Category: Crooked Acres

2011 calendars for sale ——–>

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My gastroenterologist called yesterday morning to let me know that the biopsy results were back. There was some inflammation “under the surface”, likely due to a virus. No signs of colitis at all, my bloodwork was fine, go back and see him in six months.

Later today I’ll be making that appointment along with an appointment with my primary care physician for my yearly physical, and an appointment with my gynecologist for THAT yearly physical. I guess this is the time of year for my yearly stuff – which is odd, because I know at one point I had it set up so that all my yearly physicals were scheduled for January. I figured, since I was turning another year older, why not compound the horror?

Anyway, thought I’d let you guys know that the biopsy results came back fine and there’ll be no monthly colonoscopies for me!

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Sights from around Crooked Acres.
(The house tour is in the next section.)

“‘Allo, Guv’na, just stopping by to wet the ol’ whistle! Pip pip!”

Fred was looking for something in his workshop over the weekend, and came across this huge-ass snake skin. I’m sure glad I didn’t come face to face with THAT snake while he was shedding his skin.

We tossed it in the back yard to see what the cats would do. First they sniffed it, then they dragged it around the back yard. It hasn’t made its way inside the house just yet, but I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.

Speaking of bringing things inside the house, Corbie the hunter-gatherer brought this big-ass piece of bark into the house. Here it is with a kitten for size comparison.

::shudder::

Not actually at Crooked Acres – last weekend when we went up to Tennessee, we stopped at our favorite feed store to buy cat food. This alpaca (llama?) is new. Before you ask, we don’t have an alpaca/llama because we only have five acres. If we get more land, we might revisit the idea of having an alpaca/llama just for shits and giggles.

Corbie wants to know why you haven’t come to adopt him yet. He’s WAITING.

In the back yard, there was this tree. It was diseased and falling down, so Fred cut it down. This stuff grew where the stump is. We talked about cutting it down, but the cats like to hang out under it, and it gives us a little privacy from the house next door, so we let it grow. Apparently Tommy’s taking to climbing up in it and sitting there. Elwood can’t figure out exactly how he did it.

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Crooked Acres Tour – kitchen and laundry room.
(Click on any picture to view the larger version.)

From the doorway between the kitchen and dining room.

From the corner by the sink, looking toward the doorway. That’s the Amish pantry to the left, beyond the refrigerator. It actually has doors that go on it, but they need a coat of polyurethane. Which I was going to do this week, but we didn’t have any polyurethane, so maybe next week.

From the other corner by the sink.

From the laundry room doorway.

A closer view of the pantry, ’cause I know you wanna see.

From the doorway between the kitchen and laundry room. That’s the door to the back yard.

From the corner by the litter boxes.

From the same spot, different angle. Storage unit and cat food bowls. (There’s one more beside the utility sink, to the left of the picture, and one next to the pantry in the kitchen. There are usually only two bowls beside the storage unit, but I’m trying a new food in those bowls to the left – EVO grain-free. They seem to like the EVO Herring and whatever more than the EVO Chicken and whatever.)

And the view from over by the washer and dryer, toward the litter box area.

Y’all let me know if you’re wanting a close-up view of anything in these pictures, or have any questions.

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Guess who’s going to be neutered and get their ID chips in a little while? Can you believe they’re over two pounds already? When I got back from Myrtle Beach two weeks ago, they were both at about 1 1/4 pounds. Then, with the help of regular morning and evening canned food snacks, they packed on another half pound in a matter of days. Last Monday I weighed them both to find that they were over two pounds, so I made the appointment.

Once they’re neutered and have their ID chip, it’ll just be a matter of waiting for room to be available at the Petsmart adoption center. The way adoptions are going, it could be a little while. You can imagine how heart-broken I am at the idea of having them around for a while longer!

Doesn’t it look like Hutch is about twice as big as Starsky? Somehow, he’s always looked huge compared to Starsky, but they’ve always weighed within an ounce of what the other weighs. Maybe Starsky has heavy bones.

When I’m at my computer, they can usually be found in the bed to the left of my monitor… or the bed to the right of my monitor. They’re not picky – whatever’s available is fine with them.

(He’s no dummy. He waited ’til she was sound asleep!)

Grumpy boy.

Sleepy boy.

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“I had a nightmare there was a kitten snuggled up next to me.”

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Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: Didja vote? Didja vote? Didja vote? Are you gonna vote? You’re gonna vote, right? You know there’s an election today? Didja vote?
2007: Good thing they’re not our cats, huh?
2006: No entry.
2005: Well, well, well. Look who’s a big tough talker, but when the can of whoopass is opened and a little orange kitten gets to smackin’, Mr. Badass cowers like a great big girly-man.
2004: Apparently I had nothing to write about last year, either, ’cause it’s all meme and comment-answering.
2003: No entry.
2002: Now, THAT is a church name!
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.
1999: She thought “gauze” was plural, so obviously the singular would be “gau”!

Between Tuesday and yesterday, I got the 19 remaining chickens from the freezer in the garage (I originally thought there were 18, but found one hiding under a turkey) boiled and deboned. This house was like a motherfucking SAUNA with two pots on the stove boiling away merrily all day, two days in a row. The whole house was warmer than usual, but you really felt the temperature difference when you walked into the kitchen. It must have been 20+ degrees warmer in the kitchen, even though I had the exhaust fan running and the ceiling fan in the kitchen going the entire time.

By the time I got to deboning chicken #19, I had it down to a very quick science. I’ll be able to do two batches of chicken in the pressure canner today and another two batches tomorrow, which should take care of it. I swear to god, I’ll never get this behind on canning chicken again!

(Except that I think we all know I WILL.)

I was going out to the garage to get the last two chickens from the freezer, took one step down from the stoop, and fucking SLIPPED AND FELL. This makes the second time I’ve fallen on those goddamn steps in three months. Last time I was wearing Crocs and blamed my fall on those. This time, I was wearing boots, meant for slippery conditions, and fell anyway. Needless to say, we’ll be visiting Lowe’s this weekend to find a way to make those steps less slippery. Next time, I could very easily break something and I’d really rather not.

Last time, I fell in a way that caused me to hit the edge of the steps with my ribs – luckily, I didn’t break any – but at least this time I fell straight onto the steps. I got a little scrape on my left ankle, thought I’d sprained my wrist a little (today, it’s fine), and I should end up with a spectacular couple of bruises on my ass. I got lucky, and I don’t want to press my luck again.

In between boiling, cooling, and deboning chicken, I used the vacuum cleaner to suck up at least 10 yellow jackets and hornets. Yep, it’s that time of year again. I’m trying to convince Fred that replacing the windows throughout the house would result in less sting-y buzzing insects coming inside, but he doesn’t seem too into the idea. I’ve reached the point now where I can be in the kitchen, the exhaust fan going on high, two pots of water boiling merrily, listening to Keith and the Girl on my mp3 player, and still hear the buzzy/crinkly-paper sound of a hornet hitting the window. If I see more than one of them, I grab the vacuum cleaner. If it’s just the one, I grab a piece of paper towel, grab it, and squeeze ’til I feel a popping sound.

You know you want my life.

I’m bracing for the yearly onslaught of asian lady beetles. Last night I saw one in the upstairs bathroom and told Fred I’d seen the shot across the bow. I expect to see a few more every day until one day they’ll start swarming in around the windows.

Goddamn I hate those things.

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The Crooked Acres Tour continues! Today you’ll be admiring (or staring in horror at) the dining room and computer room. Click on any picture for the much larger version.

Standing in the doorway between the end of the hallway and the dining room, looking toward the computer room (the kitchen is on the right side). On the wall straight ahead is a washstand that belonged to (I think) Fred’s great-grandmother. Hanging over that is a sampler made by my grandmother. The doors of the washstand are open because that’s where we keep extra towels, and the cats like to sneak in there for a snooze.

Standing in the kitchen doorway, looking toward the hallway. Note that my wasp-sucking vacuum cleaner is ready to go, there on the left. The desk next to the hallway doorway belonged to Fred’s mother (and possibly her mother before that). Next to that is the canning cabinet that holds any number of canned stuff.

From the kitchen doorway looking straight ahead at the fireplace. Another year goes by where we didn’t get a wood-burning stove to put there. Note the cat beds on the dining room table (what? We never eat there!). That blue cabinet hanging on the right is the medicine cabinet Fred made at my request.

Another shot looking in the direction of the computer room. Please note that I finally painted the base of the scratching post we made from a cedar post (next to the wash stand).

I got this little cabinet at a thrift store a couple of years ago. I like it quite a bit. (It’s hanging pretty much over where I was standing when I snapped the previous picture.)

Standing in the doorway of the computer room, looking in the general direction of the side door.

Standing by the side door, looking in the direction of the dining room. Straight ahead, the bookcase that holds our shoes, boxes of pictures, and canning jars. I’d like to get something different for that spot – something that will hide our shoes but will still have a shelf (the cats like to hang out on top of that bookcase). To the right, the hook where I hang my purse. One of the cats peed in my purse once, and that was the last time that happened – at least until they can figure out how to get their asses high enough to pee in it at that height.

Looking toward Fred’s desk, and beyond that the rarely-used bathroom.

Turning more to the left, you can see my desk and the bookcase that holds all the jams, jellies, and hot sauces I sell.

My desk area, where all the magic happens.

That’s it for the tour this week. Next week: the kitchen and laundry room.

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Scenes from around Crooked Acres.

Fall has… fallen?

Something’s gotten George and Gracie in a dither (I think they saw one of the cats).

End of October, and we’re still harvesting cherry tomatoes, thank you very much. That’ll likely come to a halt after tonight (last I heard, it’s supposed to get down below freezing tonight), but I still think that getting cherry tomatoes this late in the season is AWESOME.

Still getting full-sized green tomatoes, too. We’ve been eating a lot of oven-fried green tomatoes – and letting some of them ripen, too.

The raised beds. Those are carrots growing on the right.

Radishes. They desperately need to be thinned, but I had no idea the damn things would grow so quickly – I put a piece of chicken wire over the beds when I planted the carrots and radishes to stop the cats from using them as litter boxes (and the chickens from taking dust baths), and the radishes grew through the wire. If I pull the wire up, I’ll pull up all the radishes – and it’s a pain in the ass to reach through the wire to thin the radishes. I may very well do nothing and see what happens.

Rogue baby rooster. When they’re this little, they can still get through the fence at the gates. We don’t worry about them too much, they seem to stay pretty close to home.

We had volunteer squash plants pop up in mid-August. We left them alone to see what would happen, and what happened is that they gave us squash. One of the plants is a spaghetti squash plant, and a couple are summer squash plants. Next year we may very well plant a row of squash in mid-August, because it’s nice to get squash so late in the season, and what’s even cooler is that they’re not infested with bugs.

Happy squash.

The Satsuma tree – we harvested our first citrus this week!

Satsumas are super easy to peel – as easy as Clementines – and they’re super sweet. We are definitely fans!

We picked our key limes. I do not know what the hell to do with these. Not really enough of them to make lime curd, as I’d hoped to do.

CAVE CRICKET UP CLOSE! RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! RUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUN!

The first time we had bacon, I must have opened the pack they forgot to cut (length-wise), because these were some seriously long pieces of bacon! (Tasty, though. We don’t have our bacon cured or smoked and it’s better than any bacon I’ve ever had in my life. I’ve never been a bacon fan, but this stuff is fantastic.)

George, please. Can’t you TRY to look happy? We don’t want these nice people to know about the daily beatings!

George! You’re a Pyr, not a Pointer!

Am I sensing some attitude?

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We call this “Corbie’s party box”, because he keeps putting stuff in it. The first day the box was there (in the middle of the computer room), Corbie ran in and dropped a pecan in the box, then sat there and looked very proud of himself. The second day, another pecan from the back yard. Day three, a dead cave cricket. I don’t know what he’s planning, but it looks like a partaaaaaaaaaay super party!

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See that green blanket? Starsky and Hutch ADORE that blanket. Hutch, especially, snuggles up to it and sucks on it. It’s sad (because they were taken from their momma too soon), but it is so very sweet that I have a hard time not smushing them to bits when they do it.

Starsky, scheming.

Hutch, trying to look innocent. We’re not fooled, little man!

“I lub you THIS MUCH!” (Or, “Paws up, y’all!”)

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Buster, I am pleased to report, has reverted to his sweet, laid-back ways. I mean, he’s still a hissy little drama queen when the mood strikes him, but he’s not NEARLY as growly or hissy as he was over the weekend. THANK GOD. He loves to get up on top of the kitchen cabinets and roll around happily, causing me to have a heart attack in fear that he’ll go sailing over the side and to the floor, smashing into a billion Buster shards.

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Pardon the fact that I shot this picture through the window. I was sitting at my computer when this squirrel came down the limb of the tree and seemed to be considering jumping to the ground. Of the back yard. Where there were a large number of cats hanging out. Tommy and Kara ran over in hopes that he’d do it, but he rethought his brilliant idea, and eventually ran back up the limb to the tree which is on the other side of the fence.

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Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: I’d like to stop with the anxiety dreams, thank you.
2007: I have no idea on earth how we’d ever tell if a chicken was insane, since they seem to lean toward The Crazy even when they’re (we assume) perfectly normal.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: In case you were wondering, we are officially Crazy Cat People.
2003: I always look like a fucking lunatic when I take my own picture.
2002: (Is it just me who always thinks of Billy Crystal in When Harry Met Sally saying “I would be pleased to partake of your pecan piiiiiiiiiiiiie” when I hear, say, or read the word “partake”?)
2001: (For the record, her verdict was that the real-life prostitutes were “creepy”.)
2000: No entry.
1999: And going blind would just suck.

The Crooked Acres jam (and hot sauce) shop is now open!

Go buy jam and hot sauces here.

(And there’s a permanent link in the left sidebar, for future reference.)

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This morning I’m running Miz Poo up to the vet and dropping her off because she’s been licking her stomach and now has a sore that she won’t leave alone.

And then I’m going to come home and spend the morning canning chicken while waiting for 1:15, whereupon I’ll be going to the doctor because I’m pretty sure I have a urinary tract infection.

The worst part is that I actually HAD a doctor’s appointment scheduled Tuesday afternoon, but Tuesday morning I woke up feeling a lot better due to the cranberry juice/ baking soda in water/ Vitamin C/ lots of water home cures. I thought I was getting over this ridiculous UTI nonsense, so called and cancelled the appointment. Dumbass.

Then of course Tuesday night it got worse, and when I called first thing yesterday morning, the soonest they could get me in was this afternoon, so I took the appointment. Right now, I’m having what feels exactly like menstrual cramps (which would be a neat trick given my lack of a uterus), so I’m sure I either have cancer or the alien baby is PISSED and trying to get out.

You know you wanna be me.

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The Crooked Acres Tour, Continued.

Standing in the doorway of the front room, looking down the hall. The first door on the left is the bathroom, the second is the stairs, and the third is the closet. The doorway on the right is to the guest bedroom.

The bathroom, obviously. This is the bathroom Fred uses (unless we have guests, in which case he moves all his stuff upstairs and shares my bathroom) because the shower’s a bit bigger.

Guest bedroom, from the doorway looking in.

And from the corner by the bed (Stinkerbelle is so disgusted by this picture-taking nonsense, she can’t even look at me).

Buster’s always got something to say. As you can see, when it’s not serving as a bed for weary visiting guests, it serves as a bed for weary cats.

The dresser might not be anything to look at, but it’s got a hell of a lot of drawer space.

Directly across from the guest bedroom doorway, the stairs. (In real life, the stairs are straight, not crooked. Can I possibly EVER take a straight picture, do you think?)

And last but not least, the closet. It’s okay if you’re horrified; I am. I did not straighten that closet one tiny iota before I snapped this picture. We keep the closet closed, because the hot water heater is back there, and when there are kittens running amok they like to get way back where we can’t reach them. Also, I can toss stuff in there and close the door and not have to look at it. Also also, YES. I keep my potatoes in the hall closet. It’s too warm in the kitchen most of the time.

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Scenes from around Crooked Acres.

Hummingbird, keeping an eye on the feeder.

New pigs!

Boy pig.

Girl pig.

It took them maybe five minutes to get into the wallow.

The many faces of Georgie:

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When the little ones whine, I always mock them by saying in a particularly whiny voice, “Wahhhhhh! I’m a BAYBEEE!” and then I laugh and laugh because I am evil.

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I love that Jake and Elwood (but especially Jake) love the kittens so much, even the mostly-grown kittens like Buster and Rhyme.

I need to get some more pictures of Rhyme, don’t I? Y’all are going to start thinking he’s just a figment of my imagination, what with all the pictures of Buster and NONE of Rhyme. I swear, he’s here, he’s the friendliest cat on earth, I don’t know why I never manage to get any pictures of him. I guess he’s just not around when I’ve got the camera in hand.

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Tommy would like you to know that he has retained his svelte kittenish figure, as proven by the fact that he can still cram his bulk into a canning jar flat.

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Previously
2009: “That’s like me!” Fred said. “Maybe I’m schizophrenic! I always need stimulation!”
2008: And he likes the chickens, but I think if a hawk swooped down and snatched one up while he was watching, it would make his YEAR.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: 9. What is your biggest mistake? Immediately believing what I’m told without standing back and thinking about it.
2004: Reader requests.
2003: Why have kids if you aren’t going to make them do the scut work?
2002: You know, I don’t even have the words.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

The first part of the house tour!

The front of the house from across the street.

And the front of the house, from closer. The upstairs windows are the foster room. The downstairs windows are the front room.

Resident greeter Maxi would like you to know that she disapproves of this “house tour” nonsense.

Front door, plant stand, the house Fred made for Maxi and Newt so they wouldn’t freeze to death in the winter. They used it the first winter, and then decided they’d rather huddle in misery on the side porch than snooze in luxury on the front.

The right side of the porch. Yes, this is a lovely place to sit and talk – but we never sit out here.

Left side of the porch. I sit in that swing and stalk the hummingbirds.

Standing just inside the front door. After living here for 3 1/2 years, I finally got pictures hung on that wall. Which I’ve been planning to do… for about 3 1/2 years.

The right side of the front room. That table to the far right of the picture is where my sewing machine sits, ignored. On the bookcase is all my material and sewing supplies. Those are also ignored.

Left side of the front room – the living room section, if you will. Where we spend most of our evenings.

Same side of the room, from the hallway. The couch under the windows is Fred’s; the other one is mine. Yes, we COULD share a couch, but I like to lay down and stretch out while we’re watching TV. And there are usually 43 cats on the couch with Fred. These couches used to belong to Fred’s father and stepmother, and they are the MOST comfortable couches ever. Fred’s couch, you might have noticed, has a slipcover on it. I need to order one for my couch (I just ordered the one to make sure it was going to work out before I ordered a second). These couches are TORN UP. Stupid cats.

And from the hallway, to the left.

Another shot of the TV area. The table next to Fred’s couch (over there in the corner) drives me NUTS because it’s always got a ton of shit piled up on it.

Dodger, atop the bookcase in the front room.

That’s it for the tour for this week. NEXT week, we’ll go down the hallway and see the bathroom and guest bedroom! Can you stand the excitement?

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Scenes from around Crooked Acres.

Do you see what those fucking chickens did to my little herb garden? They hollowed out beds and took dust baths and fucked it all up. Fuckers. Now that I’ve made it so they can’t get out of the back forty, I pulled up the herbs, added some soil, and planted radishes in this bed, and carrots in the bed next to it. Then I covered the beds with chicken wire so Maxi and Newt can’t dig in the beds and use them as a litter box.

Come on, habaneros, ripen! I’m running out!

Baby bell peppers.

Grrr.

Have I mentioned my love for Morning Glories?

The okra are just about done for the season. Fred is sad (but I have two bags of sliced okra in the freezer, so we’ll have plenty of roasted okra between now and next summer!).

Volunteer squash plants. I don’t know that we’ll actually get anything from these, but it’ll be interesting to see.

Autumn Clematis.

I was surprised to find a Rose of Sharon growing among the shrubbery in the back yard. Purty.

One of the chickens, back when they were able to wander out of the back forty. They always came running when I was picking tomatoes. There’s nothing chickens love as much as tomatoes!

Okay, Georgie’s looking at me. Gracie, look at me! Over here, Gracie. Graaaacie! Gracie?

Damnit, George, look at ME, not over there! George!

Good Georgie! Good boy. Ugh. GRACIE! Everyone look at ME.

You guys, come on. AT me, I said! AT ME. Not away from me!

UGH. Brats. Well, at least they’re both looking at me!

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The Reacher creature.

Reacher, sneaking in the cat door before I spot him and yell at him.

He has such gorgeous eyes. All my Bookworms do.

Oh, how Marty loves the Skinneeez teaser.

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These kittens have the prettiest markings.

I love the two light brown stripes down Hutch’s back.

Hutch, skeptical.

I don’t know what Starsky’s looking at, but it appears to be pretty amazing.

Starsky. Who does little Starsky remind me of? He reminds me SO MUCH of Bolitar, not only in looks, but also in temperament.

Bolitar, back in March:

Anyway, here’s the story behind Starsky and Hutch. I got a call from the shelter manager Sunday evening. Another Challenger’s House foster mom had gotten these two little kittens from a friend who found them. They’d been tossed out of a car along with a third kitten. The third kitten was in such bad shape and hurt so badly that there was nothing that could be done for it, and it had to be euthanized.

Since all my little guys are going to Petsmart on Friday, I knew I’d have the room, so I was more than willing to take them.

These two were LOADED with fleas when I got them, and so the first night we bedded them down in a big carrier in the blue coop with a heating pad.

On a side note, I have been REALLY lucky as far as fleas go. The only time I ever spotted fleas on fosters is when we got the Cookies last Fall, and they only had a few fleas. When I say these two were loaded with fleas, I’m not kidding. They had fleas crawling in their eyes. It was awful.

By mid-day Monday, the fleas were eradicated, and I bathed them and set them up in a cage in the guest bedroom.

They’re doing well and are pretty healthy. They’re a little bony, but they’re both eating well and putting on the ounces. They’ve been using the litter box I put in their cage, Starsky has been eating a little of the bowl of Babycat kibble I left in their cage, and last night Hutch lapped some formula off a plate.

They’re sweet and snuggly and friendly. They’re at that age I love so much, where they’re just figuring out how to play with toys and how to play-fight with each other, where everything is AMAZING, and their favorite thing to do is climb into my lap, purring and kneading.

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VERY MUCH do Kara, Sugarbutt and Tommy disapprove when we have the nerve to leave the back yard. Look at the judgmental faces on those three!

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Previously
2009: Flat Holly
2008: “Paul Newman is dead too! What are the chances that… Oh.”
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: I’m a badass, that’s right.
2004: I
2003: In adults, I am anti-”bye-bye”.
2002: Day in the life.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

see more Lolcats and funny pictures

Thanks, you guys, who commented and emailed to let me know that my picture of The Seven had been used over at I Can Haz Cheezburger. I happened to see it at ICHC right before I went to bed last night, so I emailed them, and should receive credit for having taken the picture at some point.

That picture is one of my favorites, and it was kind of nice to see it surface, a year and a half later. It was featured over at Cute Overload last May, too, which I think means… well, I’m not sure what it means. I’m very special, I guess!

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I have nothing brilliant to say here, because I was up ’til 1 am reading Backseat Saints. I could NOT put the damn book down, and the only reason I didn’t finish it is because I literally fell asleep with it propped up on my chest around 1. I woke up at 3 to put the book down and turn the light off, but then I got up at 5:30, which means I am SLEEPY and no good at coming up with anything interesting to say. So let’s get to the Crooked Acres pictures, shall we?

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Sights from around Crooked Acres

Mama Silkie and one of her babies.

Cabbage! Once they’re a bit bigger, I’ll plant them in the garden. I think I planted late this year (so what’s new??), and we may not actually get any cabbage, but it’s certainly worth a try. I’m also going to plant carrots in one of the raised beds and radishes, too. We’ll see how that goes.

One day I’m going to sneak out with the spray can and paint “Oink oink” on either side of the “Pork Chop Express” and we’ll see how long it takes Fred to notice.

Not even half the chickens we have.

Happy Gracie.

The Rock Star. I think she’s our prettiest chicken. Some of her head feathers have gone white, and I’m not sure why.

Mama Silkie and her babies, out exploring.

Mama Silkie, having a tizzy about something while everyone ignores her. She’s a drama queen.

This Mama and her babies were way over on the other side of the back forty, then she caught sight of Fred by the coop and decided that that meant he was going to toss out scratch, so she started hauling ass in his direction, and her babies came right along with her.

The co-mothers.

Bee on the Azalea bush in the front.

From the swing on the front porch. Looks like rain.

I don’t know what this thing is, but I say he’s overdone it on the mousse.

Miss Gracie, again.

Inside the maternity coop.

Things I have recently made:

The fabric that came with the Ham-mick I got last Fall (or perhaps it was earlier this Spring?) is starting to get kind of ratty looking because certain kittens (ahem, Reacher) like to knead on the fabric for seventy-two hours before they get in and lay down. They use their claws, and the fabric gets pulls in it, and Fred doesn’t care for the patterned fabric anyway. I thought about buying some new ones from the lady I bought the Ham-micks from, but I have a TON of material and a rarely-used sewing machine, so I thought that I’d see if I couldn’t use the fabric that came with the Ham-mick to make a pattern to follow and make one myself. Well, I made a pattern, and it actually worked out pretty well. But you’ll please note that I’m not showing you the damn thing in DETAIL or anything, because I can’t sew a straight line to save my life. Who do I have to impress, though? Reacher likes it, and when Reacher’s not in the process of liking it, Sugarbutt also likes it. It’s almost always occupado, which says “two thumbs up” as far as I’m concerned!

Blackberry-habanero jam. (Don’t get excited, I’m not taking orders ’til around October 1st. I want to have a decent stockpile before I start selling. And I need to stock up on flat-rate boxes from the post office, too!)

Strawberry-habanero jam. This stuff’s not jelling, so I need to reprocess it, damnit.

I didn’t actually make this, but I – uh – coordinated it. We were at the shelter a few months ago, and there was a cedar scratching post in the big cat room. I started looking at it and said to Fred, “We could make something like that, couldn’t we?” A few weeks later, we went to Lowe’s and found this cedar post, which is not nearly as nice as the post in the cat room at the shelter, but it was cedar and I thought it would work. Last weekend, I harangued Fred into getting something done with it, so he cut the post down, made a base for it, and screwed it in. I stapled some yarn toys to the top and sprinkled catnip on it, and the cats are liking it quite a bit. Especially Reacher! It’s not particularly gorgeous, but I like it. I’m going to sand and paint the base, and probably sand the post itself a little.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

 

I think next week I’m going to start doing the room-by-room tour of the house that one of you suggested way back when I started this Crooked Acres Thursday thing. I really want to do a room-by-room Fall cleaning of the house (when was the last time I washed the walls in the downstairs bathroom? How about never? And every damn time I go in there, I look up at the walls and I shudder and think about how the whole damn house needs to be scrubbed from ceiling to floor and wall to wall.) and taking pictures of the house, room by room, is a good incentive for doing some hardcore cleaning.

I maybe don’t say this often enough, but if there’s something y’all are dying to see pictures of around here, feel free to let me know.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

 

What I really want to get a picture of is the tiny patch of white fur Dodger has at the base of his ear. When I got him, there was a bare spot there. I realized one day last week, as I was petting him, that the fur there has grown in white. It’s very neat.

I love what a non-issue it was to integrate the Bookworms and the MMMs. I was afraid, given Bolitar’s drama queen ways, that Reacher and Corbett might be hissy and smacky, but they act like they’ve known the little ones forever.

So many toys, so little time.

Can you tell where Corbett’s favorite place in the foster room is? No? It’s a mystery!

Corbett, in the back yard. When we bought this house, there was a cedar tree there. It wasn’t in great shape, so Fred cut it down, leaving a bit of a stump behind. Corbett has claimed it as his own.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

 

From mostly feral to being held like a baby in, what, three months? Coltrane has turned out to be a lover.

+ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + +

 

Previously
2009: (Thank god – being unable to understand someone with a thick accent always makes me feel incredibly stupid.)
2008: I’m certainly enjoying all the naked male behinds that pop across the screen pretty regularly, too.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: Just call us the three bears.
2004: small things that will remind me of my grandmother.
2003: Man, this whole running-a-business thing is strictly FOR THE FUCKING BIRDS.
2002: Fred (as if narrating a book): “She was a bitter-butted woman….”
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

Yesterday I went to Publix in the morning to take advantage of the sales (their sales go from Wednesday to Tuesday). I especially like their buy one get one free sales, and take advantage of them to stock up on the stuff I use regularly – Pam, bagels, english muffins, dog treats, Cheerios. I don’t know how it is that I show up at the store ten minutes after they open, there’s NO ONE ELSE around, and yet somehow their shelves of whatever the fuck I’m there to buy are almost completely wiped out. I managed to get two cans of Olive Oil Pam, but there were only two cans on the shelf, so whoever came along after me was shit out of luck. I wonder if they deliberately don’t stock the shelves of stuff that’s on sale so that one person can’t come in and buy all of one sale item. Publix doesn’t usually have a limit on the number of sale items you buy at one time, so it could happen, I suppose.

I went home and put the groceries away, ate breakfast, and then headed to Kroger. Fred’s been completely out of Diet Pepsi (we are a house divided – he prefers Diet Pepsi, I don’t drink that stuff unless I’m desperate) and has been drinking my Diet Coke for the past week. I don’t like to share my Diet Coke, and Kroger has Pepsi products on sale for 88 cents a 2-liter, so it was time to haul my ass to Madison and stock up for him.

When I was done at Kroger, I was going to come home, but I decided that since it wasn’t so very far to Petsmart, I’d run by there and see how my boys were doing. Then I could go over to Bed, Bath and Beyond, and buy a bag of the kettle corn (korn?) they’re selling. They’re big bags, and they’re $3.99 each and they are LIKE CRACK, and neither Publix nor Kroger carried any bags of premade kettle korn (corn?), and have I mentioned that this stuff is fantastic?

So I saw the boys at Petsmart (more down there in the kitteh section) and browsed the pet costumes. I was so very, very tempted to buy a princess hat to put on Jake, but in the end I didn’t. I went over to Bed, Bath and Beyond and grabbed up some kettle corn (korn?) and browsed through the store. When I was in the store last week, they had a pet carrier on sale, this one:

the black one, and they were marked down to $9.99 each. I had a couple of 20% off coupons, so I bought one, took it out to the car, and then went back in and bought the other. I deliberated buying the third one, but didn’t have another coupon, so opted not to. When I got home, I set up the carrier, put a pad in the bottom of the carrier, and put one by my desk, and the other in a corner of my bedroom. They are SUPER popular with the cats. Spanky and Sugarbutt take turns laying in the one by my desk (the front flap of the carrier folds down, so it just looks like a little cave), and Miz Poo likes to hang out in the one in my bedroom and watch the kittens. She’s even spent the night in there a few times, which is amazing for her, since she usually likes to get right up in my face and tickle me with her whiskers all night long.

Anyway, they still had the third carrier, but on my way to the cashier, I realized it wasn’t marked down to $9.99 the way the other two were. It was the regular price of $29.99 (!), so I put it back and just bought my kettle korn (corn?) (the whole korn/ corn question could be solved by my going into the kitchen and looking at the damn bag, but I’m too goddamn lazy to walk the ten feet to do so).

Lastly, I ran over to Target because I needed a new broom and dustpan, and I found the selections at Publix, Kroger, and Bed, Bath and Beyond to be lacking. I have three (I think) dustpans in the house, and two of them suck. The third is a Rubbermaid dustpan and it’s the Best! Dustpan! Ever! (my god, is this not the most fascinating topic on earth? Should I start talking about the weather next, you think?). Alas, even Target didn’t have the Rubbermaid dustpan, so I opted for the Mrs. Libman broom and dustpan combo.

I got home, and it wasn’t even noon. I put everything away, spent some time with the kittens, ate lunch, and then snoozed on the couch.

It even rained for about 20 minutes, so all in all? A very good day!

(PS: I got up off my ass to look. It’s neither kettle korn nor kettle corn – it’s kettlecorn! Made by these guys. I’ve tried the cinnamon flavor (which isn’t even listed on their web page), but prefer the original. I haven’t tried the smoked cheddar, but it certainly sounds good. Also, according to their list of retailers, Publix carries the stuff. I went over that aisle with a fine-tooth eyeball (two of them!), and our local Publix doesn’t carry them, I can tell you that.)

 

@ @ @ @

 

Sights from around Crooked Acres.

Gracie, keeping a watchful eye on… something. (I don’t remember what she was watching so closely.)

“DID SOMEONE SAY ‘COOKIE’?!?!”

Four of the approximately ten young chickens who leave the back forty every morning and spend their day wandering the property. These four are from the same…. litter (?), and spend all their time together. That’s the burn pile they’re hanging out in.

Another wanderer.

These are assassin bugs, right? They seem to be hanging out on in flocks on my tomato plants, waiting for their prey to come along.

Bee on a Morning Glory.

Just-hatched assassin bugs. I went back to look at them a couple of hours later, and they’d vamoosed.

Mama Silkie and some of her babies.

Mama Silkie and more of her babies (please note the tiny chicken butt to the left, as one of her babies decides he needs to be under her wing).

Mama Buff and some of her babies.

Mama Silkie, lecturing.

“I have HOW MANY babies?”

“I can’t afford that much child support! I guess I better start looking for a job. Sexing up the wimminfolk doesn’t pay much ’round these parts.”

Check out the crossed paws. She’s always a lady, our Gracie.

George, looking like a ragamuffin.

Standing near the gate, note that Gracie has spotted something, while George is staring off into space.

They race off…

…chickens scattering…

…and stare at the intruder (a dog belonging to a neighbor had wandered across our property).

The end. (Nothin’ cuter than a chicken butt!)

 

@ @ @ @

 

Sweet, stretchy Dodger.

The MMMs (including Dodger) are slowly starting to explore the house more. Martin is sleeping on a cat bed on my desk right this moment, Moxie’s sleeping on top of the bookcase in the front room, and Dodger is hanging out on the cat tree in the front room. I’ve even seen Melodie come downstairs several times. They tend to run off when the TV is turned on (I think they aren’t quite sure what to make of the noise), but I’m sure it’ll only be a matter of time before they’re hanging out with us while we watch TV in the evenings.

We call this next series of pictures “Martin’s mouth writes a check his tail can’t cover.” Or maybe “You mess with the bull, you get the horns.”

 

@ @ @ @

 

Awww, look at the pictures I found on my hard drive! It’s Bolitar, hanging out with Tommy!

I stopped by Petsmart yesterday to check on my boys. I intended to go into the cat room and give them some love, but they were curled up together so sweetly sound asleep that I didn’t want to wake them up. By all reports, they’re adjusting pretty well to the adoption center, and aren’t scared or hiding in the litter box anymore. They also haven’t been adopted yet, obviously, but I sense that this will be their weekend! I can dream, right?

Corby, in his favorite snoozing spot.

The Reacher Creature, mid head shake.

Elwood and Reacher, keeping an eye on things.

 

@ @ @ @

 

Coltrane, coming over for some petting. And a wandering chicken. Neither of them seems terribly impressed by the other.

 

@ @ @ @

 

Previously
2009: Maybe Bill just thought I didn’t have enough to worry about?
2008: “I SEE YOU HAS CORN GIVE TO ME NOM NOM NOM”
2007: Who needs a stinkin’ appendix, anyway?
2006: No entry.
2005: (I shot a man in Texas, just to watch him die.)
2004: No entry.
2003: So basically I paid twice as much for a keyboard as I would have on my own for no good reason, all thanks to that Staples employee, may he rot in hell.
2002: I hope that leaf doesn’t give me a damn yeast infection.
2001: No entry.
2000: I’m not sure what happened next. I believe I blacked out.

I must be completely back to normal physically (I’ve NEVER been normal mentally HAR HAR HAR ::wheeze:: ), because I am CRAAAAVING the Diet Coke. If you came sauntering across the room slurping on a Diet Coke right now, I would cut your throat and steal your Diet Coke as you fell to the floor. And then I’d feed you to the pigs. OH YES I WOULD.

I actually have bottles of Diet Coke in the refrigerator right now, but I’m trying to refrain from drinking any until this course of antibiotics is over and done with, as I am supposed to avoid caffeine.

Sunday morning will be a Diet Cokeapalooza ’round these parts, though, I tell you what.

I’ve gained back all but 4 of the pounds I lost, alas. I don’t know what form the loss took – I imagine it was mostly water weight with some muscle and maybe a little fat thrown in – but I can tell you that it’s all coming back as water weight. I’m practically sloshing when I walk right now. I guess it takes time for your body to rebalance after a quick loss-and-gain cycle like that. I’m eating normally and drinking lots of fluids, so things will work out.

My doctor’s office did call to let me know that I have an appointment with the gastroenterologist. On SEPTEMBER 30th. I’m glad things are back to normal, otherwise I might have gotten down to 98 pounds before then, for god’s sake. The nurse told me that if I felt like things were completely back to normal I could cancel the appointment. But I’m supposed to see him once a year so he can poke at my liver, order blood tests, and tell me everything is fine and I might have missed last year.

(For those of you newish to the site, I supposedly have Primary Sclerosing Cholangitis. I don’t particularly believe I have it, and the diagnosis only came through ruling out everything else, so whatever. Right now I take bile salts daily and see the doctor every so often.)

 

@ @ @ @

 

Scenes from around Crooked Acres.

Mother hen and babies. We have about 40 young chicks and babies right now. This was NOT supposed to happen, but those damn hens keep going broody!

“He likes it when I slip him the tongue.”

“I swear to you, if she doesn’t stop wearing those polka-dotted boots, I’m going to drown her in the wallow.”
“I hear you.”

Pigs are off to freezer camp on the 13th. They’re at about 300 pounds right now and it’s time for processing. We’ll have two more pigs the following weekend, we’ve already got it set up with Egg the Pig Man, our piglet provider.

Black Silkie taking a dust bath.

Evening snack time for George and Gracie. Gracie keeps her eye on the prize, but George looks like he’s about to go bounding off.

“I has a rawhide bone.”

“I lubs my rawhide bone.”

::slurrrrrrp::

“I need a pedicure.”

I don’t know what it is, but it’s dead.

Pecans! Hopefully we’ll get a good crop this year.

I think Morning Glories are about the prettiest flower in existence.

Wee eggplant.

 

@ @ @ @

 

The trip to the adoption center on Tuesday sucked. Of course it did – they always do. It didn’t help matters that about halfway there, Bolitar and Rhyme started howling like their little hearts were breaking. I almost turned around several times. I almost called Fred and told him I couldn’t do it a hundred times. But in the end, I got them there, I got them set up in their cages, and after much hugging and kissing and telling them I loved them, I left them.

I took heart in the fact that they didn’t immediately go into the litter box to hide. They were scared and nervous, but they had each other, and were snuggled up together when I left. Reports from the adoption counselor for Tuesday night were that they spent the evening hiding in the litter box.

It will take a few days for them to relax – it always does – and I know they’ll be okay.

But I miss their little faces, and it is SO much quieter around here without them!

Reacher and Corbett don’t really seem to notice that anything’s different. Corbett has maybe become a touch friendlier – he was never unfriendly, but also hasn’t been super-friendly either, but yesterday and today he’s been approaching me to be petted. He’s also putting up with being kissed a lot better than he did before.

Jake and Elwood are fine. They have Reacher and Corbett to hang out with, and if they get bored with that particular selection of kittens, they jump over the half-door upstairs and hang out with the upstairs kittens.

Bolitar and Rhyme, of course, haven’t been adopted yet, but I know they will be, soon. And you know I’ll let you know when that happens!

I snapped a few last pictures before we left for Petsmart.

See that collar? In his last few days here, not only did Bolitar spend a lot of time sneaking out into the back yard, he also managed somehow to get OUT of the back yard twice. We have an extra collar on hand (we have an electric fence around the back yard), and it worked very well to keep him from escaping.

Brudderly love.

Rhyme gets in a last snuggle with Jake.

 

@ @ @ @

 

Martin, Melodie, and Dodger are about to go be spayed and neutered. Since Moxie was already spayed, she gets to stay home and hang out with me for the day. Things are certainly going to be QUIET around here today.

Once they’re recovered from their surgery – probably this weekend – I’ll be opening the half-door in the hallway to allow them the run of the house. Martin has shown that he’s VERY ready to go exploring. I’ve been having to hold him back with one hand as I go through the half-door. Last night he slipped through and headed down the stairs with no hesitation whatsoever, like he had places to go and he was GOING. Without BolitarZilla around to hiss and smack at them, I think they’ll be okay.

We were hanging out on my bed, and heard the noise of a cat jumping over the half-door. Moxie and Martin ran to the end of the bed to see what was going on – no doubt they were worried that Bolitar was coming in!

It’s hard to see, but Moxie’s got her back leg hooked up behind her head. It was bath time.

“What?”

 

@ @ @ @

 

Maxi and Newt join me in the garden.

 

@ @ @ @

 

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: For the next half hour, it sounded like a TB ward in our house as we tried to expel from our lungs the fine powder we’d stupidly breathed in.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: My god, has Bill O’Reilly always been such a pontificating blowhard?
2004: (No, he’s not going to remove her eye. Thank god.)
2003: The first time I did actually inhale was the last time I ever put a cigarette to my mouth.
2002: “What’s “porn”, Mama?” she would ask.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

Things may be improving, physically, though I’m hesitant to declare myself over this nonsense because I’m sure as soon as I do, I’ll collapse from a brain aneurysm or something. At least the weight loss has not only stopped, but I gained a little weight yesterday. Fingers crossed!

 

@ @ @ @

 

I have no Crooked Acres pictures for you today, but I pulled a couple of old videos off my Flip video for your viewing pleasure. They’re nothing amazing, but they’ll have to do for this week.

First, Gracie keeps an eye on Fred, who (off-camera) is using the torch to burn weeds around the fenceline.

The next is from the end of May. We went out to give the pigs their evening cookies, and I had the Flip video with me. The pigs are, needless to say, much bigger these days. I should take the camera out to get another movie of them at the size they are now.

And lastly, I wanted to make a movie of all the cats coming through the cat door at snack time, after I did my “Whoooooo’s ready for the snackin’?!” call. Oh, it was going to be SO cute, with one cat coming in after another and running past the camera to the kitchen for their snack. SO CUTE.

It didn’t quite work out that way when Corbett ran out the door.

 

@ @ @ @

 

Oh Elwood, you MONSTER, must you lick ALL the Bookworms to death?

Pretty Corbett in the sun.

This is what I love about Corbett: I give all the cats a snack in the mid-afternoon (Snackin’! Time! was cancelled for a little while because I got tired of dealing with all the mess and confusion. I found that when I moved it back a few hours so that it was NOT centered around our dinnertime, life got a whole lot easier.) The Bookworms get their snack in the guest bedroom because otherwise Jake and Elwood would move in on their snacks and Hoover them up. So the Bookworms know to follow me into the guest bedroom and wait while I divide up their snacks on four plates. Then I put the plates on the floor, and when I leave the room, I shut the door so that none of the big cats can go in there. Then I give the rest of the cats THEIR snack, and I wait about five minutes, then open the guest bedroom door so that the Bookworms can come out.

Every single time, Reacher, Rhyme and Bolitar are clamoring at the door to come out. But Corbett is curled up in a cat bed on the bed. And he always looks at me, surprised, like he’s saying “We can come out? I thought it was night-night time!” Every time. How I have not squeezed the stuffing out of that boy, I do not know.

The Bookworms, Jake, and a sliver of Miz Poo over there to the side.

Bookworms in the sun.

 

@ @ @ @

 

Apparently, pink really brings out the gorgeous color in miss Moxie’s eyes.

“I find this toy tasty. Two paws up!”

NOM.

They were laying there playing with each others’ tails. Too cute.

 

@ @ @ @

 

Coltrane, looking guilty. (The sound of the camera was freaking him out.) I generally only see Coltrane at night – Fred goes out to give him a scoop of food, and then he spends the night in the back yard. He’s still there in the morning to greet Fred, and I’m not sure where he spends his days. We’re talking about moving the old chicken coop (the first one Fred ever made, for our initial flock of 12 hens. Oh, how I long for the days when we only had 12 chickens….) into the back yard so that the outside cats will have shelter when the weather turns cold.

 

@ @ @ @

 

Previously
2009: Damn whippersnappers.
2008: I don’t know why he can’t just call it Demer0l or whatever the fuck other people call it.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: I sure do hate the hell out of housework.
2003: When I think of Judge Roy Moore, the phrase “Getting too big for his britches” comes to mind.
2002: If he didn’t do that creepy, over-intense stare all the time, he wouldn’t be so (you guessed it) creepy, but he does, so he is.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

I’ve lost 9 pounds since Monday morning. I know you’re all clamoring to know HOW? HOW ROBYN DID YOU LOSE THE WEIGHT, TELL ME SO THAT I CAN LOSE WEIGHT LIKE THAT, TOO!

Here’s the secret: food poisoning.

I know, right? What an awesome diet idea! I should totally write a book about it and become a best-selling author! I don’t know that it was food poisoning, but I’ve heard for years now that there’s no such thing as the 24-hour flu, that it’s almost always food poisoning, so that’s what I’m going with. It started Monday after lunch, was horrific all day Tuesday (I did nothing all day but lay on the couch and watch TV, snoozing through most of it. My DVR has never been so empty!), and just as I was starting to believe that I was probably about to die (when Fred told me I’d fallen asleep HARD on the couch while we were watching TV, I asked him if I’d sounded like I couldn’t breathe. “No, why?” he said. “Because I feel like I can’t get a good, deep breath, so I’m pretty sure I’m going into multi-system organ failure.” Note: Today I’m able to get a good, deep breath just fine.), I started feeling better. I was still woozy and a little dizzy yesterday, but this morning I feel 100% better.

Which isn’t to say that I’m not going to slack today. I am SO going to slack today. Right after I do some laundry, vacuum the house, and scrub out the litter boxes, that is.

 

@ @ @ @

 

Sights from around Crooked Acres.

Momma hen and baby. These damn hens have been going broody all summer long, even in the hottest heat of July. I know that when it’s sweltering out, there’s nothing I feel more like doing than sitting on a clutch of eggs 23 hours and 45 minutes a day.

Newborn chicks always look so smug. “You’re DAMN TOOTIN’ I came out of that egg! I smashed the HELL out of that egg!”

Fred bought a propane torch recently to torch the weeds around the fences and by the driveway instead of using Round-Up. This picture is from the first time he went around the fence around the back forty. Gracie tracked him the entire way around, but she very much did not care for the sound of the torch, so she kept well back.

Cucumbers. We didn’t do very well in the cucumber department this year, but at least we got enough for some refrigerator dill pickles and a batch of sweet pickle relish.

I’ve probably posted one million pictures of okra flowers, but I can’t help it. They’re purty!

Dirty dawg.

Muscadine grapes. We’re going to get one hell of a crop this year, I think.

Did I mention that we’re down to one rooster? The rooster/ hen ratio was off-balance, and the girls were walking around with bare backs (roosters grab on to the feathers on the back of the hens when gettin’ jiggy with it), and I hated seeing that. So Fred processed all the other roosters, leaving this guy, who probably thinks he’s died and gone to heaven, with all these hens to himself. We’ve got small roosters coming up, and unless there’s a particularly pretty or charming one, they’ll be off to freezer camp when they’re big enough.

“You tawkin’ to me?”

Pretty little hen.

Keeping an eye on the flock.

“What?”

These guys slip under the fence in the morning and spend the day wandering the property. I’ve told Fred that it’s my goal to make it so none of the chickens can get out under the fence. I kind of like seeing them wandering around during the day, I’ll admit, but I don’t like seeing them tromp onto the neighbors’ property. Not that they’ve complained, but I don’t like it.

 

@ @ @ @

 

Sugarbutt must be running around the top of the cabinets. He likes to get all wild and do that and make me worry that the cabinets are going to come crashing down.

I count 7 cats in this picture, including two Bookworms. Oh, they make me despair. They don’t even act guilty when I catch them out back, anymore, and when I shoo them inside, they look offended. BRATS.

Rhyme, at the very back of the back yard, watching the chickens.

“Madame, I take exception to your tone. I am merely laying here chewing on this stick. If you have a problem with that, please take it up with the proper authorities.”

 

@ @ @ @

 

Comfy, are we, Marty?

Dodger. I have mentioned that he loves a good sun puddle, haven’t I?

“I HAZ A COMPLAINT.”

“So there.”

Sweet little Dodger. Yesterday, Martin jumped on him and bit his neck, and instead of just laying there and taking it like he usually does, Dodger bit back. I was egging him on from the sidelines – “Kick his butt, Dodger! Get him!”

I have no idea what’s up with the lack of Melodie pictures lately. I need to get some more shots of her because she is SUCH the gorgeous monkey.

 

@ @ @ @

 

Stinkerbelle, keeping watch over her Tommy while he sleeps. I have perhaps mentioned that she loves Tommy?

 

@ @ @ @

 

Previously
2009: I adore stories that talk about what a pain in the ass Gwyneth Paltrow is, and I always cackle when Dlisted refers to her as “Fishsticks Paltrow.”
2008: Or… is that how learning curves work?
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: she’s got the skank lines rolling off her, doesn’t she?
2004: Fred is just amazed that one portly cat can have so many health issues.
2003: ::Sproing!:: he went, leaping at least a foot in the air, and I watched, impressed that he’d contained that much energy in his dry and dead-looking little body.
2002: “TUBBY GET THE HELL OUT OF HERE!” I ordered, and grudgingly he did.
2001: No entry.
2000: Being completely, one-hundred percent useless in the slightest emergency, I slapped my hands to my cheeks and let out a horrified scream.

Attention, Alabama and Tennessee residents!

The North Alabama Spay Neuter Clinic is now open in Huntsville. They charge $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. Ear tipping for ferals is free.

The clinic also provides FeLV/FIV test and heartworm tests for $20 and the other vaccinations for $10, but those are completely optional. They’ll also do fecals!

The North Alabama Spay Neuter Clinic web site is here.

Please please please pass the word. I know there are so many people who are unfortunately put off from having their cats and dogs spayed and neutered by the potential high cost. The fewer unwanted kittens and puppies who are brought into this world, the better.

Maybe one day there’ll be no such thing as unwanted cats and dogs. Wouldn’t that be lovely?

 

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Remember last week when I told y’all about the lady next door sitting out on her deck and talking to those two men in business casual dress, and how I was very curious about who they were and kept watching them out the window? You guys suggested they might be selling religion or could be census takers. They stopped here after they were at the next door neighbors’ house, and of course I didn’t answer the door.

They came back Tuesday evening at 8 (which is far too late to be knocking on peoples’ doors, if you ask me), and Fred answered the door and went out on the porch to talk to them.

Turns out they were selling supplemental health insurance. Fred listened patiently to their spiel, lied and told them we already had supplemental health insurance, and when they started asking questions (ie, which company we had the insurance through), told them he was uncomfortable answering questions like that asked by strangers who showed up unexpectedly one night.

They backed off on answering the questions.

They also did that thing I’ve occasionally witnessed from door-to-door salespeople where they start naming off people who live in your neighborhood like it’s somehow persuasive. Like you’re going to be all “Bob Jefferson signed up for the insurance? Good ol’ Bob Jefferson! I need me some of that insurance too, then, good ol’ Bob Jefferson knows his shit. Sign me up for what you gave Bob!”. They told him that the lady next door had signed up for it, and this person and that person. They went on to tell him that people in our area were “very excited” to have the opportunity to sign up for supplemental insurance.

“Very excited.”

Somehow, I doubt that.

They also told Fred he was “hard to get hold of” and that someone had told them to watch out for “the blue car” if they wanted to talk to the man of the house. I don’t know which neighbor passed along that nugget of information but HEY THANKS, NEIGHBOR! APPRECIATE IT!

Fuckers.

We didn’t buy any supplemental health insurance because (1) we don’t want supplemental health insurance, thanks and (2) if we wanted supplemental health insurance, we’d go out and find a place to buy it. The only door to door salespeople I’d ever bust out the wallet for these days is Girl Scouts, assuming they’re selling Girl Scout cookies, and I can’t remember the last time a Girl Scout knocked on my door.

 

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Scenes from around Crooked Acres.

I made a big batch of Ina Garten’s Chicken Stock over the weekend, and canned stock on Tuesday. I ended up with 7 pints and 14 half-pints, and a quart in the freezer.

I think the dog snack situation has gotten out of hand.

The squash plants are overrun with squash bugs, but the bees keep pollinatin’, bless their hearts.

The patch of weeds where the squash plants were.

The Copper Marans hen stalks me when I’m in the garden in hopes that I’ll toss her a tomato.

I always do.

Squash bug, that’s okra. You don’t eat okra! (Squash bug, RIP.)

Habaneros, when you gonna ripen?

Maxi keeps me company in the garden.

Assassin bugs, climbing up an okra plant.

Squash bug eggs. After I took this picture, I squooshed ’em.

Girrrrrl, you KNOW he’s not going to call you!

What the cats dragged in. I put the quarter there so y’all could see how big that damn bug is, and Reacher had to come get involved.

Copper Marans hen and her babies, dust-bathing.

 

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Good news! Lieu was adopted Tuesday evening. Fingers crossed that this one “takes”!

 

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This is exactly the color of Moxie’s eyes. You can’t see the rest of her, but at least you know what color her eyes are now!

A rare shot of all three of them.

Melodie, giving me the sass.

Melodie – in my lap!

She’s had just about enough of your shenanigans.

 

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Rhyme in the sun.

Corbett in the chair (you know that chair is there for the SOLE reason of supporting a cat bed, right? I’m not even kidding.)

Bolitar, on the table in the front room.

Bolitar, close up. He has such pretty eyes. All my Bookworms do, really.

Reacher, keeping an eye on everything.

 

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He was sound asleep like this. With the temps hitting 100+ lately, he’s been spending his mornings out in the back yard and his afternoons sprawled out like this in the house.

 

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Previously
2009: One day, my marriage was complete and happy with just the two of us.
2008: Yeah, I don’t believe me either.
2007: No entry.
2006: The man KNOWS romantic conversation, doesn’t he?
2005: That Jane, she’s a smart and wily one.
2004: No, there are no current plans for Fredbyn offspring.
2003: I think we’re going to change Miz Poo’s name to Miz Money Pit.
2002: No entry.
2001: Picture entry.
2000: The word of the day is shopping.