Category: Life

Here’s a little back story for y’all. We bought this house in September of 2006. Before we closed on the house, we were here looking around and making plans for what we wanted to do to the inside and to the property. We were walking toward the back door when a little black cat showed up to greet us. She was clearly a momma cat who was still nursing, and after we closed on the house, we’d make sure there was always some food on the front porch for her.

That was Maxi.

We had no idea where she’d come from, so Fred asked the man next door, who pointed us to the lady on his other side. Fred talked to her, and she said that basically the little black cat was a stray, and that she wasn’t sure where she’d come from.

A little while longer, she started showing up with a buff tabby. That was Newt.

Newt wouldn’t let us touch him for a few weeks, and then he’d let us touch him for a moment or two before he skittered off. Maxi continued showing up, still clearly nursing kittens. We wondered where on earth the kittens were, but had no luck finding them.

One afternoon I was upstairs painting one of the rooms, and Fred came in and told me to come with him. I followed him out onto the front porch, and found Maxi, Newt, and four kittens.

Maxi had clearly decided we were trustworthy and brought her kittens around. The kittens were skittish around us, but when we were able to touch them, we grabbed them up and brought them inside.

We (really, Fred) named them Fezzik, Westley, Inigo, and Buttercup (names from The Princess Bride).

We fostered them for a short amount of time. They were fixed and got all their shots, and then went off to Petsmart. Maxi and Newt stayed here.

(The vet told me that she thought Newt was probably Maxi’s from a previous litter. We found out later through the previous owner of this house, that Maxi had belonged to her family. But that when it was time for them to move, they – and I quote – “Couldn’t get hold of her.” I won’t say what I’m thinking – but I believe you can just imagine.)

I tell you all of this to lead you into what happened this weekend (and last night), that will likely surprise a lot of you.

On Saturday, the shelter manager called. She said that she’d just talked to the woman who adopted Inigo (one of the black and white kittens), and she was interested in adopting one of my fosters.

I got a chance to think “Someone’s interested in adopting a Brady ALREADY?” and then she told me. The woman wasn’t interested in adopting a Brady. She was interested in adopting one of my OTHER fosters.

Buster, to be exact.

I was so shocked that I barely heard the other things the shelter manager told me, but I took the woman’s name and number, and hung up. Then I called and left a message for her.

To make a long story short, last night I took Buster to Petsmart to meet with her. I took Rhyme with us, just to give her a choice of a second cat if Buster didn’t strike her fancy.

Buster struck her fancy, all right – and she adopted him! So I left Petsmart with Rhyme, and she stayed and filled out the adoption paperwork.

I don’t doubt that a lot of you are probably very surprised that I was willing to let Buster go. I don’t think I was very secretive about the fact that he’s my favorite Bookworm. He’s gorgeous (well really, all my Bookworms are!), and he’s got a ton of personality, to boot. Fred told me last night that he was really surprised I didn’t suggest that we adopt Buster instead of allowing him to be adopted out.

This is the thing – I love Buster a great deal. But we’ve just got too many cats in this house! I felt it would be more fair to Buster to allow him to go to a good home where he’d be one of two cats and would get lots of attention from his new mom and dad than to insist that he stay here, where – let’s be honest – sometimes the cats get lost in the crowd.

Let’s say I love him enough to let him go, admit that I miss him A LOT, and be happy that at the age of 10 months, someone fell in love with his funny, gorgeous little face and wanted to bring him home.

“Hear that, suckahs? Someone BEGGED to be allowed to adopt me! Obviously someone with good taste!”

Sweet Buster Brown (he’s a clown. He gets around!) yesterday.

Baby Buster.

Previously
2009: This fucking horseshit sure is moving at a fucking snail’s pace.
2008: ::DESPAIR::
2007: Stinkerbelle: “I have put my stamp of love upon him, and now I shall lay here and seethe with hatred for those hussies who think they can have him. THEY CANNOT.”
2006: Newton (full name: Newton “Newtie” McNewterton, the salty country kitty) is pretty, yet aloof. It drives the wimmins CRAYZEE.
2005: “Us”? Who’s this “us” kemosabe?
2004: I suppose I need to actually start buying lottery tickets to make these dreams come true.
2003: And also because you Canadians are so cool that I want to canoodle with each and every one of you.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: God bless the internet and online merchants, god bless their little black hearts.
1999: More Christmas talk.

Thanks, all y’all, for your input on air purifiers. I think that, for now, I’ll wear a mask when I’m scooping (even though I don’t feel like I’m inhaling litter dust, I’m sure I must be), and see how that goes.

Those of you who are my Facebook friends know that I went to the post office in my pink Rudolph (I assume he’s Rudolph – he’s got a red nose. Well, actually, more like a dark pink nose – and he’s blue. But I’m pretty sure it’s Rudolph just the same) sleep pants yesterday. Those things are SO FREAKIN’ COMFORTABLE that I couldn’t bear to run upstairs (SUCH A LONG TRIP) to grab a pair of jeans. I gambled that there wouldn’t be anyone else in the post office, and as it turned out, that’s exactly how it was. But honestly, with some of the getups I’ve seen other people wear into that post office (one woman walked in in her bathrobe and slippers with curlers in her hair, I kid you not), it wouldn’t have been THAT horrifying if someone else had been around.

Jean asked, since I live across the street from the post office, if I walked over there. I did not – I drove. It was TOO FREAKIN’ COLD to walk (it’s not directly across the street, actually, it’s across the street and down. A pleasant walk when it’s not thirty degrees below zero).

I’d had no fewer than four people say to me, in the last few days when I’ve said something about the cold, “But you’re from Maine!”

I am from Maine – but I’ve lived here for 14 years now. My body’s gotten used to the warm weather, so this cold-ass shit (the high was just above freezing yesterday)(and yes, I’m aware that those of you in the Midwest and Northeast and all other areas of the country where it gets and stays truly COLD are weeping tears of sorrow for my sad, sad plight) is COLD.

I realized yesterday that I’ve lived in Alabama longer than I’ve ever lived anywhere. My father was in the Air Force when I was born, and retired when I was going into 6th grade. That’s when we settled in Lisbon Falls, which I consider my hometown. I was 21 or 22 when my first husband – the spud’s father – and I moved to Rhode Island for a couple of years (and then I moved back to Maine for a couple of years, then back to Rhode Island), so all in all I spent about 10 years in Maine.

Not that having lived here for 14 years makes me a Southerner by any stretch of the imagination – but I could probably pull off a credible “Bless her heart” if I needed to.

I spent the better part of yesterday morning dealing with kumquats. We bought citrus trees at Lowe’s this summer because they were marked way down. We harvested our satsuma oranges last month and they were REALLY good. Fred decided to go ahead and pick the kumquats last week because it was supposed to go below freezing overnight, and we ended up with a good-sized bowl. I looked around online and decided to make kumquat marmalade. I deseeded and chopped up the kumquats and two oranges, let them sit overnight, boiled everything Sunday morning, then decided I didn’t want to deal with it, so let it sit for one more night. Yesterday, I tossed the fruit in the food processor (I don’t like really big chunks of fruit in my marmalades or jam – which those of you who’ve bought jam from me may have noticed), let it whir for a few seconds, then added it back to the liquid, added the sugar, and let it start boiling.

Now, the motherfucking recipe said that I needed to let it boil until it reached “gel state”, and added that that would be when it reached 220 – 222ºF. I put the pot of fruit, liquid, and sugar on high, and let it boil. It boiled and boiled. It boiled some more. And then? More boiling. I stirred it frequently, and every ten minutes or so I checked the temperature with the candy thermometer (why do I own a candy thermometer? Fuck if I know). I don’t know exactly how long that stuff boiled, but it was well over an hour. By the time it finally reached the gel stage, I was ready to toss it out the back door and tell it to go fuck itself.

Patience is not my strong suit.

But finally it reached the correct temperature, and I poured it in jars and processed it. When Fred got home, he opened one of the jars and we both tried it. Ugh. It was almost the consistency of taffy. The flavor was good, but the consistency left a lot to be desired. Probably we could zap it in the microwave for a few seconds to partially liquefy it when we’re wanting to use it on biscuits or whatever, but we have SEVEN half-pints of the stuff, which I suspect we will never come close to using.

Once the marmalade was done, I looked at the half-bowl of kumquats I had left over, and consulted Google, that know-it-all bitch.

I ended up making one batch of candied kumquats

(halve and seed the kumquats, boil them in a syrup of sugar water (1:1 sugar and water) until they’re tender and the syrup is syrupy, put them in a half-pint jar, process like you’d process jam)

and one batch of a different kind of candied kumquats

(halve and seed the kumquats, cut the halves into two slices (you could go with wedges or slices, doesn’t matter), boil in sugar water (1:1 sugar and water) until they’re tender (15 minutes), drain, toss with granulated sugar, lay slices out on a piece of wax or parchment paper, let them cool, cover with plastic wrap and let them sit for 24 hours)

After we tried the marmalade when Fred got home, we tried the candied kumquats in syrup, and I’ve gotta say – that stuff’s pretty damn good, especially the consistency. Then we tried the sugared candied kumquats (even though they hadn’t been sitting for 24 hours yet), and they were very reminiscent of those orange slices you can buy in the candy section.

Which has got me thinking that candied lemon slices tossed in sugar might be kind of good. Doesn’t that sound tasty? Google informs me that my best bet would be to use Meyer lemons. Google further informs me that Meyer lemons should be in season right about now. I’ve never had a Meyer lemon in my life, but you’d better believe I’ll be looking for them at the grocery store!

Did I perhaps mention that the Brady Bunch like themselves some sunshine? They can always be found, mid-morning, on the cat tree platform. Yesterday morning I went out to check the mail, and as I walked back to the house, I looked up to see all six kittens staring down at me from the cat tree platform. Bobby, of course, was complaining. I wish I’d had the camera with me!

Maxi, in the cat bed on the table in the front room. When she and Newt spend more time inside than out, you know it’s just about Winter!

Previously
2009: Guess who played Santa at Petsmart on Saturday?
2008: No entry.
2007: That’s approximately 100 pounds of litter every two weeks.
2006: “I LOOK LIKE SID VICIOUS!” I said.
2005: I AM SO HAPPY, YES I AM.
2004: (I never claimed not to be a dumbass)
2003: I would be ever so grateful if you would restrain yourself.
2002: No entry.
2001: I knew y’all were a hip and happenin’ bunch of readers!
2000: Stuff I’ve bought.
1999: And it tasted excellent, of course, which made the eggfart stenchiness more than worth it.

So, since y’all know a lot about a lot, tell me this: air purifiers. Are they worth it, or just a waste of money? The amount of dust that gets kicked up every time I scoop the litter boxes is appalling, and Fred’s convinced I’m going to die of lung cancer because of all the litter dust I inhale every day. If air purifiers do a decent job of, y’know, purifying the air, I’d put one in the laundry room and another one upstairs. But given that they’re pretty expensive, I’d rather hear what y’all have to say about them before I seriously consider bringing one or two of them home.

What I love about selling stuff on eBay (which I don’t do very often) is when you list something with a very reasonable “buy it now” price. And then someone thinks they can get it for less than the “buy it now”, so they start bidding at 99 cents. And then, in the end, the highest bid is invariably a buck or two more than the “buy it now” was. LOVE IT when that happens!

Over the weekend, we watched Top Gun, which was first released something like 24 years ago. If you were wondering, the movie doesn’t age all that well – the cocky pilots and navigators with their smart-ass comments comes across as incredibly cheesy these days. However, you get to see Tom Cruise, Val Kilmer, and many other young and hot Hollywood hunks running around without shirts on, and that’s always worth sitting through the cheesy dialogue and horrific 80s hair.

Speaking of hair, I do not believe that the Navy would have allowed one of their hotshot pilots to sport hair of this altitude. Seriously, how’d he get all that in the helmet? (But good GOD, wasn’t he young and pretty?)

The part of the movie I had forgotten about is after the accident, when Maverick is standing in the bathroom running his hand through the sink of water, and Viper comes in and is all “It happens. Get over it.” I was yelling “Yeah, Maverick, it’s been at LEAST a couple of hours! Stop wallowing in your grief! Get over it! Move on!” Jeez.

Also, I don’t get the Kelly McGillis appeal – but Meg Ryan, back before she got all that plastic surgery? ADORABLE.

Also also, I guess Hollywood actors went to veneers and super-brightening their teeth at some point AFTER Top Gun was released. Kelly McGillis’s teeth were kind of gray – and Tom Cruise had teeth that looked like teeth instead of big blocky square Chicklet teeth. Although, I don’t actually remember what Tom Cruise’s teeth look present day, at the moment – is he one of the few who hasn’t gone with veneers?

We also watched The Dark Half because Fred is rereading a lot of Stephen King lately, which makes him want to see movies that are based on the books. The Dark Half wasn’t bad. I’ve certainly seen worse – and of course I liked seeing Timothy Hutton and Amy Madigan looking 12 years old. (Fred dislikes Amy Madigan because he says she looks “mean.” ::rolling my eyes:: )

It’s only now, when the Brady Bunch kittens are constantly racing around like they’ve been slurping up those energy drinks instead of water, that I realize how poorly they must have been feeling last week and the week before. They’re actually playing, like the super-playful kittens they are, instead of wanting to just sit in my lap and be petted. Now, they make a petting pit stop for a few seconds before they’re off chasing each other around the room.

(Cindy, however, prefers to just sit in my lap and smack at the other cats as they race by. She cracks me UP.)

I was trying to get a shot of all six of them (except I don’t know where Bobby wandered off to). Left to right: Greg, Peter, Marcia, Cindy, Jan.)

Can’t tell that I was wildly waving a cat toy over my head so they’d look in my direction, can you?

The best thing about this room: when it’s sunny, the sun comes in through the windows from about mid-morning to mid-afternoon. Here, all six of them were piled up on the cat tree platform, asleep in the sun.

You can’t necessarily see all their little faces, but trust me – all six are there!

Trying to figure out what I’m doing.

Bobby haz a complaint. Now there’s a shocker!

Note that Cindy’s had quite enough of this, and escapes through the hole in the platform.

Enough cats, you think? On the steps, Joe Bob and Newt. Next to the steps, Jake. Further out in the yard, Sugarbutt and Elwood.

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: I’m a Grinch, and not only a Grinch, but a LAZY Grinch who doesn’t want to have to pick shit up all the time.
2006: I need a vacation, is what I need.
2005: When and if – and I mostly mean “when” – these two break up, I hope there’s a lot of interesting drama.
2004: It’s now my goal to make him CRY when he tries the next batch of chick peas.
2003: “What the FUCK? That is my BUTT you’re sniffing. And it TICKLES.”
2002: $4.49 for a freakin’ book? What the hell are they wrapping it with, gold?
2001: Is that a sex thing?
2000: Damn, isn’t Christmas here yet?
1999: Someone shoot me and put me out of my fucking misery, won’t you?

Thelma and Louise have Eyelid Agenesis (the same condition our sweet True Bloods had last year) and Forgotten Felines needs to raise funds for surgery. Pass the word?

Danielle sent me an email the other day, and I checked to be sure it was okay to share it (and the pictures she sent) with y’all.

I don’t know of anyone else with as much kitty experience as you so I was wondering if you (or your readers) have a clue about this. We adopted our newest kitten in July and she is now approximately 8 months old, though there was confusion because she’s very small. She’s got a bunch of extra toes but it’s not like other double-pawed cats I’ve seen because they are small and shoved in between her other toes, no more than two extras a foot. Her nails on these toes are a normal length. When the vet checked her out, he said that he might recommend declawing if they get in the way but so far she seems ok. The thing that’s weirding me out if that often, even when she’s resting, the claws on her back feet stay out, and they seem to be coming/staying WAY out, like I’ve never seen so much nail on a cat before. Maybe she just hasn’t learned how to properly retract them and it’s a kitten thing? I’m just worried that this might be an example of her creepy feet functioning abnormally. (One of the nubs on her back foot specifically doesn’t seem to have a lot of tissue connecting it to the rest of her foot and it like…dangles back and forth when you play with it.) So far, with frequent trimming, the toes haven’t been getting in the way of any of her activities, and she never seems to be in pain. But she never has this problem retracting her front nails.

Sorry that this is such a long question all about my cat’s toes. I wouldn’t feel right sending this to any other person, because it is so bizarre, but I have no problem emailing you! Weird? And I attached a picture, the best one I could get of the frankenfeet.

I told Danielle that I haven’t seen anything like that before (but how CUTE are those little paws!) – how about y’all? Ever seen anything like this before? (I suggested that perhaps the kitten was a twin and she ABSORBED her twin and perhaps will eventually grow an ear out of her back or something cool like that, but I was kidding. Even though that would be COOL.)

Scenes from around Crooked Acres.

I knew it’d only be a matter of time before Jake had company in his bed atop the kitchen. I got home from running errands to find that Rhyme had made himself at home. The Bookworms do love them some Jake.

The back forty and some scary clouds.

I love seeing the moon during the day, for some reason.

Da pig (I don’t know where the other one was – probably sleeping off a sugar high in the shelter.)

We got a ton of rain yesterday, and this is what the back of the property looked like when I woke up.

(Blue building: the original chicken coop, which will be converted to a kitten coop whenever we get our butts in gear and start working on it.)

(Green building: the chicken coop where all the chickens (and George and Gracie) live now.

(The wood shelter nearish to the cement pad: wood shed. The red building off in the distance: garden shed where most of the tractor implements live.)

The last of the Crooked Acres House Tour!

This is the upstairs bathroom, across from my bedroom, which is usually referred to as my bathroom. It’s where I shower and bathe kitties – not usually at the same time. I like the color, but let me point out that the purple isn’t quite as eye-searing as it looks here. Or, okay, maybe it is and I’ve just gotten accustomed to it.

To the right of the doorway is this little nook, perfect for a litter box or two.

And, to the left of the doorway (behind the door, really.)

The kitten room. That rug will be going away, because it’s had so much damn kitten poop on it that it’s practically visibly crawling with germs. I’m getting some foam flooring to put there instead. The chair will also be going, too – kittens have been peeing on it, and I can’t stand it anymore.

From the windows, looking back toward the hallway, obviously.

The closet where the litter boxes and cat supplies live.

Kitten supplies, toys, bedding. I hate the way this stuff is, it’s so hard to find anything. I want to get a dresser to put in there – found a couple of candidates on Craigslist last weekend – but Fred put me off ’cause he wasn’t in the mood for dealing with strangers. (I need a doormat that says “Husband don’t take too kindly to strangers.”)

Annnd, back down the hall. That’s the bathroom on the left, my room on the right, and Fred’s room straight ahead.

Are y’all dying to see the garage?

Jan and Bobby are continuing to improve. I let them stay out of their cage for most of the day and didn’t find too many unwelcome surprises when I went to check on them. I did put them back in the cage overnight – just to be safe – and haven’t been in there yet this morning. If their level of playfulness is anything to go by, they are definitely on the mend. Jan, especially, is THE most playful thing. It didn’t hurt, I suspect, that yesterday was a lovely, sunny day and they were able to spend some time soaking up the sun.

Sweet miss Marcia.

Oh, I’m sorry. Am I BOTHERING you, brats?

Marcia’s by far the biggest Brady.

Bobby? He haz a complaint. He haz lots of complaints. Often. He’s a complaining little brat, is what I’m saying.

Corbie on the couch.

Rhyme on the couch.

Corbie in the guest bedroom. (He IS SO BEAUTIFUL I CANNOT STAND IT. His long legs and skinny, lanky grace reminds me a lot of his half-brother Gus.)

Corbie in the guest bedroom again. I love this picture so much that I made it my desktop background.

I feel like he’s looking judgmentally at the icons on my desktop, like he’s thinking “Really? Weren’t you in Myrtle Beach, like, MONTHS ago? You still haven’t moved those pictures to the permanent pictures folder? Really? Corbie’s not calling you a slacker but, well. I’ll let you draw your own conclusions from my judgy face.”

Spanky lurves his purple bed. This is where he spends his days, on the cat bed in the computer room. He spends his evenings perched by Fred on the couch, smacking any other cat who gets too close. He lives the life, our Spanky.

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: Pics from around Crooked Acres.
2007: Forbidden Love.
2006: No entry.
2005: Ha on her! I DO have a kid! AND a husband! AND 6,000 cats! Look at me, I’ve got it ALLLLLLLLL!
2004: The internet just ROCKS, doesn’t it?
2003: Her date (”But not a DATE date!”) was more dressed-up than she.
2002: I did mention that I have airhead tendencies, did I not?
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.
1999: I am obviously not one to wallow.

New month, new banner!

Thanks once again to the awesome Christine for making the perfect banner! You rock, Christine, perhaps I’ve mentioned? 🙂

Hey, remember Starsky and Hutch? Of course you do, it’s only been a week and a half since they went off to their new home! I got an update email from their new mom and… brother, I guess you’d call him – along with pictures! Yay! (Starsky is now Jack, and Hutch is now Percy.)

Just wanted to touch base with you and let you know how the sweet monkeys are faring in Indiana. After a week at home with them, they have really come alive and out of their shell – – oh wait – – they were always out of their shell and just biding their time to cause mayhem.

Hope all is well there and take care!
Kiefer, Jen, Newman, Bird, Percy, Willie, and Jack

(Thanks again for the update, Jen and Keifer – we love seeing them so happy and hearing that they’re doing so well!!!)

I think we’ve turned the corner, at least with Bobby. His poor swollen behind looks about a million times better this morning, and I didn’t even have to give him a bath! Jan’s back end still looks bad, but she actually started with the bad diarrhea and the dripping a day or so after Bobby did, so hopefully she’ll follow suit and heal up in the next day or two.

All the kittens still have diarrhea, but it’s not as watery as it’s been (and they’re MAKING IT TO THE LITTER BOX), so I’m hoping this means they’re all on the mend.

The one kitten I have not had one single solitary problem with? That would be wee little Cindy Brady. No diarrhea for our little miss, no feeling poorly, no dripping, no nothing. She’s had solid poo from the very first day, she’s eaten well every single day, and she couldn’t be happier. She must have a digestive system made of Teflon®.

(More pictures from last week.)

“So I was like “Doug, I don’t CARE if you’re the big man on campus! Something suddenly came up!””

“Marcia Brady! You can’t dump Big Man on Campus Doug Simpson! What will Joe Namath say when he stops by to see how we Bradys are doing? You’ll get a reputation!”

Marcia’s not hearing that.

But she’s brought up short when she spots something groovy. “Oooo! A straw!”

“Straws are the best!”

“I love straws!”

“MY straw!”
Jan says, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. YOUR straw. Of course. ALL straws are for Marcia. Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!”

::poke::

“Hey, what’s that toy Greg has? That looks way better than my straw!”

(You might have missed that particular Very Special episode of The Brady Bunch.)

Please note that Rhyme is sitting in the back yard, minding his own business, and here comes Tommy.
“Oh, good!” Rhyme thinks. “Tommy’s coming to visit with me! I like Tommy! I should put on a pot of tea!”

But it all goes terribly wrong. Tommy’s in a butt-kicking mood.

And then it all goes terribly wrong – FOR TOMMY. Rhyme, you see, has been working out. If this were a movie, you’d see a montage of Rhyme running up a thousand steps with the Rocky theme playing in the background. You’d see him lifting weights. You’d see him making mincemeat out of a punching bag. Rhyme is rough, tough, and ready to kick some tail of his own.

All Tommy can do is run for his life.

Running.

Still running.

Little more running. (This is the part of the movie moviegoers refer to as “That godawful REALLY LONG running sequence. What was the point of that? He was running – WE GET IT!”)

Buster’s all “I’m glad I’m not involved in whatever’s going on over THERE.”

More running. Kara’s all “What the -?”

Sadly, Rhyme didn’t run quite fast enough. Tommy, it seems, has reached the Cement Pad of Safety. There’s no butt-kicking allowed on the cement pad. It’s against the rules!

Rhyme makes one final leap…

And then flops down for a roll in the sun.

Next time, Rhyme. Next time you’ll catch him and show him who’s boss! That’ll probably happen in the sequel.

Elwood loves his Tommy. Tommy… puts up with his Elwood.

“What? I LOVE him!”
I’m amazed the bed can contain that much cat.

Previously
2009: I’m trying to convince Fred that we should take a vacation in the Spring and visit Polyface Farms.
2008: Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe the caramel popcorn is calling my name. It’s what’s for breakfast!
2007: Where Muh Daddy?! Starring Fricasee “Frick” And3rson
2006: You know, Maxi and Newt. The cats who AREN’T OURS.
2005: “Vivacious! Tell her she’s VIVACIOUS, Dr. Phil!”
2004: I eat too much of the wrong kind of food and am lazy.
2003: “IT’S JESUS DYING ON THE CROSS! HOW CAN THAT POSSIBLY BE CONFUSING YOU DUMB MOTHERFUCKERS?”
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Here’s a tip: If they’re your own children, it’s NEVER “babysitting.”
1999: I’m feeling incredibly lazy today (like that’s something new).

Since I’ve got nothin’ going on and just can’t think of a thing to write about, y’all are stuck with nothin’ but cats for today. Maybe something exciting will happen tomorrow! (Noooot holding my breath.)

The other night, we were hanging out with the kittens before bed, and Greg Brady was climbing up the front of Fred’s shirt.

“Have you ever noticed that Greg Brady always looks like he wants to cut a bitch?” I said. Fred laughed and laughed, and now every time he sees Greg Brady he laughs again, because it is TRUE.

“Is Greg Brady gonna have to cut a bitch?”

I think that things with Jan and Bobby are improving. There’s still plenty to clean up in their cage when I go in every few hours, but they’re actually using the litter box now, thank god. Last night at their evening snack time, Jan bellied up and ate a lot. She showed some of her old attitude, running around with a toy, tossing it in the air, picking a fight with Greg. I gave both she and Bobby baths last night, but they only needed their feet and tails cleaned off a little, which was a HUGE improvement.

(These pictures are from last week, still.)

Jan in the Jan Cave, with Marcia approaching.

“Paws up, y’all!”

“I SAY, ‘Paws up, y’all!'”
(Bobby’s all “Come ON, I want my turn!”)

Jan and the mouse. She LOVES that mouse, can you tell?

Jan and Greg.

Jan puts Greg in his place. (Peter, in the background, tries to pretend nothing’s going on.)

Bobby at the water bowl. How many bowls do you think these guys tipped over before I realized they were basically laying across the side of the bowl to drink water? (Way too many, is the answer.) And it’s not because the water level was low or anything – they just like to be comfy when they’re drinking!

Marcia and Greg, conspiring.

“Where shall I make trouble next?”

That Cindy Brady (looking up at me) just cracks me up. She’s the sweetest, most laid-back, loving little girl. (Her head doesn’t usually look quite so round. I believe she was wearing a collar and it was pushing some of her fur upwards to give her that basketball-head look.)

All the super-comfy cat beds in the house, and these two fight over who gets to sleep on the corrugated cardboard scratch pad. Weirdos.

Previously
2009: Jesus, what am I, 95 years old?
2008: No entry.
2007: MOOOOOOOOOM! Make the shirt stop touching me!
2006: That’s really a bitch of a way to start the day.
2005: “Au contraire,” said the ringleader. “We found a SESAME SEED!”
2004: I give it two weeks before someone barfs on the new comforter.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: “What will I do now that I don’t have to clean dust off my ball?”
2000: I’ll just not think about that.
1999: When she came to a stop, she sat up and swayed back and forth, blinking sleepily up at me.

Remember Hank, the young Lab in Georgia who needs a home? His owner is moving in with his nephew on Friday, and unfortunately the nephew’s not allowed to have pets at his apartment. Hank still needs a home, and soon! Pass the word!!!

We had a quiet weekend, and it flew by pretty quickly. We ended up leaving the house several times on Saturday (I know! O the humanity!) for various errands. Otherwise, we hung around the house, I did – I’m not even exaggerating – at least 20 loads of laundry, mostly poopy cat beds and blankets, and Fred got a lot of reading in.

On Saturday, I watched Sex and the City 2, and those of you who have seen it will feel deep sympathy for me when I say that I WATCHED THE ENTIRE GODDAMN THING.

“Is it almost over?” Fred asked about an hour in, coming into the living room an hour after I started the movie.

“NO,” I said. “It’s still got a goddamn hour and a half to go!”

Fred expressed horror.

“But I can’t turn it off. I want to see what happens, even though I’m DYING OF BOREDOM.”

Y’all, I truly do not recommend this movie, and I say that knowing that those of you who are die hard SATC watchers like me will watch it anyway, but you can’t say I didn’t warn you. I’m going to go ahead and just refer to it as Sex and the City 2: Assholes in Abu Dhabi.

I don’t want to be a stickler for details, here*, but I’m pretty sure that Samantha went through menopause after she had chemotherapy in the last season of the show. Whyyyyy is she going through menopause a second time, I mean other than providing a super HIGHLAAAAAAAAAAARIOUS** plot point?

We’ve hit the point where all the women are caricatures of themselves*** – especially Samantha – and I’m not sure you could pay me enough**** to watch Sex and the City 3, wherein Samantha gets laid, Miranda frets, Charlotte judges, and Carrie couldn’t find happiness if she had a map and a six-week course in doing so. And you KNOW there’ll be a SATC 3, 4, 5, infinity, because I’m pretty sure Michael Patrick King has something really juicy on some bigwig in Hollywood and has ensured that he’ll be pounding out SATC movies until they bury him.

*That’s a lie. I love to be a stickler for details. I THRIVE in the stickler-detailed environment. My tagline should be “Detail-sticklering since 1968.”

**Not.

***Okay, shaddup, I know that happened sometime during the last season of the show.

****Lie. You know I’m going to go watch it because I’m a loser, baby.

Also, we watched the Nightmare on Elm Street remake with Jackie Earle Haley as Freddie Krueger and Mrs. Coach as the main character’s mother. It wasn’t bad – if you like a horror movie that makes you jump a bunch of times during the movie, then this is the movie for you.

On Sunday, Fred came upstairs to the kitten room where I was cleaning up poop (more on that in the kitten section) and said “I just let Rhyme in the side door.”

In other words, Rhyme jumped the fence and managed to end up on the side porch (thank god, because who knows how long it would have taken for us to realize he was missing?). This means that of the four Bookworms, everyone but Corbie is now collared up. I’ve convinced Fred that we should at least get a fence company out here and find out how much it would cost to have a professional fence (with cat barrier at the top) put up. None of the barrier methods (heh heh) we’ve tried will keep cats who aren’t wearing collars in the yard if they’re of a mind to escape. I’d feel a lot better if I knew they couldn’t get over the fence and run away. And if the cats simply couldn’t get over the fence, they wouldn’t have to wear those damn collars, which uglify up the pictures I take of them during the day.

We’ll see what we find out, anyway. Chances are pretty good that it’ll cost too much and we’ll have to figure out some other way to keep them in (like a cat fence), or just buy more damn collars (did I mention that they RUIN my damn cat pictures?).

On Saturday, we took Jan and Bobby to a vet in Decatur because the diarrhea was NOT STOPPING. It’s not even just diarrhea, these poor babies are just dripping poop everywhere they go – it’s like they don’t even realize they’re doing it, and it’s getting all over their back legs and feet. I would LOVE to go back to last week when my only problem was that they were having diarrhea in the litter box, then stepping in it and tracking it all over the place. After I walked into the room Saturday morning and found poop everywhere, I decided to put them in a cage to contain it (which really I should have done sooner – it sometimes takes me a little while to realize the obvious).

They’d both lost weight since Tuesday, and I didn’t think they should wait ’til Monday to see a vet. Luckily, Fred found a vet that’s open on Saturday and was willing to fit us in. The vet did a fecal and found that in addition to the coccidia (which was apparently not knocked out by the medication we’d given them), they had tapeworms and roundworms. We brought them home and gave them dewormer, and it was a few hours later that the tapeworm poopin’ began.

I’m not exaggerating when I say that Jan passed at least 12 inches worth of tapeworm. It was horrifying and yet so fascinating I couldn’t look away.

Unfortunately Jan and Bobby are still dripping, so they’re still in the cage. I’m keeping them as clean as I can, giving them full-on baths in the morning and again in the evening – I’m not sure whether it would be best to bathe them every couple of hours just to keep them as clean as possible, or if that’s bad for their back ends. Their behinds are horribly swollen and painful and nothing I’ve tried – hemorrhoid cream, Desitin – seems to help (I am absolutely open for suggestions, you guys. It’s painful for me to LOOK at their poor back ends, I can only imagine how painful it is for them).

They’re all on a bland diet, which none of them are particularly crazy about (except, surprisingly, for the wisp-thin Peter Brady, who thinks that rice and chicken is THE BOMB), and I’ve given both Jan and Bobby doses of Nutri-Cal. I hate how thin they look, and I hate how they just sit there and look miserable. I’m keeping them warm (the room has a heater set at 72, and they have a heating pad in their cage.)

I feel like if the damn diarrhea dripping would just STOP, their back ends could heal. I’m a worrier by nature anyway, and you can just imagine how much sleep I’ve lost in the last several days, worrying about these guys. If you could spare a good thought in the direction of two sweet little kittens in Alabama, it would certainly be appreciated.

(On an amusing note, of course they pooped up the carrier on the way to the vet, and the vet tech took them off to bathe them. I said to Fred “Oh, good! They’ll be nice and clean when she brings them back!” because, well, they’re professionals and they know what they’re doing, amiright? I’ve been giving them baths, but I’m no professional – all I do is get them as clean as I can, which is not so easy even though they hardly weigh over a pound, because a kitten who doesn’t want a bath could give Schwarzeneggar a run for his money. I like to use the “hot tub” method, which is where I soak them in one little bucket of warm water for a minute or so, clean their feet and tails with gentle baby wash, rinse them in the same bucket, and then rinse them a second time in a second bucket, wrap them up in clean towels, and put them on a heating pad on low (or if Fred’s giving me a hand, he’ll hold them on his lap in front of the heater). ANYway, the vet tech came back with them, and it looked like all she’d done was spray the worst of it off them, and dried ’em with a towel. HA.)

I haven’t taken any pictures of the kittens in the last few days, because I hate how pitiful they look, but luckily I took a ton of them early last week when they were feeling okay, so those are what you’ll see.

Bobby Brady, shoulder monkey. (He hasn’t climbed up on my shoulder since the middle of last week. Though, considering how much he’s dribbling, I suppose I should be grateful. Or invest in a pair of overalls made out of some sort of easy-wipe material!)

I am truly not quite sure what Greg Brady’s doing here, but it kinda looks like he’s about to take a big ol’ bite out of his own leg.

Cindy Brady. She’s such a sweet little laid-back monkey.

Marcia haz herself a complaint or twelve.

Jan. “I can walk! I CAN WALK!”

Cindy in the front, Jan in the back.

Jan, playing with a toy mouse.

Wild Jan.

Did I mention she’s wild?

“How YOU doin’?”

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: Why can’t I just buy bubble clothing that only touches me at the neck and knees? WHY?
2006: On my way to somewhere important, I’m sure.
2005: Perhaps I’ll make it my New Year’s Resolution to not fill my house with crap in 2006.
2004: Ever had one of those days when you just can’t remember the name of anything?
2003: No entry.
2002: I keep wanting to use the phrase “Sweet crappin’ Jesus!”, and just haven’t determined the right moment to do so. Maybe in the middle of sex?
2001: Her name is Brady James.
2000: If I knew whodunnit, I’d beat that $300 right out of his ass, the little bastard.
1999: They all tend to sound alike, you see, and hearing basically the same sound over and over ain’t the thrill at 31 that it is at 11.

There’s a sweet lab in Georgia who needs a home, and I think he’d make a fabulous Christmas present for your kids! Or your husband. Your mother?

Go check out this cutie pie!

(And spread the word!)

Those of you who contributed to the ChipIn for Heaven, who maxed out her credit cards to pay the vet for her beloved cat Dirty Feet, Heaven would like to say thank you.

In fact, she said:

I want you to say THANK YOU in the most MASSIVE way to all your readers who contributed…every one of them is AWESOME <3 THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU MEAN IT MEAN IT MEAN IT <3 <3 <3

Then she invited you all to Thanksgiving dinner! Really! Okay, no she didn’t. But she did say to thank you all – so thank you!!! Who has the most awesome readers? That would be me. Who are the most awesome readers on the internet? That would be you! So if you contributed, take a moment and pat yourself on the back. You are awesome. 🙂

Also, if you’re Facebook friends with Heaven, go watch this short video she made when Dirty Feet was a wee baby. It KILLS me, and I think I’ve watched it 130 times.

I think I’ve probably told y’all that in our kitchen, some of the cats like to hang out on top of the cabinets. Stinkerbelle, especially, spends a lot of time up there. Recently, we’ve had issues with Elwood or Sugarbutt getting up there and hanging out. Since Stinkerbelle’s favorite place to hang out is at the end of the cabinets as far as possible from the refrigerator, which is how the cats get up and down, she gets stuck there. She doesn’t like to go past the other cats to get to the refrigerator so she tries to intimidate them with hissing and growling and eventually screaming her hellcat scream. They’re not terribly intimidated by her, at least most of them aren’t, so it doesn’t work very well for her. One day last week she JUMPED from the top of the cabinet to the floor, which cannot possibly be good for her joints or her bones. I know for sure it’s not good for my heart, because I just about keeled over from a heart attack when I walked into the room just as she jumped.

Fred has been talking about making a second way down from there, and after I saw Stinkerbelle jump, I demanded he do it sooner rather than later.

So he put a board across the top of the doorway between the kitchen and laundry room. And he put a board across the top of the doorway between the kitchen and dining room. So Stinkerbelle – or any of the cats – could walk across either of the boards and jump onto the top of the 5-foot-high cabinet on that wall, and then onto the floor.

What happened next was something unexpected. I don’t think I’ve mentioned this before, but Jake isn’t able to jump as high as the other cats – he’s never been able to – and he’d never been on top of the cabinets. He’s only been able to watch the other cats run around up there, and chatters excitedly at them. After Fred installed the boards, he put Jake on top of the one between the kitchen and dining room, and Jake absolutely lit up. He walked around on the cabinets, and it was like a whole new world had opened up to him.

Fred considered the situation for a few minutes, and then back out to his workshop to make it so that Jake could get on top of the cabinets whenever his little heart desired. An hour later, we showed Jake the new way to get up there, and he took to it like a duck to water.

(That shelf to the right goes to just under the top of the cabinet where Stinkerbelle spends most of her time.)

Have you ever seen a happier cat?

He spends a large amount of his day in that cat bed (which is hooked to the wall so it can’t go sliding off), and loves watching us from his new favorite perch.

(Those three unfinished shelves are going to be painted white this weekend, by the way.)

Tommy approves.

I’m pushing for the next project to be a walkway around the top of the front room. Fred’s not convinced yet, though.

Buster and Rhyme: Brudderly Love.

“What?”

Rhyme’s all “I LURVE my brudder!”

Buster’s apparently decided that the only way to get away from Rhyme is to do the ol’ stretch-and-roll out of the bed.

Peter and Cindy, playing.

Shoulder monkey BOBBY! BRADY! asleep. I always wondered what they made hooded sweatshirts for.

Jan and Peter, fighting.

Greg in the front, Cindy in the back, and Jan over there licking her lips. Oh, and someone mentioned in my comments that Jan looks like she has particularly big and pointed ears. She certainly does – they’re very pointy, and they actually turn out a little on the end.

“Greg Brady will cut you if you try to turn Dad’s den into a swinging bachelor pad. Greg Brady has dibs. Greg Brady is hip and groovy, man.”

I’m pretty sure I washed kitten feet at least 20 times yesterday. Why why OH WHY must they walk through their poop?

Kitten diarrhea is the bane of my existence. (But I have to confess, the face they make after you put medicine in their mouth to deal with what’s causing the diarrhea cracks me UP. I need to take the Flip video into the room next time I medicate them.)

Maxi demonstrates her overbite. It just adds to her charm, if you ask me.

Previously
2009: I REALLY LIKE CHECKING THE MAIL. IT’S THE HIGH POINT OF MY DAY.
2008: Google is such a goddamn know-it-all.
2007: Questions, answered.
2006: No entry.
2005: I think I need to go eat some deviled eggs to assuage the pain.
2004: And I just glared at him and thought to myself Just because you’re too stupid and scatterbrained to read and watch TV at the same time doesn’t mean I am, jackass.
2003: “Purring? You don’t like the sound of them purring?”
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Just a little more knowledge o’ Robyn y’all can add to your notes.
1999: No entry.