Category: Crooked Acres

Sunday evening, Fred and I were talking about one thing or another, and I was in mid-sentence when I glanced out the window, and I interrupted myself to say “HOLY SHIT!” and then could say no more.

I’ve lived in Alabama for 14 1/2 years now, and I’m sure this happens ALL the time, but it’s certainly the first time I’ve looked out the window…

… to see a snake climbing up a tree.

It freaked me OUT, man.

We thought perhaps it was headed for the bird seed, but it went past the bird feeders without a second glance.

Newt couldn’t take his eyes off the snake, either – he started to climb up after it, but then thought better of it.

When it got about this height, we got bored and wandered off.

According to Fred, it’s not a poisonous snake, it’s an Eastern Rat Snake and while it will bite a person if it feels threatened (in fact, he was bitten by one a few years ago), it’s not poisonous.

I’d just as soon not see it again, though.

“How YOU doin’?”

Givin’ the attitude.

Stretchin’.

When I walk into the guest bedroom, Rufus is almost always either on his cat bed (which is usually located at the bottom of the cat tree, which is near the window. This is the cat tree that was upstairs in the foster room, but I was afraid that Maggie would opt to give birth in the condo on the second “floor” of the cat tree, and I further thought that Rufus might like to have something familiar around when we brought him home from the vet last Friday) or hanging out under the bed. When I sit down, he stands up from wherever he is, and he streeeeetches and rubs against whatever’s closest (usually the bottom of the bed) and streeeeetches some more, and then slowly makes his way over to me. Then, depending on his mood, he either sits against me and lets me pet him, or he climbs into my lap and rolls around while I pet him.

Occasionally I let one of the other cats – usually Jake or Elwood – into the room with me. Rufus is always happy to see another cat – his tail goes straight up in the air – but for the most part none of our cats want anything to do with Rufus yet. They’re mostly interested in eating his food, since it’s different than what they get. Elwood even GROWLS at Rufus if Rufus should happen to think he’s going to have a bite of his own food while Elwood’s in there. Oh, that makes me so mad! So I’ve started putting the food bowl up where they can’t get to it, and then when they want back out, I give Rufus his food bowl back.

Corbie did go in and touch noses with Rufus, so I suppose that’s a start. Poor Rufus. He just wants friends!

::slurrrrrrp:: “It’s like this, lady.”

“You keep the canned food coming, I’ll see about getting you some babies.”

“You get me?”

(No babies yet, obviously.)

Poor Alice. She was laying in that box, then Joe Bob got on top of it, and started smacking at the side of the box, and it scared her. See the baleful look she’s giving him? (Pardon the 63 pairs of shoes in the background. We have GOT to do something about getting that area cleaned up, I swear. Some day.)

Previously
2010: Awwww! Meet the baby Bookworms!
2009: Just imagine a great big bald head with Fred’s face on it, and you’ll get the picture.
2008: Guess who flew to Pennsylvania so she could eat cupcakes with Nance and Rick, snuggle the cutest dog on Earth, and reunite with Maddy?
2007: No entry.
2006: everyone’s Irish today, right?
2005: Guess it must run in the family.
2004: The cats are on my fucking NERVES.
2003: You KNOW you’re fascinated!
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: The Big Butt Fairy visits us every year though. Just like clockwork.

Sights from around Crooked Acres.

“It’s too cold out there for us, lady. We’ll just stay in here and keep warm, thanks.”

Pigs are off to freezer camp this weekend. I’ve upped their daily ration of chocolate chip cookies.

::thlurrp::

Dancin’ pup.

I love these dawgs.

In the background, the raised beds we put behind the back yard last summer. In the foreground, the new raised bed (not filled yet). I haven’t decided what I’m going to plant where, but now I’ve got plenty of room to plant it in!

Yesterday morning, I headed out to the adoption center to check on Rhyme and Corbie. I decided that I’d go and spend a little time with them each day for at least the first week, and maybe they wouldn’t be as scared.

Well, really, it wasn’t Rhyme I was worried about – he’s not a scaredy-cat. But when I left Petsmart Tuesday, Corbie was hiding in the litter box looking terrified. I wanted to cuddle and reassure him in hopes that he’d be less scared. I figured it was worth a try, anyway.

When I got there, Rhyme was hanging out in the cage, and Corbie was hiding in the litter box. I spoke to them through the glass, and they both perked up. A manager let me into the cat room, and when I opened the door to the cage, Rhyme came out and meowed at me, then started sniffing around, checking out a toy on the floor, and just generally acting like himself.

Corbie had to be coaxed out of the litter box, and when I picked him up, he hid his head under my chin and shook. I was there about half an hour, and Corbie shook the entire time. Finally, I called Fred and then I called the shelter manager.

I hereby officially give up. Corbie and Reacher will not be making the journey to Petsmart again. If someone stumbles across their pictures and descriptions on Petfinder or in the book at the adoption center or even on my site and falls in love with them, that would be fabulous. If not, well, they’ve got a safe place here as long as they need one.

I moved Rhyme from the big cage he was sharing with Corbie, to a medium-sized cage. I feel sad, leaving Rhyme there all alone, but unlike Reacher and Corbie, Rhyme is fairly outgoing. He’s also personable and very pretty, and I don’t worry about him the way I would have worried about leaving Corbie there. I believe that Rhyme will be adopted quickly because he’s such a sweet and friendly boy.

Since there’s a large cage available at the adoption center, Drum and Clairee (who came home with me Tuesday) will be going to the adoption center today. That was fast!

Drum and Clairee grew up to be such beautiful cats that I literally took hundreds of pictures of them yesterday. You’ll forgive me for posting so many pictures of cats who were only here about 48 hours, won’t you?

First, this is what they looked like one year ago:

Clairee.

Drum.

This is Clairee. One thing I love about her is the sprinkling of white hairs on her back.

And on the right is Drum. He looks like he could be a Bookworm, doesn’t he?

Watching the teaser toy.

Clairee in the front, Drum in the back.

Check out the attitude they’re giving each other!

They’re so sweet and playful, these two.

Drum, thinking deep thoughts.

“Hallo, lady.”

Clairee swishes by.

She has got the MOST incredible eyes.

The rest of their pictures will be posted tomorrow.

PS: Jan Brady was adopted Tuesday night!!!

Newt in the sun on the side porch. Good ol’ Newtles.

Previously
2010: I have to admit that Fred’s the one who started referring to it as Gen Pop, but I picked it up immediately.
2009: [Have you ever…?]
2008: No entry.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: “How do they grow salt?”
2004: Stalkers, beware!
2003: Did you hear that Tubby was a hero over the weekend?
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Can I just say that I loathe the hell out of those gaunt, haggard-looking bitches, Joan and Melissa Rivers?

Hey, remember Thelma and Louise, the kittens with Eyelid Agenesis (just like the True Blood Six) that I linked to back in December?

Well, they’ve had their surgery and are doing well! You can go read about them here, or check in on them at their Chip-In page!

Suzanne has entered a picture of her sweet girl Moxie in the Bissell Most Valuable Pet contest. If she wins, Forgotten Felines – a local cat rescue group – wins some sorely-needed money. Won’t you go vote? It just takes a few seconds, and you can vote once a day from now through next Tuesday!

Vote for Moxie!!!

Yesterday was cold (I think the high was 30), but at least the sun shone. I’d almost rather have a cold day with sunshine than a warm day without.

Almost.

I only had to trudge out to the back forty a couple of times to break the ice in the waterers and make sure everyone was okay, pet the dogs, etc.

I originally had an appointment scheduled for yesterday morning, the preop appointment with my plastic surgeon (skimmers are going “The wha? Why’s she got an appointment with the plastic surgeon? ::sputter:: ::madly searching on plastic surgeon::”, and skimmers I say to you:

“MUTHAFUCKASAYWHAT?”

Bwahaha, no I don’t. I just found that image when I was searching for the proper one:

Okay, much as I guffaw when I look at that one, that’s not the right one either. Here it is:

Long story short: surgery on February 11th. New boobs (lifted, not implants), new upper arms (ditto), new neck (ditto ditto).)

So I originally had a preop appointment yesterday, and all evening Tuesday I dithered about whether or not to show up for the appointment, since it was the first appointment of the day and no one was in the office Tuesday and I didn’t know if they’d be closed or not. I bitched about it to Fred and said “If I were working at a doctor’s office and a big snow was expected, I’d suggest someone take home the appointment book in case the office was going to be closed and patients needed to be called and informed of such.”

(I also originally had an appointment on Monday with the nutritionist I see once a year – he works with my bariatric surgeon, and this sounds very familiar to me, so I probably already babbled at you about that – and no one called to let me know the office was closed. I mean, I’m not a dumbass, I figured it out (even though it wasn’t on the list of closures, I guess they can’t list EVERY business that’s closed?) and didn’t show up, but still. What if I WERE a dumbass?)

I had decided I’d just take my chances and show up at the appointed time, and then they called my cell phone at 8:30 Tuesday night to let me know they’d be closed, and they’d gone ahead and rescheduled me for next Friday. NOW THAT’S WHAT I’M TALKIN’ ABOUT.

I hadn’t heard anything at all from the bariatric surgeon’s office about rescheduling an appointment, so I called (figuring they’d be closed) and they were open, so I rescheduled THAT appointment for this Friday.

And today I have an appointment with my gynecologist (I called to make sure they’re open; they are. You can imagine my joy).

Next week I have a physical with my Primary Care doctor. Can you tell that January is when I get all my annual exams over with?

On Monday, Fred made Snow Cream. Now I’ve never – to my recollection – had Snow Cream, and so I was interested to give it a try. Fred scooped up a big bowl of clean snow, added sugar, milk, and vanilla to it, and I tried a spoonful.

I was not so much impressed, really. It mostly tasted like cold, watery, sweet milk. If we’d used the Southern Plate recipe, which uses sweetened, condensed milk, it might’ve been a different story.

Sights from around a snowy Crooked Acres

I figured out what kind of bird this is about a year ago, and since then the knowledge has vacated my brain. Anyone know what it is? (You can click on the picture to see a larger version of it.)

The ditch between the front of the property and the back forty. I live in fear on icy and snowy days that I’m going to lose my footing going over the bridge, slip, and fall face-first into the water and instantly freeze to death.

Joe Bob looks reallllly happy to be out in the snow, doesn’t he? I’m pretty sure he holds me personally responsible for all this cold wet stuff.

“Are you kidding? We’re not coming out there!”

They can always be lured out with food, at least for as long as it takes them to eat it.

“I’m frolicking! I’M FROLICKING!”

“I frolicked. Gimme snack!”

Gracie makes like a polar bear. (I feel like I read somewhere that polar bears stick their nose under the snow so they’re not as visible. Did I make that up?)

Catching snowflakes.

More frolicking.

“Seriously? You came out here and didn’t bring us snacks?”

Smilin’ pig forgives the lack of snacks. THIS time.

From the back forty, looking toward the house (click on it to go to Flickr; I noted all the outbuildings so you can tell what you’re looking at.)

“OMG! New Dean Koontz? Quick, someone learn me to read!”

Pile o’ sleepin’ Bradys.

Does Peter Brady look like a blissful little monkey, or what?

Cindy’s all “Mo-om! Greg won’t wake up and play with me!”

Here’s what’s going on here: Greg’s still flopped over the side of the cat bed, sound asleep. Peter’s trying to get away from Jake, who isn’t done grooming him. Alice is sound asleep, Cindy and Marcia (behind Reacher) are just watching the goings-in, and Jan’s sniffing out the situation.

Today’s videos don’t involve cats! The first is a short videos of the possum who comes to our side porch to eat every evening. Warning, if you’re watching this with a kid or are easily offended: I thought Mr. Possum was going to come into the house, so there’s a mild expletive toward the end (if you watch it with the sound off, you’re not missing anything):

And the second is from last Fall. Our Silkie hen had hatched out several chicks, and at the same time another hen had hatched out several chicks. These two hens apparently agreed to co-mother, but as it turned out the Silkie ended up doing most of the mothering. (Silkies are really good mothers. They might be tiny, but they’re FIERCE.) In this video, the Silkie is calling to her chicks. I love it when they make that “come to me” sound.

“Hey, Mom? Someone put this white stuff on the table? And it wasn’t me? Can you do something about that?” (This picture is from the day after Christmas.)

Previously
2010: the expensive ones do seem to keep on ticking, don’t they?
2009: The spud is a Twilight fan.
2008: No entry.
2007: No entry.
2006: If nothing else describes me, “Morally strong, with waffly ways” does.
2005: Who loves their readers more than me? That’s right, NO ONE.
2004: Let us go forth and speak of this no more.
2003: But one of these days he’s going to wake me up, and I’m going to pull his arm off and beat him about the head with it.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

There are too many goddamn ones in today’s date, and it’s FREAKIN’ ME OUT, MAN.

So yes, we had ourselves a bit of snow Sunday night into Monday. We got about 7 inches here, and I understand other parts of the state got more snow than we did, bless their hearts.

I find this snow business utterly ridiculous, as if I wanted to deal with 7 inches of cold white snow, I’d still be living in the Northeast. You will please note that I am NOT. Of course, it apparently only does this about once every 17 years or so, so I don’t suppose I should complain too much, should I?

I had an appointment yesterday morning at 8 am, but of course I didn’t go, not least because the entire city of Huntsville shut down for the day (and for today, too, I suppose). I tried calling and leaving a message so they could call and reschedule me, but their mailbox was full, and y’know, it’s not like it was an emergency or anything.

I took the camera out to the back forty to snap some dogs-frolicking-in-snow pictures (which you’ll see on Thursday), and made Fred go with me. We were just out the door when I said “You should take some pictures of me in the snow!”, handed him the camera, and ran to the middle of the yard.

Unbeknownst to me, he was snapping pictures before I got to the middle of the yard and turned around, because he’s a fucker like that.

::runrunrunrun::

::runrunrunrun::

“What the fuck? You gonna take the picture?”

“Oh. You fucker.”

None of the cats were at all interested in going outside except for Joe Bob, who was just all kinds of unsure of what the holy hell was going on.

Even he eventually gave up and came inside and settled on the heated cat bed on the couch for the rest of the day.

So, remember how I was growing out my hair to its natural gray and dark brown color? That lasted just about six months – and it was about half grown out – before I decided to go back to coloring it.

Fred – who applies my hair color because I’m no damn good at it – put the color on last Sunday, and did a pretty good job of it. It was more red than I wanted, though, so I hemmed and hawed and asked him if it was too red (he didn’t think so – but honestly, he couldn’t give less of a shit about the color of my hair. Which is why I SHOULD come home with neon green hair one of these days.) and I finally snapped a picture of my hair to show y’all and ask your opinion.

Then I looked at the picture and I thought, first of all, “If I were holding that damn camera any higher, it’d be in fucking outer space”, then I thought “Jesus, don’t I look like a smug bitch who needs a good hard smack across the face”, THEN I thought “Huh. I kinda like the way it looks.”

I haz a smug.

I went to Sam’s last Thursday to stock up on stuff, and while I was there, I was DELIGHTED to find that they’re carrying edamame again in their frozen food section. I love the hell out of edamame, and when they stopped carrying it, I was sad and bereft and unsure whether I wanted to go on.

When I spotted the edamame on Thursday, I wanted to give all of Sam’s Club a great big hug. And I bought TWO bags, because I’m sure that once word gets back to the head honcho in charge of Purchasing, they’ll stop carrying edamame immediately.

At least I have my two bags!

After Sam’s, I stopped at Petsmart to look at their selection of litter. I’ve used Fresh Step for years and I like the way it clumps and I like the way it (mostly) prevents my house from smelling like cat poo all the time, but the dust is absolutely kicking my ass. Every time I scoop the litter boxes (and there are currently 8 of them in this house) a great wave of dust goes through the house, and Fred reels around and gags and coughs and acts like a great big drama queen. In the interest of not having to listen to the coughing and gagging, and also in interest of not dying from a condition so rare that it’ll likely be named after us (Anderson Litter Lung), I decided it was time to see if I couldn’t find something that clumps halfway decently without the overwhelming dust.

I bought a bag of Precious Cat Litter, a bucket of Fresh Aire Litter, and a bucket of ExquisiCat Scoopable. I wanted to try the Cat’s Pride litter, but they didn’t have it at Petsmart or at Target either.

Three days after I changed out the litter boxes and refilled them with the new litter, I can tell you that Fresh Aire is a nightmare – I didn’t think it was possible for litter to be dustier than Fresh Step – and doesn’t clump worth a shit. The ExquisiCat is less dusty than the Fresh Step, but still too dusty. The Precious Cat appears to be the winner – clumps well, and hardly any dust at all.

(I had considered crystals, but don’t feel it’s safe to use with kittens. I don’t like the smell of World’s Best Cat Litter, and I did try Swheat Scoop, but the kittens immediately started eating it, so that went right out the door. I don’t care if it’s safe for them to consume – every group of kittens that comes through here has coccidia, giardia, or both, and I don’t want them eating potentially infectious litter.)

I don’t like that the Precious Cat costs more than the Fresh Step, but when weighing the cost against the dust, I’m willing to make that sacrifice.

(But I’m sure Anderson Litter Lung will still get me in the end. I’ve been inhaling that shit for years now.)

The other thing I like about the Precious Cat litter – it’s unscented.

That said, if you have a litter you absolutely love, I’m all ears!

The Bradys seem to spend a lot of time with their little mouths wide open.

“I KEEL YOU!”

“I BITE YOU RIGHT ON YOUR NOSE!”

“YOU BITE ME ON MY NOSE, I POP YOU WITH MY SHARP LITTLE CLAWS!”

“I KEEL YOU!”
“NO, I KEEL YOU!”

“They’re skeery.”

“You come here, Lady, I bite you on your face.”

Two videos today. The first, the Bradys hanging out in the foster room (with a visit from Corbie), shot sometime in December.

The second, Alice caught in the act of, well – just go see yourself (try not to fall asleep during the fascinating conversation Fred and I have.)

One thing the snow did was bring out the birds, who emptied our bird feeders in no time flat. Fred resorted to tossing a scoop of bird seed onto the ground every couple of hours to appease the birds.

The cats spent all day long in front of the side doors, watching the birds. Those birds drove them CRAZY.

Elwood and Corbie.

L to R: Tommy, Sugarbutt, Jake, Elwood, Corbie, Rhyme.

Jake, Elwood, Corbie, Rhyme.

Previously
2010: Since then, I’ll occasionally asked him if he washed a dish with soap and water, or just his “magic hands.”
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: If you could solidify body odor into a spice, it would taste exactly like cumin.
2006: Oh, how I love my books.
2005: I need a nap.
2004: Stuff I bought in Maine.
2003: No entry.
2002: Firsts.
2001: You rock, maaaaaaaan!
2000: I’m blue.

This here is what the holiday postcard I sent out looked like. Only, imagine that it says “Happy Holidays…” on it, and on the back “….and a grumpy New Year!”

That’s Jake, in a picture taken last year (as in, December 2009). I wanted to have the back say “…and a loony New Year!”, but Fred was afraid that no one would get it.

Jake only put up with being in that hat for about ten seconds before he took off racing madly around the house in a desperate attempt to get it off his head, but luckily I snapped the picture just before he took off.

I sent out 444 postcards this year, so I guess it’s a good thing I ordered 500 of them!

I did display the cards I received – stapled them to ribbons and strung them across the front room – but unfortunately didn’t get any pictures of that. So you can see the cards I received here.

Thank you so much, those of you who requested cards; sending out cards always puts me in the holiday spirit. I hope everyone who requested one received one, and if you haven’t yet, don’t give up hope. They’re on the way to you, I sent ’em myself, and I’m sure they’ll eventually get to you!

Sights from around Crooked Acres.

Switch plate I got for Christmas, now hanging in my bedroom. It bears more than a passing resemblance to Miz Poo.

Woodpecker (not the clearest of pictures, I know.)

“What the HELL is all this white stuff on the ground?!”

The pigs have another month or so before they’re off to freezer camp.

Ninja Squirrel.

“Hi, Lady, hi. You has snack for me? Snack? Snack?”

“Snack?”

“Snaaaaaaaaaaack!”

“Snack over there?”

“Snack? Snack? Snack?”

“Snack over there? No snack over there. Snack?”

George, no dummy, is staring at the pocket from whence all snacks come.

“Why you keep telling us to go frolic in snow? Not “frolic” – SNACK. Snack?”

Having finally gotten their snacks, George and Gracie head off to their eatin’ place under the big tree.

I should have made them Christmas cookies, but they seemed to like the holiday rawhide twists I bought at Target just fine.

Those damn dogs, despite my many entreaties to “Go frolic in the snow! Frolic Georgie! Frolic Gracie!” just refused to frolic. They had no interest in anything but the snacks I had in my pocket. Brats.

Obviously “Frolic!” is a command I need to teach them.

“HEYYYYY MACARENA!”

Jake, sleeping in the warmest spot in the house. I have no idea why this corner of the kitchen is so warm, but it’s noticeably warmer there than anywhere else. Either Jake or Rhyme is always hanging out over there.

Previously
2010: Mike and Gus go to their new home.
2009: Squirrels in the side yard drive Suggie CRAYZEE!
2008: Cumin smells exactly like stinky armpit to me.
2007: No entry.
2006: “Oh. Were you gone?”
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: “Ohhhhh,” I finally said, the light dawning. “It’s a comedy.”
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

Did anyone notice the quote at the bottom of yesterday’s entry from 1999? If you hadn’t noticed, what it said was Fred and I came to an agreement last night. The end of March, I’m going off the birth control, and we’re going to start trying to get pregnant.

Boyyyyyyy, did times change. I don’t remember exactly when we decided we didn’t want to have another kid – I assume at some point before he had his vasectomy in 2005 – but every now and then I turn to him and say “We could have a ten year-old right now!” and we both shudder at the thought. No offense to those of you with 10 year-olds, of course, I think your 10 year-olds are probably pretty awesome, that’s a pretty fun age, it’s a couple of years before they hit their Stage of Stupidity but they’re able to do stuff for themselves, and I’m sure if we had our own 10 year-old, we’d love it and hug it and make it scoop the litter box every day (shit, I just now thought of that. WHY did we not have another kid, damnit?! I’d have years of free child labor!), but all in all we’re pretty glad we don’t have a 10 year-old.

A few weeks ago, I had a dream that I was pregnant. It was a surprise pregnancy, and in the dream I was freaking OUT. When I woke up, I had a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach and I was EXTREMELY unhappy and I was thinking “What the fucking fuck hell fucking shit fucking damn am I going to do NOW? I don’t want a kid, our lives were going so well, whyyyyyyyyyy whyyyyyyyyy whyyyyyy?” It must have taken two or three minutes before my mind cleared and I thought “If I were pregnant, that’d be a pretty good trick”, given Fred’s vasectomy in 2005 and my hysterectomy in February.

Talk about your rush of relief!

I didn’t see the plastic surgeon yesterday, after all. Just about every school in this area was either canceled or let out early, and I decided I didn’t particularly want to drive to South Huntsville and end up sliding off the road in the pursuit of perky boobs. I called and rescheduled, and will be seeing him for real on December 29th.

My boobs and I can hardly wait.

Sights from around Crooked Acres.

What I love about this picture is the chicken in the background, all “Dude, you wanna move?”

I took cookies out to the pigs the other night, and THIS BASTARD chomped down on my finger. IT HURT A LOT. Fucking pig.

“You gotta move faster than that to escape the Chomping Jaws of a Hungry Pig, lady.”

Roosters are so damn pretty.

What I love about this picture is how it looks like George only has that one tooth on the top. (I swear, he’s got a full mouthful.)

“George is not a toothless hick, lady. George takes CARE of his teeth.”

“Hmmm.”

“What’s she DOING out there?”

“I’m doing YOUR job, George. I’m running off potential threats to the flock!”

That helicopter did NOT come any closer, believe you me!

::proud::

“Nothin’ gets hold of MY flock!”

Hello, gorgeous.

So, earlier this week I took the rug that was in the foster room, and I dragged it out to the garbage. And I replaced it with interlocking heavy-duty foam flooring. Because while it’s nice to have a rug in that room, it’s also really difficult to clean – also, not particularly easy to see little droplets of poop – and I got to the point where I would look at that rug and even though it had just been vacuumed and appeared to be clean, I felt like I could just SEE it crawling with germs.

The foam tiles can be vacuumed and cleaned, and won’t absorb the fluid you clean it with.

I’m a little concerned that the kittens’ claws will do some damage to them, but so far that hasn’t happened. So far, so good!

My only gripe is that the green is a bit brighter than I expected. I wanted the blue, but the blue was backordered, so I opted for the green instead.

The kittens don’t seem to mind.

Bobby believes in clean toes.

::thlurrrp::

::chomp::

Rhyme does not appreciate this cold weather nonsense.

Reacher prefers to stay warm inside with Tommy.

Newt in the sun. “Whatchoo want, lady? Let Newtie sleep. Newtie was out all night huntin’ mice. Newtles needs his snoozin’ time. You go away now.”

Previously
2009: That boy can BOUNCE.
2008: Hey, look! Cute cat pictures!
2007: I wonder why I wouldn’t want to take “an active role” in picking the rooster, given that I wanted it SO VERY MUCH.
2006: No entry.
2005: You know what I really fucking hate?
2004: I guess it really does pay to be in the right place at the right time, eh?
2003: No one cries alone when I’m around, I always say.
2002: Next week will be a lovely roller coaster ride of stressed-out PMS hormones gone wild.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.
1999: Have I mentioned that I sleep in the nude?

If you’re in Maine and are looking for a cat, please let me know and I’ll pass your email along to the people looking for a home for her. She’s about 1 1/2 years old, has a very sweet temperament, and is a blue-eyed Siamese mix. (Sorry, no pics at the moment – but I’m sure there’ll be some available soon!) She’s spayed and has had her rabies shot.

Attention, those of you in the North Alabama/ Tennessee area: the North Alabama Spay Neuter Clinic is having a fundraiser this weekend in the form of a Plea Market (they had one last year, you might recall.) They’re looking for donations (which are tax deductible!) – you can go here to read more about what they’re looking for, when and where you can drop off your donations, and when the Plea Market will be open to the public.

This event is sponsored by 13 animal welfare groups in the area. The money raised will be used to buy a transport vehicle to assist people in rural areas to get their animals spayed/neutered. Volunteers will be needed on Thursday & Friday (12/18-19) to help set up and also on Saturday, the day of the sale. Donations of saleable items will be accepted both days at the Jaycees Building on Airport Road.

The North Alabama Spay Neuter Clinic charges $35 for feline neuters, $45 for feline spays, $55 for canine neuters, and $65 for canine spays. The only cost above the basic charge is $10 for the rabies vaccination if you cannot provide proof that your animal has been vaccinated in the past 12 months.

PLEASE NOTE THAT ANYONE CAN USE THE SPAY AND NEUTER CLINIC. You do NOT have to qualify! There is no extra charge for weight or if the cat/ dog is in heat.

Sights from around Crooked Acres.

The back forty.

Rooster. He’d like you to know he’s a great big stud.

Miss Gray. She’s the only chicken we’ve had that’s this particular color and pattern. I think she’s beeeeeautiful. I secretly call her Meredith. Get it? Meredith Grey? No?

Momma hen and her babies.

I went out to the back forty to open the big coop door (so the coop could air out) yesterday morning, and George and Gracie were out cold. I stood there and took pictures of them, and waited for them to sense my presence, but they didn’t. Finally, I got worried that perhaps they’d been poisoned and were laying there dead, so I said “Puppies!” and they jerked awake.

“I was restin’ my eyes, lady.”

So, in the guest bedroom (which also doubles as an extra foster room, as you probably know), we used to have a little set of stairs so that any little fosters could climb on them, and ultimately get up onto the bed in there. You can see them in the background of this picture:

As you can see, they were covered in carpet (or carpet-like material), and after they’d been vomited on a million times, I couldn’t stand the way they looked. I said to Fred “Can’t you make me a set of stairs out of wood that I could paint or polyurethane and so when they’re vomited upon, I can just wipe them off?”

He said that he could, and that was about six months ago.

The weekend before last, I finally got pushy about getting him to make the steps for me – I have no idea why, it’s not like any of the kittens aren’t big enough to climb up on the bed without the assistance of stairs, I just WANTED them – and he did.

The kittens approved! So I took them out to the garage and painted them with a stain/ polyurethane combo. Honestly, if I had it to do all over again, I’d have just used a clear polyurethane, because the combo ended up being so drippy (and I so uncoordinated) that there are parts of the stairs that look terrible. I complained to Fred about it, and he pointed out that he was pretty sure the kittens weren’t going to care, which is true, but I’m making a mental note not to do that again.

(Please note that I am NOT giving you a close-up view!)

I think they’ll work quite nicely.

AND, since we were going to the store to buy wood for the stairs, we bought more wood. See, in a corner of the computer room I put a carrier with a pad in it, and I called it the Spanky Cave (or the Sugarbutt Cave, or Whoever-was-in-it Cave) and the cats liked it quite a bit. But it sits under a chair, and the cats were using it to climb up onto the chair, which was making the top collapse downward permanently.

So we made a box about the same size of the carrier, from wood. I stain/ polyurethaned that as well, but since it was a simple box, there was less of the dripping problem that I had when I did the stairs.

Miz Poo approves.

Which is why, when I saw this over at Modern Cat, I said “Hey! Great minds think alike!”

When I was looking for the picture above that showed the old cat steps, I ran across these, and I think I might have fainted from the sheer stunning cute.

That’s Hydrox from the Cookies, by the way. He was such a little character!

The Crooked Acres House Tour, continued.

From the bottom of the stairs, looking up toward the landing.

The curtains on the window at the landing. I love these curtains (I don’t know if you can tell or not, but they have daisies on them).

Looking out the window at the driveway.

From the landing looking downward. That doorway leads to the guest bedroom.

Annnnd from the landing looking upward.

Top of the stairs, looking down at the landing. This is exciting, no?

At the top of the stairs, to the left, is Fred’s bedroom.

For the uninformed, yes – Fred and I sleep in separate bedrooms. And if you’re all spluttering condescendingly like Dr. Phil was on his recent show where someone asked him whether sleeping in separate beds was a bad idea, and he tried to pretend that if it worked for the couple, then it was fine with him, except that he made it SUPER CLEAR that in his opinion it was a bad idea, then please feel free to bite me. We don’t sleep well in the same bed. We sleep very well in separate beds. I can sleep through cats tromping all over me; Fred cannot, and once he’s awakened in the middle of the night (by, say, a cat balancing on his head) he has a hard time getting back to sleep. We lay down and talk and cuddle every night for half an hour or more, then Fred goes off to his bedroom and I stay in mine. He usually goes right to sleep; I stay up and read or watch TV and turn in at a more reasonable (ten-thirty! Am party animal!) hour.

In conclusion, let me tell you that there are three women (I am no longer in contact with, for the record) who come to mind who, in the past, had an absolute screaming cow about the fact that we sleep in separate rooms. Oh, they couldn’t BELIEEEEEEEEVE that we didn’t sleep all curled up together in sweet marital bliss. Oh, what a TRAVESTY, what a SHAME, they were SO SORRY that our marriage was in such dire shape, did we need HELP with attorneys fees for the DIVORCE, would we perhaps like some ADVICE on how to fix our SHAM of a marriage?

Would you like to take a guess about how many of those three marriages are still standing? Did you smugly guess that NOT ONE of those “I could never sleep separately from MAH MAN!” bitches is still married?

In. Your. FACE.

(Who, me? Chip on my shoulder about this topic? Why, I’d never!)

“Jake’s trying to sleep here, lady. Go ‘way.”

A note of interest: this was actually originally going to be the foster room. But Fred doesn’t sleep well when wakened in the middle of the night, and the room that is now the foster room (that was originally supposed to be Fred’s room) is on the front of the house, facing the road, and occasionally loud motorcycles or cars or people walking go by. That room is better suited to being a foster room, anyway – it gets lots of sun, and the closet’s a great size to keep litter boxes and cat supplies in. You can see the foster room door at the other end of the hallway.

My room. You can see the closet door on the left, but you can’t actually see that there’s a second closet on the right – the door is next to the recliner. I like having all that closet space, but it makes it hard to place the bed. I don’t like blocking part of one of the windows, but whatcha gonna do? I had the bed kitty-corner originally, but then there was no room on the wall for my bedside table. I sleep on the left side (if you’re facing the bed).

From the recliner, looking over toward the door. The white bookcase (which you can’t see much of) holds my books (duh). The armoire type piece of furniture straight ahead holds the clothes that are out of season – I just got out all my Fall/ Winter clothes yesterday, so all my lighter shirts and shorts are in there now. Please note Starsky on the bed.

Standing next to the bed, looking toward the opposite corner. You can see the other closet door now. Next to the bookcase is the Poo Cave.

“I yam Poo, and this are my Cave.”

I don’t know if you’re dying to see in my closets, but if I were you I’d want to know what the hell’s going on in all that closet space.

This is the closet with the white door. Mostly shipping supplies for jams/ jellies/ hot sauces – boxes, bubble wrap, foam peanuts.

Other end of the closet.

Now, true confession time: until two weeks ago, this closet was STUFFED with boxes. I must have saved every damn box I got for the past year DESPITE the fact that I didn’t need them. Finally, I got my shit together, hauled almost all of those boxes out of there, and took them to the recycling center. I didn’t want y’all to think I was a dirty rotten box hoarder. (Nevermind those boxes on the shelves. Shaddup.)

The other closet – it’s cedar lined, but ever so much more boring than the other closet, if you ask me.

There’s a second row of clothes hanging behind this row.

And that’s it for the tour this week! Next week, the upstairs bathroom and foster room. Then the week after that, the garage! Woohoo!

Starsky and Tommy.

Hutch and Rhyme.

It’s too bad these little guys can’t seem to find anyone willing to snuggle with them, isn’t it? So sad.

Smug little monkey.

They’re getting so leggy.

Sooooo…. guess who’s going to their new home tomorrow?

“…ME?”

That’s right. But not just Starsky. Hutch, too. They’re both being adopted by the same family!!!

I won’t say anymore, though. I don’t want to jinx it! But I am very excited, to say the least!

The garbage can (which has never been used to hold garbage, by the way) in the back yard has become THE place to be. Sugarbutt gets it when it’s sunny – and when it’s raining out, Tommy hangs out in it (Tommy LOVES to be outside when it’s raining. I think he’s part otter – although, he doesn’t particularly care for getting wet). Sometimes the Bookworms sneak in and hang out there for a little while, but it’s usually the domain of Suggie or Tom.

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: I was going to spend the day shopping today, but due to the onset of PMS rage, I think it’s best that I spend as little time in public as possible.
2007: Brudderly love.
2006: No entry.
2005: Apparently I’ve got the Jaws of Doom.
2004: Reader questions.
2003: Of course, my immediate response is “Are you on drugs???”
2002: I think that everyone there had a little cartoon question mark over their head, ’cause I sure as shit did.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.
1999: No entry.