miz Poo and Mister Boogers are approximately 48 – 53% Hellcat* depending on the day of the month and how many other cats are in residence, we’re over our limit. *Mister Booger’s Momma was 100% Hellcat, but luckily his father was half Ass-Showing-Fuckhead and half Sweet-Love-Monkey. Miz Poo’s mother was Crazy-Ass Tortie with a taste for the bad boys, thus her fling with a boycat who was mostly Hellcat, with a bit of the unknown tossed in there; I don’t know if he was a bit brain damaged or just flat out bugshit, but when the moon is full, you can see her Daddy’s influence as she races from one end of the house to the other, stopping along the way to smack the shit out of the boys.

* * *
Standing in the kitchen of the Smallville house, filling up a sink of water to which I’d just added a big glug of ammonia so I could wipe down the counters, I paused. God. That sounds just like a herd of elephants, I thought. Though I was listening to a Grey’s Anatomy podcast, I could clearly hear the thundering sound approaching the kitchen. I switched off the water and turned toward the sound. Fred appeared in the doorway between the kitchen and dining room, wild-eyed and frantic. The front of his sweatshirt and his jeans were soaking wet. “MOVE!” he bellowed at me, and I wheeled backward, watching him run past me. My god! I thought. Something’s happened to Maxi or Newt! What if one of them have been hit by a car?! Why would he be running for the back door instead of the front?! Fred fumbled with the lock on the back door, half-turning toward me as I pulled the earphones from my head. “I don’t know why I said ‘Move’,” he said. “You weren’t even in the way!” He flung the door open and ran down the steps. My god! I thought, as I realized the thundering sound was continuing. He SAID ‘Move!’, but clearly Crackhead Bob broke into the house and is chasing him! Obviously what he meant was ‘RUN!’ I ran several big, goony running steps to the back door in time to see Fred reach the bottom of the steps. As I watched, he ran to the right, leaning into the curve in a motion we call a “Tubby Run.”
The Tubby Run: Years ago when Tubby was still alive, he was hanging out in the kitchen and somehow got the wrapper to a popsicle stuck to his tail. It freaked him the hell out, and he ran into the living room and did an end-run around the couch, where he leaned into the run, and it was about the funniest thing we’ve ever seen a cat do. To this day just thinking about it makes me laugh ’til I cry.
“What’s going ON?!” I said, though he was too far away to hear me. I threw my hands up in the air. “What the HELL?” The thundering sound continued. It sounded like… well, it sounded like a waterfall and THAT was ridiculous. Wasn’t it? Except that it was coming from the bathroom. And he’d been working on replacing the faucet and handles in the tub. I did another goony half-run to the hallway and saw water spraying out of the bathroom. As I watched, the flow of water stopped. I ran to the cabinet where we keep the cleaning rags – a huge pile of them – grabbed them all, and went to the hallway, where I threw them all down on the lake of water heading for the bottom of the stairs. “How bad is it?” Fred asked as he came through the back door. “You need to go somewhere and get more towels, because we don’t have enough to get all this water up!” I said, panicked at the thought that we’d paid thousands of dollars to have the floors redone, and they were on the verge of ruin. Then I caught sight of Fred’s face, remembered his Tubby Run to the water shutoff valve, and started laughing so hard I couldn’t say anything else. (We got the water cleaned up pretty quickly, from the floor where it was pooled, and the walls of the bathroom and the wall outside the bathroom, with no damage to the floors that we can tell. Thank god I’d recently stocked up on paper towels!)
* * *
Note to the concerned: We saw Maxi briefly on Saturday, so apparently she’s okay. I saw her sitting at the edge of the yard belonging to the people she officially belongs to, and told Fred she was out there. Fred went to the back door and called for her. In fits and starts she crossed our neighbor’s back yard, glancing cautiously toward the front yard, and finally approached Fred. Fred snatched her up, hugged and kissed and petted her, and brought her into the house for a few minutes. She didn’t want to stay in the house long, so I let her out the front door, where she ate a little food and then disappeared again. Later, I saw a couple of Mockingbirds hanging out in the front yard, eyeing the dish of cat food. I remembered how skittish Newt was earlier this week, and now I’m wondering if the fucking Mockingbirds have been dive-bombing the cats and eating their food. I love Mockingbirds because they’re sassy, but if they’re harassing the cats, I’ll kick their little feathered asses.
* * *
Fred put up a bunch of floor pictures over on his site. Check ’em out!
* * *
“Pardon me, but is it about time for the snackin’?” ::the sound of a porky cat hustling through the house as fast as his little paws can carry him:: “Did someone say ‘snackin’ time’?”
* * *
Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: I DON’T KNOW YOU, I CAN’T CHAT WITH YOU, PLEASE LEAVE ME ALONE. 2003: Pictures found. 2002: That’s just the kind of sucky slacking emailer I am. 2001: You know, if I had ANY self-control at all, I’d wait to buy these books ’til they come out in paperback. 2000: No entry.]]>

2/2/07

* * * I finished reading Death Match by Lincoln Child last night. Altogether it was a good book, though there were things I found unbelievable about it (when I say that I find something in a book or movie unbelievable, Fred always says, pointedly, “Willing suspension of disbelief.”). The thing is that Lincoln Child is a computer geek and as I’ve discovered through ten years of living with a computer geek – if I may generalize about all computer geeks – is that they really like to overexplain the fucking shit out of everything. Whether you understand it or not. So there was a lot of technical-type babble in the last fifteen or twenty pages of Death Match, and I read it as “Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah”, but really and truly don’t feel like I missed a single thing. Overall I liked the book (even though I think it’s complete and utter bullshit that a company like Eden could do what it did in the book), but be warned that the protagonist is a pompous pain in the ass.

* * *
We went out to Smallville last night to pay the floor guy and look at the floors, and we LOVE them. They came out really, really nice, and I think we did a good job of choosing the color. The floor guy was the most conscientious worker we’ve ever dealt with – always checking in with Fred to let him know what had been done, and the job took about as long as he thought it would. And we love the results! If you’re in the area and need the name of a good floor guy, ask and I’ll happily give you his name and number.
* * *
Fred is seriously talking about buying and flipping a house in Smallville (he has a particular house in mind, not just some random house) when we’ve sold the Madison house. I haven’t determined whether the idea fills me with excitement, or dread. We’ll see.
* * *
Self-portrait #24. This is how I feel when I realize I need to take another goddamn picture of myself. I think this little project is coming to an end, because I am SICK of looking at pictures of myself. I’ll still take the occasional picture and post it – I think I’ve made it pretty clear that I’m willing to jump in front of the camera at any time – or maybe I’ll make it a weekly thing. We’ll see.
* * *
Apparently he likes to sit around with his foot hiked up over his head, and watch the other cats play. Don’t ask me what that’s all about.
* * *
Previously 2006: So, that’s the state of things with me. 2005: “Oh my god!” he said. “There’s a dead mole under here!” 2004: The man thinks that “hot” and “good-looking” are the same thing! 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: No entry. 2000: We all know I’m lazy, but this is ridiculous.]]>

2/1/07

new logo! This one was created by the talented Aly, who RAWKS! Thanks, Aly!

* * *
We got snow last night, around an inch, Fred estimated. And SOMEHOW they didn’t cancel school! I’m amazed at that, believe you me! (The streets are wet, but not slippery) My daffodils are glaring at me like “You SAID it was Spring and okay to bloom, bitch!”, poor frozen things. I’ll be watching to see if they stay alive or give up the ghost. Stupid Mother Nature.
* * *
Man alive, I’m telling you – Myrtle is getting on my last fucking nerve. She’ll be fine and get along okay with the other cats for days and days, then all of a sudden one of them gets too close to her or looks at her the wrong way or THINKS of looking at her, and she lets out her hellbeast scream and it scares the fucking shit out of everyone in the house, cats included. Normal cats will hiss or growl at other cats when they get annoyed with them. Not our Myrtle, no – she SCREAMS. I swear to god, she sounds exactly like I’d imagine a cougar in heat would sound. Hell, maybe she IS part cougar. That would explain a lot.
* * *
From my comments: Robyn – have you read “Stiff” by Mary Roach yet? I did – I read it back in 2005, and enjoyed it, though I wasn’t head-over-heels about it the way Fred was. I tend to not care for the nonfiction stuff, unless it’s in memoir form.
* * *
Um, does anyone else see that Spanky has lips. Non-kitty looking lips? He is definitely a pretty boy. Fred loves to tease Spanky about his big pink lips. Spanky doesn’t care, though. He knows he’s gorgeous.
* * *
Do you read hardback books with the loose cover on them or do you usually take them off? I usually read hardcovers with the dustcover on, because I use the inside of the dustcover (the leaf?) as a bookmark. And since I rarely keep the books I read, I’m not that worried about keeping the dustcover in perfect shape. The exception is when I borrow a book from someone and know that they’ll want it back; in that case, I take the cover off and put it somewhere safe so I won’t spill anything on it.
* * *
Self-portrait #23. This isn’t what I really look like when I’m sleeping. For one, I sleep nekkid, and for two, I sleep with my mouth hanging open. But you get the idea.
* * *
“Ah hets yew.”
* * *
Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: What the hell is “California cuisine”? 2004: No entry. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: Just accept that I’m always right, why don’tcha. 2000: Like I’m going to just stand there all docile-like and let him kill me.]]>

1/31/07

fold-up tote bags and DROOLED. Note to Debbie: Still my favorite Christmas present!!!). And I cannot get the goddamn garage door to go down. Apparently the beams are off-kilter, and I can’t get them to go on-kilter no matter how much I try. And it’s PISSING ME OFF. And I’m fucking cold, even though the space heater is half an inch from me, blasting on high, probably cooking me. How do you prefer your Bitchypoo? Medium rare? Coming right up! Spring, where art thou?

* * *
Yesterday was a busy-ass day for me. I left here a little before 8:30 to drive to the other side of Huntsville for an appointment with my nutritionist (it being my one-year Surgiversary and all), and to have a metabolic cart test done. I hate doing that metabolic cart, because you put a clip on your nose and have to breathe in and out through this tube in your mouth, and it makes me feel like I’m smothering to death. Metabolic cart test: my metabolism is high. I am skeptical of the metabolic cart test, personally, but it’s certainly interesting to see the little printed-out chart. My BMI according to the nutritionist is 26.3. Normal for a woman is 20 to 25. Thus I am still overweight. But I can handle it, since I’m no longer in the “Holy shit!” BMI category. My BMI the first time I went into the nutritionist’s office was 52.1. For the record. The nutritionist told me to keep doing what I was doing, and I left his office to go sit in the parking lot in my car and read for an hour until my appointment with the surgeon. Now, just a note here. My original appointment with the surgeon was scheduled for 11:15. Monday, when his office called to remind me that I had an appointment, the appointment-reminder-lady told me that they’d had a cancellation and 10:45 was available, and would I be interested? I was, so they rescheduled me for 10:45. What time did I actually see the surgeon? Why, at 11:45, of course. OF COURSE. Good thing they rescheduled me for 10:45, huh? I wasn’t pissed off, though, because I brought my book and bottle of water with me, so I sat and read and read some more, until he came in to see me. He told me that if I get my BMI to or under 25, I don’t have to wait until the two-year mark to have plastic surgery done. Woot! By the time I left his office, it was close to noon, and although I’d considered blowing off my next appointment, I decided that since I was on that side of Huntsville and I REALLY needed to have it done, I’d just suck it up and go have it done. I wasn’t sure where the office was, so I went to make sure I could find it. I found it, but then couldn’t find a damn place to turn around, and after a certain point, the road that the office was on doesn’t have any streets off to the side of it, so I ended up having to drive all the way over the damn mountain to the other side (note to those of you in the area: did you know that Cecil Ashburn Drive takes you from Bailey Cove Rd to Hampton Cove? I didn’t, until now.) to turn around. I made it back to the office just in time for my appointment, so parked and – a little nervous – walked in. “I have a 12:45 with Hilary?” I told the girl at the front desk, who very strongly resembled a much younger (and much shorter) Nicole Kidman. She directed me upstairs, and I told the woman at that desk my name and who my appointment was with. She beckoned for me to follow her, and led me into a waiting room. A fancy waiting room. A hoity-toity waiting room. “Hilary will be with you in a few minutes,” she said. Across the room, three women wearing fluffy robes and fluffy slippers lounged on a couch, sipping water from fancy glasses and flipping through glossy magazines. One of them, a well-preserved older woman, glanced up at me and then nudged the woman – a younger, well-groomed woman – sitting next to her. The second woman looked me over, then looked back at the first. Not our type, she mouthed. The first woman nodded in agreement. The wall next to me was a wall fountain – I guess that’s what they’re called, when the whole wall is water? A wall of water? I don’t know what they’re called but they are the exclusive province of hoity-toity places, I assure you. A few more moments passed as I looked around the waiting room from under lowered lashes and registered that relaxing fancypants music was playing through hidden speakers. Hilary stepped into the room, introduced herself, and led me away. I smiled tentatively at the three women as I walked by them, and they rewarded me with fake, icy smiles. As the door closed behind me, I heard one of them whisper to the other, Is she… pregnant? (Okay. I made that italicized section up. Except for the wall of water and the fact that there were three women in robes in that room. Who ignored me. But that’s okay, ’cause I ignored them, too. SO THERE.) Hilary led me into a small room, one playing the same fancypants Music o’ Relaxation that had been playing in the waiting room. She gestured toward a wide padded table covered with a sheet and told me to lay down face-up. It got a little Three-Stoogesesque (or possibly more “Who’s on First” Abbott and Costelloesque) as I tried to determine where my head was supposed to go, and finally she patted the table and said “Head on this end, face up.” I got up on the table and laid down, my face under a light. “So, you’ve had this done before?” she asked, looking at the sheet I’d filled out in the waiting room. “Yes, but it’s been quite a while,” I said. “And what brings you here now?” she asked, or something along those lines. “A bunch of crazy bitches who read my online journal keep ragging at me about my horrible eyebrows, and I saw one of your pamphlets around Christmas time, and since I was going to be on this side of town today, I thought I’d just come and have my eyebrows waxed,” I said. (Only I didn’t really say the “crazy bitches online” part. But I was thinking it! I actually just mumbled something about being 39 and deciding it was time to get this thing done regularly.) I have to say, getting your eyebrows (and upper lip) waxed at a hoity-toity fancypants place? Somehow, it hurts a lot less than it does at the cheap hair salon at the mall. Maybe it’s the relaxing music, or the warm table (there was some sort of heating blanket under there and it was HEAVENLY) or a woman who really knows what she’s doing. I prefer to think that it’s MAGIC, myself. It took, maybe, ten minutes to have my eyebrows completely done and my upper lip done as well, and I have to say – I don’t see a huge difference in the eyebrows, but I do like what I see. Before. After. Now, in a couple of months when I’ve gotten lazy about plucking the hairs that have grown back, y’all remind me to go have it done again, okay? So from there, I went straight home with the intention of settling on the couch and maybe taking a nap, but when I checked my email I found one from the shelter manager, letting me know that there was space at the pet store, and I could take Fantine there. I grabbed Fantine up, gave her some love, tossed her in a carrier, and took her to the pet store. I took my time getting her cage set up, letting her sniff around the cat room for a while, then I hugged and kissed her, told her to get adopted fastfastfast (I always tell the kitties that I take to the pet store to get adopt fastfastfast), and left. I always feel awful leaving cats at the pet store. I hope like hell she gets adopted before Monday! Then I came home, ate lunch, and had half an hour to sit on my dead ass and surf the web before I had to start dinner. We had jambalaya last night and between the chopping and the cooking, it takes about an hour to make. It took me almost exactly an hour to make, and we ate dinner at 4:30 (which, for the record, is far too fucking early for me, but Fred would eat dinner at 3:00 every day if allowed, I’m sure). Once we’d finished eating, Fred and I headed out to his car, to drive over to Smallville and check out the floors, which had been stained. Except that as I was walking by the spud’s car, I looked down and noticed that her right front tire was completely flat. After telling the spud not to go anywhere and that Fred would take care of it when we got back, we headed out to the house. I really, really like the stain color we chose. It looks good (and will look even better once the polyurethane is added, I’m sure), and the floor guy actually told Fred that he was going to start recommending that color to people, it looked so good. I don’t have a picture of the floors – though no doubt Fred will put up pictures of the floor in a future entry – but the stain we chose is called English Chestnut. We weren’t able to go in and see all the floors, just went into the laundry room and looked at the kitchen floor, then looked at the living room floor from the front porch. It definitely looks good – the first thing Fred wants to do when we can get back into the house is to put quarter-round down in the front room to see what the completed picture will look like. I suspect it’ll look damn fine, myself. Newt was there when we got there – we haven’t seen Maxi in a while, and I think Fred is getting worried – so we filled up the food bowl and gave him a can of wet food. He’s gotten particularly skittish lately, it seems, maybe because we haven’t been around all that much. Hopefully Maxi will show up this weekend while we’re working on the house. I hope so! We got home and Fred and the spud went out to change the tire on her car. Except that her car didn’t have a jack, and even after he took the jack from my car, Fred couldn’t figure out where to put it (there’s a specific place to put the jack, and he wasn’t able to find it, even looking around under the car with a flashlight), so he gave up and had me call AAA. “Tell them your husband is out of town!” he whispered, sure that they’d take his Man card away from him if they knew he was allowing a tow truck driver to change a tire on a car in his driveway. We needed to go to Lowe’s for potting soil, so I told the spud to get her AAA card and driver’s license, and keep an eye out for the tow truck driver. “Tell them your dad is out of town!” Fred instructed her. We went to Lowe’s and bought the potting soil – and a couple of blackberry bushes, woot! I also eyed the blueberry bushes and the strawberry plants, all of which we’re going to eventually have Smallville – and were home in about twenty minutes. Just as we pulled into the driveway, the tow truck came up the street. “Tell them I’m out of town!” Fred joked, but I just smiled and left him to deal with the driver, who took about two minutes to change the tire. (Time to revoke Fred’s Man Card, obviously.) Then we killed about half an hour online (I had to call my sister and let her know that CopperTop’s horse had given birth. SO SWEET!) before it was time to settle down and watch TV. Well, I settled down while Fred stood in the kitchen and planted in planters the two apple trees and two peach trees we’d bought online. It’s way too cold outside right now to put young trees in the ground so they’ll be in pots for another month and a half or so. (This morning it looked as though Fred opened a bag of potting soil and tossed it around the entire kitchen during the planting process.) I had to pause the TV and assist Fred in getting the pots of trees upstairs to his room, since it’s the only room in the house where we keep the door closed, plus it gets a lot of morning sun, which the trees will hopefully enjoy. The rest of the evening was spent watching TV, then after Fred went to bed I read until I couldn’t keep my eyes open, and went to sleep. You’ll forgive me if I don’t do a damn thing today!
* * *
She loved that banana/ catnip toy. I should have taken it to the pet store with her.
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Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: Hey, can you eat raw kale? 2004: No entry. 2003: My whole life is a vicious circle, really. 2002: No entry. 2001: I mean, what the fuck did I do? 2000: Yeah, I know, woe is me.]]>

1/30/07

Suzy wants to go bald! Who are we to stop her? Let’s help!!!

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After months and months, I’ve finally put up more pictures on the Pet Store Kitties page!
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I got my “Recommended” page up and running. It’s a disorganized mess (I’ll organize it at some point), and I know there are things I forgot to put on that page. If you can think of something I’ve raved about – or at least mentioned liking – feel free to mention it, and I’ll add it. There’s a doofy little thumbs-up image picture of Sugarbutt that says “I recommends” over there in the sidebar to the right; click on it, and it’ll take you to the “recommended” page.
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Okay. I can maybe understand why I might be mistaken as pregnant. (Shut up, though. I’m not getting rid of the top. I LOVE it. It’s soft and comfy and cuddly and cozy. I just won’t wear it in public anymore!)
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I’m ready for the freakin’ floor guys to be done with the freakin’ floor. I want my house back! I got shit to do, man! When Fred was out at the house on Saturday, he found to his displeasure that one of the floor guys had taken a dump in the upstairs toilet and then NOT FLUSHED. Gah. How fucking NASTY IS THAT? Yesterday morning he called the head floor guy and judiciously asked him to ask his guys to FLUSH THE GODDAMN TOILET AFTER THEY USE IT. How old are these guys, that you’ve got to tell them to flush the toilet, I’m wondering. The head floor guy was horrified and told Fred that… I don’t know what he told Fred, but he swore it wouldn’t happen again, anyway. I hope to god he’s right, because once is JUST PLENTY, thanks.
* * *
I know we’ve had an incredibly mild winter and this cold weather has only been around a few days, but I am OVER IT. I’m ready for spring, please! The daffodils growing out back are still alive, somehow, poor things.
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I’ve got fuck-all for y’all today. I have appointments on the other side of Huntsville and I’m just sitting here waiting for it to be time to leave. So I’m going to go sit on my ass on the couch and wait for it to be time and hope that it warms the fuck up out there so I don’t gotta wear gloves. I have some nice gloves, but my hands prefer to be nekkid. See ya tomorrah!
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PS: There’s a one-year post-surgery entry up over at OneFatBitchypoo, if you’re interested.
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What a difference a year makes. (Self-portrait #21)
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Previously 2006: Off to the hospital! 2005: No entry. 2004: Poor Bean. 2003: About the cats. 2002: When did Dick Gephardt die? 2001: The illness continues. 2000: I am officially the laziest chick in the world.]]>

1/29/07

Property Ladder. We started DVRing it a few months ago, and have been watching every episode we can get our paws on. If you’ve never seen it, the premise is that one person (or a couple of people, sometimes even a group of people) buys a house with the intention of renovating it and selling it for a profit – ie, “flipping” it. Once they’ve bought the house, the host of the show, Kirsten K3mp, shows up to walk through the house with the buyers and hear about their plans. And what really makes the show for us is that Kirsten K3mp, while walking through the house and hearing what the buyers have planned, gets this really DISAPPROVING look on her face. It’s always the same disapproving look, and it cracks us UP. What else we really like about the show is how dumb people are, and they don’t listen to Kirsten (who is a very successful realtor, real estate developer, designer and interior decorator. Also, she was on Saved By the Bell!) when she advises them to do one thing or not do another, and they end up totally fucking up and blowing through their budget in 10.2 seconds flat, and all is chaos. Also, many times they intend to spend, say, $80,000 on renovating a house and end up spending $120,000, so what do they do? Why, they just raise the price, of course! It doesn’t matter what houses are going for in the area and that they’re dumbasses! Hike that price up, and sit on the house for months and months while it doesn’t sell! Makes sense to THEM. It’s just a really damn good show, and we usually hit the “What a FUCKING idiot!” point about halfway through every show, where we both exclaim “What a FUCKING idiot!” and roll our eyes at each other. My only gripe is that we’re apparently in a new season, and at the beginning of the show last season there was a part where Kirsten was talking to someone, and she had that disapproving look on her face, and she sternly said “It’s flipping, not flip-flopping!”, and we’d fast-forward through the opening song-and-credits except for that part, because you can sense the barely concealed rage Kirsten K3mp is carrying around with her, you can TELL that she wants to brand “FLIPPING. NOT FLIP-FLOPPING. YOU FUCKING FOOL.” on the forehead of the idiots she’s talking to, but she holds it together. Barely, but she does it. Anyway, in the new opening sequence, there is no “It’s flipping, not flip-flopping”, and when I first realized that, I turn to Fred and said, plaintively, “How will we know that it’s flipping? Is it flipping, or is it flip-flopping? I don’t KNOW, because she’s not TELLING us anymore!” We also really like Flip This House and Flip That House.

* * *
Fred went out to the house on Saturday and Sunday to work on the wood shed and do other tasks around the house. I could have gone out to the house with him – I’m sure I could have found something to do – but instead I opted to stay home and sit around on my dead ass. Besides, Sunday it was FUCKING COLD and I just didn’t even want to think about leaving the house to do anything. So I didn’t. I did a lot of reading and watching TV, is what I did. In fact, I read all of Hannibal Rising on Saturday, and let me tell you this: Don’t fucking bother. There are NO questions that Hannibal Rising answered, that weren’t perfectly well answered in Hannibal. Thomas Harris needs to get his ass off the Hannibal Lechter gravy train and write something as worth reading as The Silence of the Lambs or Red Dragon. Describing why Hannibal Lechter is the way he is makes him less interesting, not more. I can only imagine how much the movie must suck.
* * *
Movies we watched over the weekend: Of Mice and Men. I read the book recently, which made me want to see the movie again. Gary Sinise as George and John Malkovich as Lenny – I’m not sure the movie could have been any better cast. Saw III. Fred rented a bunch of movies Sunday and this was the one I wanted to see most. Why? I have no fucking clue. I spent most of the movie either looking at the wall waiting for the gross part to be over, or looking at one corner of the screen… waiting for the gross part to be over. The main guy (not Jigsaw or Julie Lawry, but the other main guy) looked terribly familiar to me, and I kept saying to Fred “Who IS that guy?” He didn’t look familiar to Fred, but then I finally figured it out. “That’s Robert the Bruce!” I said. And it was. I love me some Robert the Bruce. (Trivia: he was once engaged to Catherine Zeta-Jones.) The Guardian. Actually a pretty good movie (I think Kelso might have found his niche), but I was cold to start with, and watching all those people swim around in ice-cold water just made me damn colder.
* * *
You may be asking yourself: “Self, I’m curious. What would be the number of cats that would make one make the jump from needing to vacuum occasionally – say, three times a week – to needing to vacuum each and every day?” And the answer to that, my friends, is that when one makes the increase from six cats running around the house at all hours to nine cats running around the house at all hours. That is when one needs to vacuum every single day just to keep the mess under semi-control. Not that I actually vacuum every day. But I should. So we’re currently letting Joe Bob and Myrtle and Fantine (who we call “Momma”) run around the house all the time, without ever being locked up. I was concerned that Myrtle the Hellbeast would keep me awake at night with her Hellbeast roar (she sounds an awful lot like an angry cougar when she’s, well, angry), but there really hasn’t been an issue. Fred feels sorry for Myrtle and Joe Bob because they’re going to get all comfortable here, and then we’re going to take them back to the pet store (eventually) and they’ll be all locked up in a little cage together. However, he also informed me that if we adopted them, it’d be the last time a foster cat ever came through our door, so there you go. Obviously he just doesn’t love Joe Bob enough. After all these years of not having to worry about the cats eating the plants (though they’d occasionally have a taste of a leaf or two), Joe Bob and Myrtle have made it necessary for me to move the plants off the bar in the kitchen. So I moved the plants out of the kitchen, and they started going after the plant on the Secretaire in the dining room, so I trimmed that plant back so its long, lovely branches (?) wouldn’t tempt them. Then I walked into the dining room yesterday and saw this. Apparently he got up on the Secretaire to chew on the plant, then realized he could get on top of the bookcase from there. So he did. (He didn’t get down on his own, though. Instead, he sat and howled until I dragged a chair up to the bookcase and could reach him to drag him down.)
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Self-portrait #20: How I Spent my Weekend. Self-portrait #19 is here, and #18 is here.
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I had a request for Spanky pictures. Such a pretty boy, that Spanky.
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I cannot believe it’s been three years since Tubby died.
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Previously 2006: No entry. 2005: No entry. 2004: Okay, I promise that’s the last weepy I-miss-my-kitty entry. 2003: Bleach is the shit. 2002: Just for the record, Mike Tyson is the biggest fucking idiot in the entire world. 2001: How the hell am I going to get my ass on Survivor 3 if they’re looking for model types?? 2000: I was quite excited, as I recall. ]]>

1/26/07

Suzy is raising money to shave her head in support of children’s cancer research. She needs to raise $1,000 to shave her head bald. I, personally, think Suzy has very pretty hair… but I want to see that woman BALD as a newborn (bald) baby! The event date is March 24th of this year – won’t you guys donate, and help Suzy go bald? It’s for a good cause! Plus, we can all call Suzy Cue Ball! Or Kojak! Or Lex Luthor! Or just plain Baldy!

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Okay, who the hell keeps searching on “shoe size” and “small feet” and is apparently dying to know my shoe size? Is one of you a foot fetishist? Because that icks me out, man. (I’m wearing a size 8 or 8 1/2 currently, down from a 9 wide. IF YOU MUST KNOW.)
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Here’s reason number 5,798 why I love That Man. Last night we were watching TV when the spud called from California. I ended up talking to her for ten or fifteen minutes, and Fred started getting antsy and wanted me to get the hell off the phone so we could watch TV again. Since I was talking to my child, who was telling me about going to the morgue to see her grandfather, I got annoyed with Fred, and made the Mean Face and pointed at him and mouthed for him to shut the hell up I AM TALKING TO MY CHILD. (A recreation. My actual Mean Face is MUCH meaner.) Fred flounced off to check his mail or play with the cats, and I finished up talking to the spud, and we went back to watching American Idol. About an hour later, I got up to take my empty water bottle to the kitchen, and when I flipped on the kitchen light, I saw this: (Serious Injury List 7:28 pm January 25, 2007 Robyn Babbitt pointed and snapped and HURT MY FEELINGS.) It took a minute for it to sink in, and then I laughed so hard I cried.
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For anyone who didn’t get the above, there’s a scene in Rainman that goes like this (Charlie is Tom Cruise, and Raymond is Dustin Hoffman): [Charlie grabs him by the neck] Raymond: OW! Charlie: Don’t make a scene! Raymond: OW! Charlie: Stop acting like a fucking retard. Raymond: UH-OH! [Pulls out red book and writes in it] Charlie: What are you writing?… What the fuck is this? “Serious Injury List”? *Serious* injury list? Are you fucking kidding me? Raymond: Number eighteen in 1988, Charlie Babbitt squeezed and pulled and hurt my neck in 1988. Charlie: Squeezed and pulled and hurt your neck in 1988?
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From my comments: I LOVE YOUR PURSE!!!!!! Put it on ebay and I will bid on it!!!!!!!!!!! Okay! (I won’t hold you to it, Becky; only bid on it if you really want it, and if you don’t, I won’t be mad. Promise!)
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Does Monsieur Boogers (pronounced Boog-AIREs) hate Christine? Monsieur Booger’s affections are very easily purchased. If you send him something, he will turn his hate rays away from you and concentrate them elsewhere. He loves Nance because she sent him a tophat bed (which he still sleeps in regularly), and now he loves Christine too. He loves his Mom and Dad because they give him treats and play with him and tell him what a pretty boy he is. He might be a hater, but he’s a lover, too. You just have to buy his love.
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#1 — glad Aimee is not the only cat to have litter on her nose. Since she was a baby. And she doesn’t cover her poo either — instead she scratches the lid of the litter box instead of scratching down to hide her surprise. Any advice on that one oh grand cat lady? I have NO CLUE what’s up with that. Some of our cats will use the litter box and then scratch at the top of the litter box (on the side) wildly, as if they think they’re covering what they left behind. It’s a mystery to me what the hell they think they’re doing.
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#2 – forget the purse, I want your socks! Well, not ones you wore but the same brand. Care to share? Land’s End Cotton Ragg socks. Yes, they’re expensive ($18 for two pairs), but I bought the four pair I have at least three years ago (if not longer), and they’re showing no sign of wearing out at all, despite the fact that I wear them, constantly, all winter long. Also, they’re nice and warm!
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Ha to the cat in the water. Where do you buy that? Not that we need more cats, but just in case. Oooooh, sorry. Sam’s Club just ended their “Free hellcat in every case of water” promotion yesterday!
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BTW, Joe Bob looks like he fits right in with all your other cats. How much longer will you have him and his sister before they go back to the store? I guess it takes longer for the adult cats to get adopted I’m not sure how much longer we’ll have them – it’s a matter of space being available at the pet store, and other cats being adopted first to free up space. Adult cats do tend to take longer to be adopted, but right now – since there aren’t nearly as many kittens available – is a good time for them. Joe Bob fits into the pack quite nicely, and I think that when it’s time for them to go back to the pet store, Tommy (who I’ve been calling the “Ambassador of Good Will” because he’s always the first And3rson kitty to make friends with the new guys) will miss him a bit.
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Why are you recarpeting the Madison house before you put it up for sale? I’ve heard that is not necessary because what if the next owners want a different colour carpet or want to rip it up and put in hardwood? You’d have wasted big bucks for nothing. Have you asked a realtor about it? When we sold our house 2 years ago we had the realtor in a few months ahead of when we wanted to put the house up for sale and she went through the house and advised what we needed to do. I know in one room we were going to rip up the carpet and she said not to bother, just give it a good cleaning. There were a lot of things we were going to do and she said it would be a waste of time and not get us any more money. Unless the carpets are really, really nasty I would just get them professionally cleaned and leave it there. Just my 2 cents, why waste the money if you don’t have to? The carpet is so nasty that either we’re going to have to replace it, or offer a carpeting “allowance” to the new buyers. There’s no way on earth professional cleaning will get this carpet clean (no, don’t tell me to just give it a try – I saw how clean they got the carpet in the last house, and I was unimpressed), and any buyer with a clue is going to take one look at the carpet and either demand a carpet allowance, new carpet, or want to lower their offer. If we have new carpet installed ourselves, I think it’ll be cheaper in the long run.
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Here is a question for you … Do you ever pick up your cats and cradle them like babies? And when/if you do, do they ever put their nasty litter-smelling paws on your lips? Certain cats (Mister Boogers, Miz Poo, sometimes Tommy) like to be picked up and cradled like babies. However, they don’t put their paws on my lips, and I am seriously grateful that they don’t!
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In my comments the other day, Stephanie in GA said: Robyn, picture idea: naked. Okay. Self-portrait #17: And the outtakes: (Fred likes this one) I call this one “Oh, shit! Bubbles disappear, don’t they?” Are ya feelin’ bubbly, punk? Well? Are ya? (I’m sad to say, the bubble mohawk didn’t work out. Hmph.)
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Previously 2006: I think it would be hilarious if someone started manufacturing imitation Maui Jim sunglasses and called them “Oahu James” sunglasses. 2005: I figure they’re professionals and know what they’re doing, so I have no desire to clutter up the small amount of space left in my brain with that kind of information. 2004: I sense that there is a battle of epic proportions in my future, a show-down between Miz Poo and I as to just WHO the blanket belongs to. 2003: No entry. 2002: No entry. 2001: But don’t tell Miz Poo I’m admiring another cat, please… 2000: It’s a conspiracy!]]>

1/25/07

* * * The week before last, reader Christine emailed me to tell me that she’d purchased something for me (or, actually, for the cats) and wanted to send it to me, but they wouldn’t deliver to a PO Box address and could she have my mailing address? I thought about it for a while, decided that since we’d occasionally traded emails for the past two years, she maybe wasn’t a psycho stalker and could be trusted with that top-secret information. (Plus, I have her address.) So I gave it to her and sat back to see if a gun-wielding crazy was going to show up on my front steps. Instead, I got a huge, heavy box, and on the outside it said “Cat tree.” Fred kept forgetting to bring his tools home to put it together, and finally remembered to do so on Sunday. The funny thing is that he ended up not needing any tools – the tree screwed together quite easily. And I must say – it’s a big hit with the cats. Sugarbutt and Tommy, especially, like to hang out in the top platform. No one’s tried out the “hammock” on the bottom, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time. Thank you, Christine, on behalf of the cats. They told me that you RAWK! Myrtle (formerly known as Moondance) enjoys her solitude on the platform. She’s got the screech of a hellbeast, and she makes the other cats nervous. When she hangs out on the cat tree, they wisely stay away.

* * *
From my comments: Robyn, a question re: your eventual move. Are you going to sell your house in-town first and then move, or move into the Smallville house and sell your in-town house when it’s empty or partly empty? I don’t have as many cats but I do have kids and for me, having realtors come in unannounced or on short notice would be a problem. Originally, our plans were to move Fred and the cats into the Smallville house, recarpet the Madison house, and then put the Madison house up for sale while the spud and I stayed in Madison (so she wouldn’t have as far to drive to get to school). Last week I was thinking about it, and I realized that it was dumb for Fred to move to Smallville first, seeing as he’s the one who has to drive to work in Huntsville, and I’m not. So for now, the plans are to finish the Smallville house, move the cats and me out there, recarpet the Madison house, and put it up for sale while Fred and the spud live here. Obviously during the week I’ll drive from Smallville to Madison to keep the house clean and presentable for potential buyers, make dinner, and hang out with Fred and the spud until bedtime, whereupon I’ll drive back to Smallville, hang out with the kitties, and sleep there with the security system set and a gun under my pillow. I imagine that, with the cats at the Smallville house, it’ll be one hell of a lot easier to keep the Madison house clean!
* * *
Donna’s right: The next 8 photos could be you with each of your eight (yes, I said eight) cats. Then a photo of you with each of your foster kitties. Then go to other people’s houses and ask to pose with their kitties, or their lawn gnomes or something. Well, I’ve put up pictures of me with Newt and Maxi (aka: NotOurKitties), one with Miz Poo, and one with Tommy. I’m sure there’ll be more cat pictures in the future, but I’m having a good time imagining knocking on a random person’s door, saying “Hey. Can I take a picture of myself with your gnome? Thanks!”
* * *
What does your “Liz Claiborne Grandma purse” look like? This is the second day you mentioned it, and I have to see it! Well, not really have to, but have a burning desire to see the object of scorn. So I can hate it too. (And did you love the “Liz Claiborne Grandma purse” at one time?) Here it is: (The splotch of paint is in the upper left corner; it’s actually smaller than I remembered.) Now, let’s be clear: I do not hate the Liz Claiborne Grandma purse. I like it, I just hate that it didn’t work out for me. That is, I could fit everything in it, but it was hard to get to the stuff in the bottom of the purse, and that always drives me crazy. I’m sure it’ll work better for someone else!
* * *
Why is the Spud’s school being so hard-assed about absences? Don’t schools get all their funding as long as they get the required parental excusal? I have NO idea what their deal is, and I suspect that if I really pushed it, they’d accept a note from me as a valid excuse (well, actually, I think they’ll accept it anyway, but she doesn’t want it to count against her attendance. Or something. Can you tell I’m kind of fuzzy on the whole thing?)
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Hi Robyn, I “recommend” that you have a “recommendation page” for products etc that you’ve tried and either liked or hated. I have gotten alot of good ideas from your site on different products. I swear upon all that is holy that I intend to do that. Maybe this weekend, since I won’t be going out to the house, I’ll get my ass in gear and get it done!
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Do you let the fosters go outside w/the other kitties? We haven’t opened the cat door since we started letting Joe Bob and Myrtle out, because we don’t have extra collars to put on them, and they’re both quite fond of using their claws; I’d worry too much about them climbing the fence and being gone, and the shelter never ever letting me have another foster kitty. I’d love to have a couple of extra collars for just this situation, but they’re more than $80 apiece, plus when we move to Smallville we’re going to use netting over the top of the fence to keep the cats from getting out of the back yard rather than using collars, so it would be a pointless expense.
* * *
Tuesday, I had to take Fantine back to the vet. Her eyes had cleared up a bit from Friday (they gave me a triple antibiotic to put in her eyes), but had only gotten a little better, and weren’t healed yet, still goopy and crusty and bright pink around the eyelids. The vet gave her a hydrocortisone shot to bring down the swelling, and had me put her on doxycycline, to see if that would solve the problem. I got home from the vet’s, Fred and I ate dinner, we ran out to the Smallville house to check on the floors, then when we got home I boxed up Javert, Eponine, and Cosette, and took them to the pet store. At 7:30 the shelter manager called to let me know that Javert and Eponine had been adopted together! Now that’s what I like to hear – the only thing that would have made me happier would have been to hear that Cosette had been adopted as well. I’m hoping she’ll have been adopted by Monday. “Right now, I’m sitting in my new Mommy’s home!” As soon as I left to take the cats to the pet store, Fred let Fantine out of her room. She is such a sweet laid-back cat; she sniffed around and explored for a while, then ended up hanging out back in her own room for a good part of the evening.
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Free hellcat in every case of water! (All of today’s uploaded pictures are here.)
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I opened the cupboard to get out some potatoes to make mashed taters to have with our meatloaf last night, and saw this in the very back of the cupboard. I guess we’re getting a head start on all that gardening we’ll be doing in Smallville.
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Self-portrait #16: One of us has litter on our nose. (Hint: It ain’t me.)
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Previously 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!]]>