Category: Life

Randomness:

1. Yesterday, I thought I found a lump in my left breast. As it turned out, it was a tube of Terramycin (eye ointment for cats). What? You trying to tell me you don’t store things in your bra? Liar.

2. And then I thought my left breast was oozing some sort of strange liquid, but it turned out that the cap had come off the tube of Terramycin and leaked inside my bra. It was quite the day for my left breast.

3. “Is that Pink on the radio?” I asked Fred.

“No,” he said. “That’s Justin Bieber.”

“Oh.”

(Later) “Is that the new Sara Bareilles song you were telling me about?”

“No,” he said. “That’s Justin Bieber.”

Why the fuck is Justin Bieber all over my radio, and how the hell does Fred always know that it’s him? Never mind. I don’t want to know.

4. There are many things that sound exactly like wasps hitting the window. When one of the cats sits on the cardboard scratcher, it shifts and makes that crumply-paper-buzz sound, for instance. But I can hear that sound from three rooms away, and I always immediately grab a piece of paper towel and start looking for the wasp. Yesterday morning I stepped out of the house, and as I locked the door I heard what sounded like a THOUSAND wasps hitting the window, and almost had a heart attack. It turned out to be leaves falling from the tree.

5. I was sitting at my computer and heard the distinctive sound of something big and scary buzzing by my ear. I pushed back from the computer, flailing wildly at my face and ear. Spanky, who had been sound asleep on the cat bed next to me, levitated and then flew out of the room.

“What the hell?” Fred said.

“I think a wasp fly by my head!” I said, then looked down at myself and gasped. Clinging casually to the front of my shirt, looking ugly and malevolent and ready to sting was A GODDAMN WASP. “It’s ON ME!” I squealed, then brushed at it with my hand. It fell to the floor, and I stomped on it ’til I heard it crunch. Now I think I’ve got post-traumatic stress disorder, because every time I hear that goddamn sound, it makes me want to dive to the floor and cover my head.

6. After an evening of watching TV, Fred and I were walking to our computers, and Fred said “That toy I just stepped on almost felt like a bug.” Then he kept going. I turned the light on to see what toy he might be talking about, and found a wasp. Oddly enough, it wasn’t until I told him it was a wasp that he realized he’d been stung on the bottom of his foot.

7. I was sitting at my computer last night, and suddenly felt a tickling sensation on my knee AS THOUGH I HAD A WASP ON ME, and I FLEW backward, and several cats went scattering, and Fred said “I think you ran over a cat with your chair”, and as it turned out, the tickling sensation was Reacher’s whiskers. Whoops.

Annnnd that’s all I’ve got. Well, except for some kitten-related news in the next section. WOOT!

On Friday, Starsky and Hutch (now Jack and Percy) went to their new homes in Indiana. On Saturday, Fred decided he wanted to go out to lunch. We were just sitting down to lunch when my cell phone rang. I grabbed it and saw that it was the shelter manager calling.

Three hours later, we had in our possession some sweet little 6 week-olds. Six of them, to be exact. And when Fred checked them and it became clear that we had an even number of boys and girls, well, our naming scheme was immediately clear to us.

Meet…

(“Adios, Johnny Bravo!”)
Greg.

(“Hey you guys – ooh! My nose!”)
Marcia.

(“Porkchops and appleshauce.”)
Peter.

(“Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!”)
Jan.

(“Mom always SAYS not to play ball in the house!”)
Bobby.

(“Baby talk, baby talk, it’s a wonder you can walk!”)
Cindy.

The Brady Bunch is my all-time favorite show, so it was only a matter of time (and having the correct number of girls and boys) before we got to have our very own bunch of Bradys.

Left to right: Marcia, Peter, Greg (in front), Cindy (at the water bowl), Jan, Bobby.

I don’t know where they originally came from. The man who turned them over to me got them from his grandmother, who had them kind of dumped off on her by a family member. They were in pretty good shape for the most part, though a couple of them have goopy eyes.

We put them in the foster room when we got them, and showed them where the litter boxes were (in the closet) and where the food was, and then left them alone to get used to their surroundings. A couple of hours later Fred opened the door to go in, and called to me to bring some paper towels because there was poop in the middle of the rug. And then he stepped further into the room, and it was like everywhere he looked, there was more poop. They’d pooped in every single cat bed, and the room just smelled horrific. I got it all cleaned up, and moved the litter box from the closet into the main part of the room, and set up another smaller, lower litter box in case the problem was that they couldn’t get into the litter box. There have been a few more accidents since then, but for the most part they seem to have gotten the hang of the litter boxes.

Yesterday, I took them to the vet and dropped them off for their COMBO testing. They all tested negative (yay!), and after I picked them up I had to go to the shelter to pick up a few things. I was driving down the road, and I smelled the smell of fresh poop and glanced back to see that all three girls were traipsing through it. Because I’ve learned to never ever take ANY cats ANYWHERE without about three times as many cleaning rags and replacement blankets for the carrier than I could possibly ever need, I was able to pull over in a parking lot and clean the carrier and the kittens with no problem.

Five minutes later down the road, THAT SMELL again. I stopped and looked. The carrier of boys had one little pile of poop in it, and all three boys were at the opposite end of the carrier staring in horror at the pile. That was a lot easier to clean up.

I’ve been experiencing a real Poopapalooza, is what I’m saying. Hopefully that’ll end soon!

They’re all very sweet and friendly kittens and start purring as soon as you pick them up. They’ve all displayed their own little personalities quite nicely, especially Bobby Brady. If Bobby Brady (I can’t help it, I HAVE to call him “Bobby Brady” rather than just “Bobby”, for some reason) were a person, he would speak in ALL CAPS! AND MANY! MANY! MANY! EXCLAMATION POINTS! The instant I enter the room and sit down, he climbs up on my shoulder and rubs his face against my cheek and purrs and talks. He’s a shoulder monkey. Cindy Brady climbs into my lap and just lays there and purrs and would probably just lay there and let me pet her forever.

Marcia is HUGE compared to the other kittens. She’s at 1 pound 10 ounces, and Cindy, Bobby, and Peter are all at one pound. Marcia’s a calitabby (I think that’s what you’d call her) and she has that very soft and silky Siamese-like fur. She’s a bit sedentary and doesn’t mind playing, but she won’t, you know, get up and go across the ROOM to play or anything. She’s probably conserving her energy for trips to the food bowl. She’s also a bit of a drama queen – the first to hiss and the first to complain if you pick her up when she was doing something. Greg’s a wild child and just plays plays PLAYS. Jan’s very playful and if you pick her up she’ll purr, but she doesn’t really ask for attention the way the three smallest do.

Peter, oh – what can I say about Peter? Just like the real Peter Brady (or rather, I guess I should say, Peter Brady the character from the show), he’s destined to break my heart (I was sure I was going to marry Peter Brady, you know). He’s a sweet, quiet little man who will sit with one paw on my knee and stare at me, clearly hoping that I’ll pet him. He purrs and purrs and purrs.

Since these guys are still so little, they’ll be around for a while – so you’ll get a chance to fall in love with them as much as I already have!

Pretty, pretty Reacher.

Something has annoyed the Rhyme.

“I haz a box.”

Buster Brown gets around.

When I walked into the kitchen the other night to put a glass in the sink, I was startled to see Newt laying there. I know cats like sinks – there’s a whole site devoted to it, after all – but I’ve never actually had any of the cats take up residence in that sink! He slept there all night, and hasn’t been back in the sink since.

Previously
2009: I am entirely VERY FUCKING TIRED of cats trying to put their assholes directly on my face.
2008: No entry.
2007: The woman did 9/10 of the work to be done, and I was NOT complaining.
2006: No entry.
2005: I think he might be half skunk.
2004: I do love, love, love the gmail!
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.
1999: If you look closely at the picture, you’ll note that it’s very close to the color of bile.

On Saturday afternoon, as I was trying to get the damn house vacuumed because it had been three days since I had last vacuumed, the goddamn Dyson shit the bed.

Now, to be clear (because I don’t think I ever wrote about it): one year and one month ago, I bought the then-brand-spanking-new Dyson model, the Dyson Animal DC25. I’d had the DC07 for six years, and although I was cleaning the filter and canister religiously, it really wasn’t working as well as it should. And to be honest, the fact that it didn’t fit all the way under the cupboards in the kitchen really bugged me.

So I got the DC25, and loved it at first. And then a month later I vacuumed something up that caused a big hole in the hose (which is totally NOT the Dyson’s fault, I know that), and had to buy a new hose. And then the plate on the bottom chipped and had to be replaced, and then something else broke and had to be replaced, and then it worked okay for several months. On Saturday I was doing the vacuuming, and the roller bar stopped turning, and I fucked around with the goddamn thing for an hour, getting more and more pissed off, and I couldn’t figure out what the fuck was going on, and then I hit my FUCK THIS wall and just like that I fell out of love with all things Dyson.

I put the Dyson in the garage and got the old one – the DC07 – out of the closet and used that, and it was still the clunky dinosaur that made me buy a new model last year. And it didn’t do nearly as good a job as the DC25.

So for now I’m going to use the Kenmore canister vacuum cleaner that’s been living out in the garage (we bought it when we were renovating the house, when Fred was refinishing the stairs, because the Dyson just refused to suck up all the dust, and Fred’s father recommended the Kenmore for the job.) and I’ll likely take the Dyson to be repaired as a backup vacuum cleaner (you hear me, Dyson? YOU ARE MY BACKUP, NOT MY MAIN SQUEEZE ANYMORE. YOU DONE DID IT TO YOURSELF WITH YOUR ROTTEN ATTITUDE, YOU FUCKER).

Granted, I KNOW I’ve been hard on the damn thing, I know that sucking up 63 pounds of cat hair, stray litter and dust three or four times a week is bound to put a strain on a vacuum, but really. You pay that much for a fucking vacuum, you expect the goddamn thing to MAN UP AND WORK RIGHT.

One thing I learned this weekend when I demanded people recommend vacuums to me – something I really should have known – is that there’s really not one answer. Some people still adore their Dysons, some people love their cheap $35 vacuum they got 15 years ago at the flea market, it really all depends on the person and their requirements. You’ll see tons of recommendations for something like the Miele, and then plenty of people saying they don’t think it’s all that. It’s kind of a crapshoot, is what I’m saying.

(But those of you who suggested your vacuum on Facebook Saturday, thank you. I spent more time Googling information about various vacuums than I could ever have imagined – and found it strangely interesting!)

Starsky and Hutch have gone off to (drumroll please!) Indiana! A reader of thishere site fell in love with them and adopted them. She drove down Friday to get them – we met at the shelter – and reports are that they are doing just fine. There are two older cats in the house AND a dog. They’re okay with the cats, but aren’t thrilled about the dog just yet. I knew they’d be fine, but of course you worry, especially when they’re half a day’s drive away. Once I met Jennifer, though, any concerns I had were pretty much put to rest because she’s AWESOME, and I loved hearing about how excited her 11 year-old was at having kittens in the house.

They’ve got new names (for the record, when I come up with names for our fosters, I always assume they’re going to be changed when they’re adopted.) – Hutch is now Percy, and Starsky is now Jack. (Jack’s one of my favorite names EVER, but Fred’s stepfather’s name is Jack – thus the reason we don’t have any cats named Jack!)

Jennifer said she’d send some pictures in the future, and I expect it will be very cool to watch the boys grow up.

So that’s the story of where Starsky and Hutch are now! And yes, we do miss their silly little faces a lot.

Oh, how the Bookworms love Jake and Elwood! Reacher, especially, loves them. You can usually find Reacher about three inches from one or the other (or both) of them.

Reacher has reached overload, apparently.

Corbie and the grays.

Coltrane hanging out in the (heated) cat shelter on the front porch Saturday morning. He’s been back inside the house a few times, but doesn’t stay for long. Tommy feels the need to sit and stare at him. Coltrane finds it a bit disconcerting, and asks to go back out.

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: And then last night I was informed that people would start showing up between 9 and 9:30 (for a meal that will take place at noon), so I spent two hours cleaning the house whilst shooting hate rays at Fred.
2006: Barium scars a motherfucker for life.
2005: But I could manage a paper cut/ in the name of love
2004: “Oh, my heart,” I moaned.
2003: This perpetually surprised look of Michael Jackson’s makes me laugh until I wheeze.
2002: “YES, JESUS CHRIST! I DIDN’T KNOW IT WAS GOING TO BE SUCH A FRIGGIN’ BIG DEAL!” I bellowed. “I NEEDED TO BE AT MY COMPUTER, BECAUSE THAT’S WHERE THE PHONE NUMBER WAS! JESUS!”
2001: No entry.
2000: I’ve visited Wal-Mart three times in the last five days. I think they’re about to name a parking space after me.
1999: F: In Michigan, you can take this bottle to the recycling center and get ten cents for it.

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

This event is sponsored by 13 animal welfare groups in the area. The money raised will be used to buy a transport vehicle to assist people in rural areas to get their animals spayed/neutered. Volunteers will be needed on Thursday & Friday (11/18-19) to help set up and also on Saturday, the day of the sale. Donations of saleable items will be accepted both days at the Jaycees Building on Airport Road.

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

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

You remember Coltrane, yes?

For those of you who don’t, Coltrane showed up here at some point in the Spring/ early Summer. Once he discovered that there was food on that thar porch, he hung around pretty regularly. At first we couldn’t even dream of touching him, but after a couple of weeks, Fred was able to pet him, and shortly after he’d let me pet him, too.

It got to the point where he’d show up first thing in the mornings, and then again in the evenings, hang around long enough to eat, and then vamoose. I truly don’t know if he belongs to someone who lives in this area or not – he certainly wasn’t neutered, and as soon as we could, we took him to the vet to be tested, then neutered and vaccinated.

Lately, it’s started to get rather cold at night, and Fred’s been concerned about Coltrane’s comfort. We have a little house on the front porch that Fred built the first winter we lived here. It has a heat lamp in it, a cat bed on the floor, and Coltrane’s been pretty content to sleep in it. But Fred wanted more. Fred wanted Coltrane to come inside.

“QUIT it!” I said, when Fred would open the door and try to coax Coltrane inside. “You are going to upset the delicate balance of cat harmony going on in this house, and we’ll be awash in cat urine!”

“She doesn’t love you,” Fred would tell Coltrane sadly before he closed the door.

“Knock it off!” I said, when Fred coaxed Coltrane six inches, one foot, two feet inside the side door. “Joe Bob and Elwood will pick on him, and we will be flooded in cat urine!”

“Sorry, buddy,” Fred would say to Coltrane as he shut the door.

Two nights ago, I was laying on the couch in the front room reading, and Fred called to me.

“You better come see this,” he said.

“I am going to kill you,” I said.

But I had to laugh – because Coltrane, who was so super-skittish when we first met him, was completely laid-back about being in the house. The other cats approached him, and Coltrane would sniff at them, and then just lay there and let them sniff him. He was not concerned about them at all. I mean, THEY were concerned about HIM, but he was all “Whatever, dudes.”

(What amazes me the most is that all that smugness is able to fit in one single cat bed.)

With no hesitation whatsoever, Hutch climbed into the cat bed with Coltrane. Coltrane seemed rather pleased to have the company, and the two of them napped together.

Fred took Coltrane into the laundry room and put a bowl of food in front of him. Coltrane bellied up to the bowl, and then Corbie wandered in to see what was going on. When he spotted Coltrane, he walked over and sniffed him, then sat and watched him for a few moments. At one point, Corbie rolled onto his back and reached his front paws toward Coltrane, who kept a wary eye on him as he ate.

Reacher came in to see what was going on. When he got too close to Coltrane, Coltrane reached out and tapped Reacher on the head. Coltrane’s a laid-back boy, but he’s not a DOORMAT, for god’s sake.

Eventually, Coltrane wanted back outside and Fred let him out. Last night Fred let him in for ten minutes or so, but after a few minutes he wanted back out.

I have no idea if he’ll ever turn into a cat who’ll stay inside with us on the coldest nights, but Fred’s opened the door and now Coltrane is at least aware that there’s a shangri-la for cats with warmth and comfy beds.

I’ll be stocking up on cat urine odor remover because I am SURE we’ll be needing it. I’m sure our cats will be expressing their displeasure beginning any moment now.

And I will NOT BE THE ONE CLEANING UP THE CAT PEE, DO YOU HEAR ME, FRED?

Previously
2009: “I wonder if that’s the Gulf of Mexico or the Gulf of China,” Fred joked as we drove by on Sunday.
2008: Fred snorted “You should just start wearing overalls!”
2007: Hey! I was decluttering last year at this time, too!
2006: Here’s Doctor Robyn’s list of diagnoses.
2005: Cat hair on the seat of your pants! It’s the Next Big Thing!
2004: Do you suppose that cats realize that when we kiss them, it’s a sign of affection?
2003: NAS-TAY.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Thanks, y’all, for your emails regarding hamster sex.
1999: So, I didn’t get the kitten.

In my comments yesterday, devil mentioned check writers as the bane of the supermarket checkout experience.

AMEN TO THAT.

Last Saturday morning Fred and I made our usual weekend run to Publix. We usually get there on Saturdays just as they open, but Fred had processed chickens that morning, and then we had to go to Lowe’s, which meant that we got to Publix about an hour after they’d opened.

It was fucking BUSY. We’re not the only ones who want to get our shit done first thing Saturday morning, I guess.

So we went our separate ways, each grabbed a few things from the list, and then met at the front of the store to check out. There was only one lane (aside from the “10 items or fewer”) lane that was open, and there was a slow couple slowly putting the stuff from their cart onto the conveyor belt, and then the cashier slowly rang everything up, and the entire time she was slowly ringing everything up, she and the woman were chatting it up. Everything was rang up and bagged, in the cart and ready to be taken out to the couple’s car.

“That’s $83.45,” the cashier said. The woman started digging around in her purse. And she dug and dug and dug some more. Then she pulled out her checkbook.

I turned to look at Fred. Now, look – when it comes to this sort of thing, I’m pretty patient (even more so when I have my iPod with me and can play Snood on it while I’m waiting), so my impatience the other morning was unusual for me. For the most part, I figure there’s no use in getting all worked up about slow people because THEY ARE EVERYWHERE. It’s usually only when I’m running late (or haven’t eaten and am dying of the starvation and JESUS CHRIST WILL YOU HURRY UP THEY’RE GOING TO STOP SERVING EGG MCMUFFINS IN TEN MINUTES) that I get impatient.

HOWEVER.

Fred is the least patient person on earth. He is pretty sure that the Earth is his and his alone and no one should ever be in his way and he should never have to wait for anything and no one should ever require him to do something he has no interest in doing. And when he gets all princessy and impatient, it stresses me out.

So when the woman finally pulled her checkbook out of her purse, I turned to look at Fred just to make sure the top of his head hadn’t popped off and his brain hadn’t gone bouncing into the ice cream section. Which is when I saw the woman standing in line behind him lean past him to put her groceries on the conveyor belt behind our stuff, and in her leaning, she got into his space, and I saw him cut his eyes to the left, all ALERT! ALERT! SOMEONE IS IN MY SPACE! SOMEONE HAS BREACHED MY SPACE! SOMEONE! IS! IN! MY! SPACE!

And I couldn’t help it, it was like he was in his own personal version of Hell, between the check writing lady and the lady all up in his space and me with my reusable grocery bags (he HATES the reusable grocery bags because they collapse when you’re trying to put groceries in them – what the fuck?), and I laughed and laughed.

But on our way out to the car after the check-writing lady had finally written her check, he said “Do people still WRITE checks?”

So devil, rest assured that you’re not alone! People do still write checks and, as I told Fred, “Did you know that not only do people still write checks, they also can’t write out who the check is to, or the date, or sign the check until they know the total?”

Speaking of our Publix trips, all summer long, every time we made our Saturday morning trips, the same guy was always stocking the dairy section. Every single time, there he was. He’d greet us, occasionally ask if we needed help finding something, and then go back to his stocking.

And then, two weeks ago, NO ONE was stocking the dairy section.

“Dairy guy wasn’t there,” I told Fred.

“Huh,” Fred said.

AND THEN.

We were walking down the aisle of chips and sodas and I looked up and THERE WAS DAIRY STOCKING GUY.

NOT in the dairy section!

I had no idea that was even allowed. We passed him, then I nudged Fred and said “THAT WAS DAIRY STOCKING GUY!”

“I know,” Fred said.

“NOT IN THE DAIRY SECTION!”

“Yep.” The man could NOT have been less interested, damn him.

Hmph.

Starsky likes to pick fights with the big cats. He’s lucky they’re so tolerant of his shenanigans.

Not a great picture, but do you see how long Reacher is? He’s one long cat!

This chicken feather came in on the basket of eggs one evening, and Starsky spotted it and claimed it as his. He sat there and licked it. Then he glared suspiciously at any cats who came near, and then he decided there were too many cats around, so he picked it up and carried it into the other room and licked it some more.

These kittens crack me up – Starsky always looks like he’s suspicious of whatever’s going on, and Hutch has that sweet, open face. He reminds me a lot of Orange (aka Lorna Doone) from the Cookies, not only in temperament (sweet, willing to snuggle, friendly, and did I mention sweet?) but with the open little face. They are just the sweetest little monkeys.

(Did I say “sweet” often enough up there? THEY ARE SO SWEET SWEET SWEET.)

Loony Jake. Here’s something I don’t think I’ve mentioned about Loony Jake: he’s a growler. If he hears a sound that he doesn’t recognize, he growls. When I snapped this picture, we were upstairs in the foster room (when the fosters are given the run of the house, our cats LOVE it, because they really like hanging out in that room, playing with the toys, climbing the cat tree. All the fun stuff they can’t do when the door is closed!). The garbage truck was going by, and the entire time they drove by the house, stopped at the driveway, and picked up our garbage, Jake was growling. It’s not a hysterical growl or a particularly loud or scary growl he does, it’s almost under his breath, a warning growl. If the doorbell rings or someone knocks on the door, you can depend on Loony Jake to growl.

Previously
2009: Because I am such an utter badass, I ran in place and screamed.
2008: No entry.
2007: “I am NOT ‘ratty looking’ and YOU, M’dme, are a pure-d grade-a gutter slutting WHORE. Good day to you.”
2006: He’s such a know-it-all motherfucker.
2005: Elizabeth Wurtzel strikes me as spectacularly self-absorbed (pot! kettle! black!)
2004: Stuff I’ve bought.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: “Hey!” I said, shaking the cage. “Stop that!”
1999: No entry.

From Kim:

In September 2008 my son was life flighted to Children’s Hospital of Pittsburgh. He/we took that flight so that he could be evaluated for a liver transplant. My son, Greyson was 7 ½ months old.

My son died December 8, 2008 while waiting for his liver transplant. Last year for his first “anniversary” I decided to give back. I collected clothes for children of all ages from friends and family and sent a care package to RMH. I would love to do the same this year. I would like your help. I will accept gently used or new clothing for kids of all ages, books, toys. Gift cards. Anything! They will be sent to RMH Pittsburgh. I thank you in advance and on behalf of the families you will be helping. THANK YOU! (Please do not send stuffed animals. they cannot be 100% washed free of germs.)

If you’d like to donate in remembrance of Greyson donations can be made directly to Ronald McDonald House Pittsburgh, here:

Ronald McDonald House
Attn: Leslie Montgomery
In remembrance of Greyson Menefee
451 44th Street – Penthouse Floor, Pittsburgh, PA 15201

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

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

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

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

Thank you so much for your donations to Heaven’s cat, Dirty Feet – and if you haven’t donated and would like to, you can click on the widget below, or visit the ChipIn page here.

Food I made this weekend that I highly, highly recommend (I was in a cooking/ baking mood on Friday, apparently!)

Hot Cocoa Bread. It’s a wonderfully dense, chocolaty bread. It’s not super-sweet, but very very good. I think next time I make it, I’ll double the marshmallows just because I like marshmallows a lot. You could also add chocolate chips and chopped nuts and call it Rocky Road bread!

Chunky Guacamole. SO SO SO good. The only thing I’d do differently next time is, I’d actually add the entire half a red onion, as the recipe calls for. I got nervous when I was chopping the onion because it seemed like an awful lot of onion, so I only used about 1/3 of the onion, which I don’t think was enough. Also, note to myself: make sure there actually ARE baked Tostitos in the pantry before you make it next time. We ended up eating the guacamole on Ritz crackers. Which was still really good!

Individual Cream Cheese danish. Once again, I was blown away by just how good – and easy! – these things are. I told Fred I thought it was time for us to try plural marriage, because I’m bringing on Chunky Guacamole and Individual Cheese Danish as his Brother Husbands.

Have you been sitting there just WAITING for the Cranberry-Habanero jam?

If so, it’s your lucky day!

Cranberry Cruelty Habanero Jam is now available!

Go forth and order.

(I’ve got plenty of the other flavors still in stock, and considering how many habaneros we grew this year, I don’t expect to run out anytime soon!)

I had a hair appointment last Wednesday morning, and looking at myself in the mirror while she cut my hair, I came to the realization that I’m apparently growing out the grays. I haven’t colored my hair since just before I went to Maine in July, and I’d say my roots are about 1/3 the length of my hair.

I’m actually surprised to find that though I have plenty of gray hair, it’s not quite as gray as I’d expected. For now, I’m planning to keep on growing it out (this would be far more fascinating if I had a picture to show you, I’m aware), but it’s entirely possible that I’ll get tired of seeing all that gray, and go back to making Fred helping me color it a boring medium brown.

After my hair appointment, I stopped at the grocery store on the way home. It wasn’t ’til I was in the cereal aisle penned in by two gray-haired grannies (my people!) that I remembered Wednesdays are not only the day the new sales flyer comes out, but also senior discount day. I don’t know what the discount is for seniors, but it must be something pretty damn good, because the seniors come out in DROVES from about 7:30 on, and the place probably stays packed ’til closing (I wouldn’t know, though, ’cause I’m probably sound asleep by the time Publix closes).

There was one line with just one woman in line, and she was standing there looking at a newspaper when I walked up behind her. I put all my stuff on the conveyor belt and waited. And waited. And waited. Ever so slowly, she turned the pages of her newspaper, and keep in mind it was 9:45 and I hadn’t had anything to eat that morning, so how I did not fly at her with claws extended to yank every last hair out of her head, I do not know.

Finally, all huffy like, I said “Oooooookay”, picked up all my shit, and moved two cash registers down. I don’t know what the fuck was going on with that lady, but she was still there casually perusing the newspaper when I left.

I did not smack her.

Note to self: stay the fuck away from Publix on Wednesdays for the next 20 or so years. When the hell do you start getting a senior discount, anyway? 62?

Which reminds me – I got a GODDAMN AARP MEMBERSHIP FORM in the mail a few weeks ago. What the fuck? I’ve got a good 6 years and 2 months before I qualify, fuckers!

This blue basket lives in a corner of the kitchen, and it’s no surprise that I got these pictures of Hutch going “Oooh, there are toys in here! I like toys! Look at the cool toys!” and Starsky’s trying to figure out how to get a good bite on the basket handle.

::thlurrrrp::

Sweet Rhyme. I determined over the weekend that Rhyme’s personality is a lot like that of his half-brother Mike (of the Wonkas). Is he a happy boy? He is SUCH a happy boy. At night he gets up on the bed and flops right down between Fred and I and purrs and purrs and purrrrrrrs.

Bath time for Reacher.

I’ve perhaps mentioned that when I go outside, the cats – especially the Bookworms – like to gather around me. Here are three of the four – and you can see, since Reacher and Corbett are next to each other, just how thin Corbett is. He’s perfectly healthy, and he eats just fine, he’s just a skinny cat. Reacher is the biggest of the Bookworms.

Spanky claims the basket as his own.

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: Happy vacuuming!
2006: When I thought of how crappy the doors would look, he gave me a long-suffering look and said in his “Look how patient and long-suffering I am” voice, “I’ll paint them.”
2005: “Fascinating.”
2004: All your frog are belong to us.
2003: No entry.
2002: I am freezing to death.
2001: I think I need to get a life…
2000: In other words, Robyn is a total spaz about her eyes, comprende?
1999: On the way into work, and the whole time I worked today, I reconsidered that reconsideration.

Happy veteran’s day, Americans!

Go hug yourself a veteran, won’t you?

Have you seen Shae? Spread the word!

©Heaven Mahle

This is Dirty Feet – she belongs to Heaven, a foster mum for Challenger’s House. (You guys think I have a lot of cats in my house at one time? Heaven routinely has WAY more fosters in her house at one time than I do. And she’s a miracle worker. I’ve seen kittens that don’t look like they’re going to make it one more hour when she gets them turn out to be the most beautiful, healthy cats. Which you already know if you’re Facebook friends with her!)

Last week, Dirty Feet was ill, and ended up at the vet’s where she was for most of the week. They couldn’t seem to figure out what was going on with her until Heaven took her to another vet who was able to ultrasound Dirty Feet and find the blockage causing her illness. She had surgery on Friday and as of today is recovering at home and doing well.

©Heaven Mahle

Like so many of us do, Heaven spent every penny she had to save Dirty Feet, and she still owes money to the vet. I encouraged her to sign up for a Chip In fundraiser, and I hope y’all will consider helping out. The widget should show up below, but if it doesn’t, you can go here to see her Chip In page. Thanks in advance for any help you guys can give!

And here are some pictures of Dirty Feet as a baby, because I knew you’d want to see them!

All above pictures ©Heaven Mahle

Sights from around Crooked Acres.

(The inside-my-cupboards tour is in the next section!)

I pickled onion slices in a sweet brine last weekend. I haven’t tried them yet, so I can’t say how they’ll taste – I’m going to let them sit in the brine for a month or so before I open the jar.

I bought this spatula in Myrtle Beach at one of the outlet stores, and I LOVE it. It’s a small spatula (though you really can’t tell from the picture), and I use it every morning to scramble my egg for breakfast.

Green cherry tomatoes. I pickled half of them (in the same brine that I used for the onions), and saved the other half so that Fred can get a few more weeks of tomatoes on his lunch salad.

Black Silkie and her babies. She was the last hen to go broody this year, and her chicks are still relatively small so they stay close to her.

One of our roosters.

Rooster and his wimmin.

This next set of pictures cracks me up. See if you can guess why.

The dogs were barely moving at more than a casual mosey, and that hen was like “HOLY CHRIST, THE DOGS ARE COMING! THE DOGS ARE COMING! GET OUT OF THE WAY!!!!”

::thlurrrrp::

::thlurrrrrp::

Sweet Gracie Mae.

Inside my cupboards.
(Click on any picture to see the much larger version.)

Not that it matters, but these pictures are done in order, top to bottom and from the left of the kitchen (if you’re standing in the doorway facing the sink) to the right.

Top shelf: the alcohol. I think we’ve got vodka, rum, a bottle of Kahlua (though maybe we got rid of it, I don’t remember), strawberry dacquiri mix, and pina colada mix. Fred stopped on his way home from work TWO YEARS AGO and bought pina colada mix and whatever the hell alcohol goes into it. I don’t like pina coladas, so I stopped at Target the next week and bought strawberry dacquiri mix. Did I mention it’s been two years and neither bottle has been opened?
Middle shelf: White sugar, brown sugar, and more white sugar in the back, I think.
Bottom shelf: Plastic containers, colanders. I think there are a couple of bags of powdered sugar back there, too.

Cereal, rice cakes, and a box o’ Triscuits (which belong in the pantry, I don’t know how they ended up there.)

These shelves pull out, which you’d think would make them perfect for holding canned goods, but I never considered that before this moment, so right now they hold sandwich bags, storage bags, tinfoil, and Saran wrap on the top shelf, and onions , storage bags and shallots on the middle shelf. On the bottom (which you can’t see) are freezer bags for chicken, and a big-ass container of those peppermint candies you can buy at Walmart. You know, the really soft ones? Love those.

Top shelf: salad shooter (for chopping up soap when I make laundry soap), freezer containers.
Second shelf down: Miracle Grow, freezer containers, pantry pest traps (to catch those damn pantry moths).
Third: Lunch bags, Advantage, and various might-come-in-handy empty pill bottles.
Bottom: Tylenol, advil, that sort of stuff.

These corner cabinets are so nice and big that you’d think they’d be really handy for storage, but they’re kind of a pain in the ass, because when you’re three feet tall like I am, you have to get a friggin’ stool to look past the very front of the shelves. So this is where the plastic storage containers go (except for the top shelf, where I put cookie tins WHICH I DO SO REUSE so shaddup, I’m not a cookie tin hoarder).

Canning pots, pressure canner pot. Hand mixer, cider vinegar, pie plates. Random shit, basically.

If I go into this cabinet as often as once a month, I’d be surprised. Random candles, plastic forks, lots of fiber supplements for the fiber impaired, popcorn seasonings, maple syrup. That sort of stuff.

Silverware drawer, which also contains various knives, lots of straws for some reason, annnnd that’s about it.

More randomness – cooking utensils, potato peelers, biscuit cutters. One thing my kitchen is not: organized.

Dish towels, dish cloths, measuring spoons and cups. Yes, I have a lot of dish towels – I use clean dish towels every day, if you must know.

The drawer of batteries, straws, filters for the water fountains, and I think there are some instruction books in there, too.

Under the sink. Would you believe we’ve owned this house for four years and have lived here three and a half, and this is the first time I’m realizing that there’s a damn fire extinguisher under there? I must have cleaned out under that sink at least five or six times, and yet never noticed the damn thing.

Cups ‘n mugs.

The other corner cabinet. Let me reiterate: it’s a pain in the ass pulling stuff out of here. Those are the bowls I use most often when cooking dinner.

Food processor, blender, dutch ovens. This is stuff I use a lot – except for that ice cream maker in the back, which we haven’t used in a quite a while. But I know the instant we get rid of it, we’ll wish we had it back, so there it stays.

Top shelf: Fiesta Ware creamer, salt and pepper shakers, and mugs.
Second: Cake pans.
Third: Cat food, cat snack plates (like you don’t go out and get a bunch of matching plates to feed your cats on. YEAH, RIGHT.), canned cat food in the back, and some of the spices that don’t fit over the stove/ in the spice drawer.
Bottom: Spices that don’t fit over the stove/ in the spice drawer.

Top and second shelf: dishes for the cats, and loaf pans (not for the cats.)
Bottom two shelves: bowls of all sizes.

Junk drawer. Scissors, cat medication, okra pods that need to be dried (and the seeds saved), you know. Junk.

Muffin tins, cookie sheets, cooling racks.

Good god, does someone like some popcorn? Actually, Fred’s the one who eats popcorn, and he does it rarely. I guess I need to stop buying popcorn when it’s on sale. Those white dishes? Dishes for the cats. A small food processor/ chopper that I rarely use and in fact probably don’t need.

Dishes. And Splenda.

Extra pot, roasting pan, glass baking dishes. And nosy kitten, of course.

The cupboard over the refrigerator. This explains why I couldn’t find my damn Christmas dishes anywhere last year. Those green dishes on the top shelf belonged to Fred’s grandmother. I need to get them out so we can use them – I really like them a lot.

On the left, spices. On the right, battery charger, labels, other crap.

Extra flour, pectin, canning utensils, lots of canning lids. Fun stuff.

Another junk drawer – screwdriver, nails, screws, the Ball Blue Book o’ Canning (or whatever the hell it’s called).

Bread machine, slicer. That tan bin holds a ton of canning rings.

Inside of the fridge (and Tommy, inspecting).

This used to be what I used as the pantry. Now it holds all the baking stuff (except for the flours and sugars, which are spread in various places in the kitchen), the rotisserie cooking thingy, the Foodsaver (the tan bin holds empty Foodsaver bags), and the popcorn popper.

The canning cabinet. Top shelf: pickled stuff, salsa, applesauce, black beans.
Middle shelf: canned chicken, stock, some jams.
Bottom shelf: canned chicken, green beans.

Elwood, kicking some Buster butt.

One thing (of many) that I adore about Buster: he has this light spot on top of his head that I’m forever thinking is fuzz, and I go to brush it away, then remember that it’s part of him.

Elwood and Rhyme.

Corbie, keeping an eye on things.

Starsky believes in clean toes!

“WHAT?”

Happy Hutch. And just why’s he so happy?

Mystery solved.

Snoozin’ brudders.

Look at Reacher there, making himself at home. And look at Spanky and Tommy (but especially Spanky!) putting up with him! (And look at Fred over there in his Snuggie!)

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: The goddamn cats can’t go three feet without falling over a bed but, you know.
2007: Why should I answer the door if I’m not expecting anyone, I ask you?
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: That girl has some serious lung power.
2003: Not holding my breath – but a girl can dream!
2002: Let me tell you about the saga of the box.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.
1999: No entry.

©Heaven Mahle

This is Dirty Feet – she belongs to Heaven, a foster mum for Challenger’s House. (You guys think I have a lot of cats in my house at one time? Heaven routinely has WAY more fosters in her house at one time than I do. And she’s a miracle worker. I’ve seen kittens that don’t look like they’re going to make it one more hour when she gets them turn out to be the most beautiful, healthy cats. Which you already know if you’re Facebook friends with her!)

Last week, Dirty Feet was ill, and ended up at the vet’s where she was for most of the week. They couldn’t seem to figure out what was going on with her until Heaven took her to another vet who was able to ultrasound Dirty Feet and find the blockage causing her illness. She had surgery on Friday and as of today is recovering at home and doing well.

©Heaven Mahle

Like so many of us do, Heaven spent every penny she had to save Dirty Feet, and she still owes money to the vet. I encouraged her to sign up for a Chip In fundraiser, and I hope y’all will consider helping out. The widget should show up below, but if it doesn’t, you can go here to see her Chip In page. Thanks in advance for any help you guys can give!

And here are some pictures of Dirty Feet as a baby, because I knew you’d want to see them!

All above pictures ©Heaven Mahle

This picture makes me laugh. They’re like characters in a sitcom – Starsky’s the annoying neighbor who pops over with a “Hallo!” and Corbett’s the tolerant yet annoyed title character who puts up with his pesky neighbor’s shenanigans.

Starsky’s waiting for Miz Poo to go to sleep so he can slide into the cat bed with her for a snuggle.

Occasionally, I put an egg yolk in a little dish and put the dish on the floor for whatever cat happens along. It’s like a nice little surprise for them (and yet I wonder why they hang out in the kitchen and howl at me whenever I’m in there. Duh.) Note the dried egg yolk in Starsky’s whiskers.

I guess I’m not the only one who can’t do something in this house without half a dozen cats coming to see what’s going on. Rhyme’s all “Just wanna hang out in the grocery bag LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Snoozin’ Hutch.

Corbett, looking up at Tommy, who’s hanging out on the catwalk in the back yard.

Corbie, running.

And running.

Rhyme’s all “I’m the only one around to run around here like a big goofball!”

And then Rhyme proceeded to run around like a great big goofball. The end.

This is Sugarbutt’s favorite place -and favorite position – for sleeping, these days. I don’t know. I guess he’s got to keep the nether regions aired out IF YOU KNOW WHAT I’M SAYING AND I THINK YOU DO.

Previously
2009: The other night, Fred said “I should go out there at night and put a “NO FISHING” sign in the middle of the garden.”
2008: The pigs gave it two (four?) hooves up.
2007: Write about your day!
2006: I guess you can teach an old Fred new tricks.
2005: Can’t a girl be a dumbass without the whole world going into an uproar about it?
2004: For once, he had no good comeback.
2003: “Oh yeah. I hate this feeling. I should have just had a Diet Coke.”
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.
1999: Can you tell this irks me?