Category: Life

It’s been three weeks that Fred has been unemployed and searching for a job. Trust me – if there’s a company in all of Huntsville that’s hiring in the line of work that Fred does, they’ve got his resume. Tons and tons of resumes, the man has sent out (emailed out, I should say). And he’s been slowly going mad, because the phone is NOT ringing.

(You can only say “You’ll find a job!” and “It just takes time!” so many times before he tells you you’re full of shit, it turns out.)

Yesterday, after a morning of the phone not ringing, we left the house. I made him leave his cell phone at home (you know how back in the old days when you were allowed to smoke in restaurants, the surefire way to get the waitress to show up with your food or bill was to light up a cigarette? I figured the way to get a call to come in was to not be home to answer it. Didn’t work, but it was worth a try.), and we headed to Point Mallard to go for a meander along the walking path.

Of COURSE I took the camera.

It was nice to get out of the house for a few hours, even if there were no missed calls when we got home.

By the way, there’s a special place in hell for headhunters who email first thing Monday morning, ask for an updated resume and a call ASAP, don’t answer the phone for two days, and then tell you (when you actually reach them) that they don’t actually have a position in your area.

I recently read somewhere that people who have cats are 30% less likely to have heart attacks.

What they didn’t address in that article is whether people who have cats are 30% MORE likely to have a stroke after they step in a cold pile of cat vomit in the middle of the night. I’m going to guess the answer to that is YES.

There’s this commercial that plays on a local radio station that goes “Christian school care! School care…. instead of play care!”

And every single time they play it, I fully expect it to go “Christian school care! School care for Christians!”

Every time.

I went to replace my estrogen patch this morning after I got out of the shower, and found that the one I’d put on on Monday? Gone.

Who the hell knows when it came off, or where it is?

When I told Fred, he said “Maybe that’s why you’ve been especially Satanic lately.”

“HOW have I been Satanic?” I asked, sure he wasn’t going to be able to come up with an example. Because when put on the spot, he’s never able to back up these assertions and usually resorts to saying something lame like “You just are.”

“You were in the kitten room giving them their morning snack today,” he said. “And you were all “Ooh boo boo boo boo” with your sweet kitten-talking voice, and then all of a sudden you’re bellowing “JESUS FUCKING CHRIST GODDAMN IT!” and then the next second you were all “Oooh boo boo boo boo” in your kitten voice again.”

I sighed. “I sure am sick of dropping the cat food-covered spoon on the floor.”

He gave me the hairy eyeball.

“I see your point,” I admitted. Then I showed him the patch I’d just put on. “But I should be okay now!”

Yeah, we’ll see about THAT.

I went upstairs yesterday morning to put the barrier up across the hallway and let Maura out of her room. As I went up the stairs, all four Bookworms and Jake followed me. I tried to keep them on the other side of the barrier, but it was like holding back a tide of cute, and finally I threw up my hands and declared that I guessed it was time for Maura to have the run of the house.

It went pretty well. She had little patience for the other cats getting up in her face, but no one got pushy with her, and she spent most of her time walking around the house exploring.

Maura in the Maura Cave, in the corner of the kitchen.

Poor Stinkerbelle – at one point Maura was sitting in the front room, and Stinkerbelle caught sight of her and I don’t know if she just loves all black cats, or she thought Maura was Tommy, but she tried to go over to Maura. Maura growled at her. You could see the confusion on Stinkerbelle’s face when Maura growled at her, because Stinkerbelle’s usually the one growling at other cats. She kept trying to get close to Maura, and Maura kept growling, so eventually Stinkerbelle gave up and climbed up to the top of her bookcase and pondered this strange turn of events.

Reacher is obsessed – OBSESSED! – with the trash can.

He likes to hang out in the trash can, sniff around at the pieces of crumpled paper towel, and then climb out with one of them in his mouth. Then he bats it across the room, uncrumples it, and leaves it there.

Reacher, hiding beside the refrigerator. A stampede of big cats went through the kitchen, which scared him, and he went to his safe place.

All four of the Bookworms were sleeping in one bed. Jake got up on my desk, surveyed the situation… and then climbed into the cat bed and laid down on top of them. Three of them scattered, but Bolitar just stayed where he was.

The Bookworms are all obsessed with my recycling container. They love to climb in there, sleep, look around, bat at magazine covers, and then climb back out. I don’t get the obsession, but they aren’t the first kittens to do that. I’m sure they won’t be the last, either!

Newt, coming to see if perhaps it’s snack time.

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: What the fucking fuck was going on, apparently, is that my motherboard was fried.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: Annoying.
2003: Holy FUCK, look what JUST wandered across my front yard!
2002: The big flies make a very satisfying THWOOMP! sound as they fly down the attachment tube.
2001: No entry.
2000: Aren’t they, um, AMERICANS?

The Bookworms were clearly ready to curl up for a nap, but Newt and Miz Poo had control of the cat beds. Check out the baleful looks on their little faces! (And the smug look on Newt’s face in that first picture is cracking me UP.)

They opted for the Ham-Mick.

That’s Corbett in the front, Bolitar in the back. This picture makes me laugh because it looks like Corbett is half the size of Bolitar (he’s definitely smaller, but not THAT much smaller), and Bolitar looks like he’s all head.

Note that while Miz Poo was sleeping, Bolitar climbed into the bed with her. She doesn’t scare him! What happens when Miz Poo wakes up and finds a kitten in the bed with her? You’d think she’d hiss and growl and smack, but she usually just sits there and looks completely disgusted before she gets up and stomps off.

Jake sniffs Bolitar.

And then Bolitar and Reacher form a two-pronged attack. Bolitar’s in hand-to-hand combat, and Reacher’s got Jake’s tail.

What a smug little face.

Though I have no pictures of Maura to share today, the news is that she got the all-clear from the vet! So we’re starting the slow progress of releasing her into General Population. When I got home with her yesterday, Fred put the blockade up across the upstairs hallway, and opened the foster cat room, which gave Maura access to the bathroom and my room. At some point Jake forced his way past the blockade, so when we went upstairs to go to bed, Jake was sitting in the hallway and Maura was hanging out under my bed.

We’ll let her have the run of the upstairs for a couple of days, then take down the blockade and see how she does with the run of the house. I expect she’ll be fine. She’s a laid-back cat, but she can stand up for herself (which we’ve seen in action when Jake gets too much in her face), so if anyone tries to pick on her, they’ll find out she’s no pushover.

I found this movie on my Flip Video over the weekend, and it made me laugh. I’m pretty sure the Cookie in the video was Keebler (even though you hear me gasp and say “MISSY!”).

Cats and kittens who scoot are the BANE OF MY EXISTENCE, because that is SO GROSS. I mean, they’re using your rug (or, in this case, the cat bed) as their TOILET PAPER and how nasty is that? On the other hand, it’s pretty funny to see. So while I’m mad and horrified and gasping and saying “MISSY!”, I’m also laughing. SIGH. They’re not even subtle about it! Which is probably a good thing, because when I see it happening, I grab the bottle of watered-down bleach and clean the spot where they scooted. Or in this case, I grabbed the cat bed and tossed it in the washer.

Cats are so nasty.

“I disapprove of scooting. And kittens. Also, war.”

Previously
2009: I wanted to station myself next to the display of bowls and if anyone looked particularly interested in buying the bowl, offering them $5 NOT to buy the goddamn thing.
2008: I KNEW SOMEONE HAD STOLEN MY FELIWAY! GIVE IT BACK!
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: I want to hear “Fine, thanks. Here’s your Supah-sized Diet Coke. Have a nice day!” Understood? I swear, I’m just going to STOP asking, that’s all.
2003: Some day I’ll create a housecleaning schedule and actually keep to it. Ha!
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: So, my last official day at work. Ho-hum.

Holy cow! Look at all those comments from yesterday!

I’m honestly surprised to find out how many of you came to my site via Fred’s OneFatMan site. Between Fred, Nance, and Jane, that seems to be where about 60% of you came from. Who knew?

(For the record, this is how Nance and I came to know each other: I emailed her at some point when she was (I think) going passworded, and begged for the password. She gave it to me, and apparently checked out my site, decided I was funny for WHITE TRASH, and kept reading. We started emailing back and forth at some point, and have been friends ever since. And this is how I came to know Jane: she emailed me to tell me that she’d gone to college with Jay Karnes (who played Dutch on The Shield), and with her signature included her url. I started reading, read all her archives, and have been reading her ever since! I know that the email from Jane must have come in early 2003, because I’ve only mentioned Jay Karnes once in all the years I’ve been writing. I have no idea when Nance and I started emailing, but it had to have been before 2003. So I’ve known Jane for 7 years, which is like 130 years in internet time, and Nance for longer than that. Holy crap, I’m thinking this whole “internet” thing is here to stay, ya think?)

This journal has been here since October 1999, and a large number of you have been around since then, or shortly after. Some of you remember when I had to beg and beg and beg to get Fred to allow me to adopt Miz Poo, and then I waffled about it – and then I brought her home! A lot of you remember when we only had five cats. Five! How the hell did we even know we HAD cats with such a small number of them??

OneFatBitchypoo started up on September 11, 2000, and I don’t remember exactly when the now-defunct OneFatMan started up, but it was before OneFatBitchypoo, I’m thinking OneFatMan was around for maybe 6 months before I jumped on the weight loss bandwagon.

(Here’s an anecdote that makes me laugh at what a dork I am: years ago someone linked to Fred’s OneFatMan site and then mentioned me in passing, saying basically “And his wife decided to copy him and start her own site as well!” and I was INCENSED and all “I HAVE HAD A JOURNAL SINCE OCTOBER 1999, IF ANYONE IS THE COPYCAT, IT IS HE, YOU MOTHERFUCKER.”)

So anyway, thank you, all of you, for reading, for continuing to read (whether you read religiously every day, or go away and come back and catch up on the goings-on), and for leaving such sweet comments. I LOVED your comments yesterday (I always love your comments!), and you guys are absolutely the best.

I don’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon, so you can depend on me for your morning dose of dorkitude and cat pictures for as long as these fingers can type!

Several months ago, I bought a new phone system at Target. It’s one base unit that plugs into the phone line, and then there are… uh… (had to do some mental addition there) five more units that don’t have to be plugged into a phone line, they just have to be synced with the main phone.

Which really isn’t very important to this story, I just like to go on and on and fill up your minds with useless bits of information. In ten years when I say “Okay, NOW! How long have you been reading me?”, someone will say “I don’t know how long it’s been, but you had just gotten your new phone system!”

Anyway, the new phone system is working pretty well, but what I didn’t know when I bought the phones is that each phone has a voice announcement thingy (I’m sorry to be so technical) and after the first ring, it will say “Call from -” and then read out the number, or the name of the person calling, or whatever. So if Nance were to call me (better not, Nance!), the voice announcement thingy would say “Call from Nebshit Nance!”, assuming that that’s how her number is listed in the phone book.

Over the weekend, Fred’s sister called, and I glanced at the caller ID and put the phone down, because Fred was out in the back forty, and I knew she wasn’t calling for me. (Don’t “tsk” at me, if someone’s calling for me, he doesn’t answer the phone either.)

Now, her name is listed with just her first initial and her last name, like such: “R Anderson.” (That’s her real first initial, but not her real last name, stalkers.)

The voice announcement thingy is only so smart, so when it saw that “R Anderson” was calling, it announced that there was a call from “Rrrrr Anderson.”

It was about the funniest fucking thing. It sounded like it was growling at me. And it repeated it as long as the phone rang! “Call from… Rrrrrr Anderson! Call from… Rrrrr Anderson!”

Now, we have an egg customer named Martha. She doesn’t identify herself as Martha, she identifies herself as “The lady in the van”, but she did leave a message once and mentioned that her name was Martha.

I think she calls from her cell phone when she calls, because just the number shows up, and the voice announcement thingy was announcing “Call from 256-555-1212”, and I’d think “That number sounds familiar, but I don’t know who it is, so I ain’t answerin’ it”, and then would ultimately find out that it was Martha. Finally, I went into the phone book section of the phone and added her number along with her name, so I’d know who the hell was calling.

Last night, she called, and the voice announcer kicked in before we could locate the phone. “Call from… Martha Eggs.”

I am far too amused by myself. But, come on. Martha Eggs! Ha!

I shall be leaving in a little while to drop Maura off at the vet so that they can get a fecal sample and either declare her all cured and ready to be released (slowly) into the general population, which is what I hope will happen – or that she’ll need another round of medication.

“They’re gonna take a sample of what from my where, now?”

The last few nights, when Fred and I have gone in to hang out with Maura before we go to bed, Fred has let Jake into the room. Oh, how Jake wants to be best friends with Maura in the WORST way. He tries to rub up against her, he tries to play with her. She’s a little put off by his friendly fervor, but she’ll sit and watch him play. She had to put him in his place a few times by raising a threatening paw. She was like “You’re in MY home, boy. Don’t make me mess you up!”

Fingers crossed that she can be released into the house to play with the other cats! I’ll let you know, of course.

I’m not quite sure what Corbett was doing here – looking at Jake or Elwood and trying to decide if he wanted to climb into the cat bed with him, I think.

Oh, do they love the cords hanging from the blinds over my desk.

They’ll bat at them for HOURS.

They bite on the ends of the cords.

Yet somehow, the cords always escape. Stupid cords.

Miz Poo, 10 years old. Still not a fan of kittens, but she hasn’t smacked one in the last ten minutes. I consider that progress!

Previously
2009: Two long rows of tomatoes for two people. That’s not too much, is it?
2008: No entry.
2007: “Baby, I think someone in my comments just called me a complete idiot.”
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: So, to sum up: for almost a year, they’ve spent time staring up their property line, ostentatiously walked up and down it, yet it’s never occurred to them to come knock on the door and say “Hi, blah blah our side of the property line, blah blah, stop? Thanks!”
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: “If we manufactured bon-bons, I would have sent you a package of those. Instead, this package should assuage the pain and horror of not working while you lay on the couch and watch Oprah and the soaps.”

Today, I slack. Scroll down for a cute kitten pic and short movie, and then answer these questions in the comments:

If you know, how’d you find this journal, and how long have you been reading?

I just ask because I’m curious. If you don’t know how you found me or how long you’ve been reading, that’s perfectly fine. God knows that I came across the majority of my favorite reads while I was flailing around the internet, and I have no concept of time, so I generally never know how long I’ve been reading someone!

The best part about fostering is when the kittens are released into general population. They invariably decide that my desk is the best place to sleep, and so there’s always a snoozing kitten or two within reach.

No complaints from me!

And now, a short movie.

Rhyme and Reacher discover that the best toy on earth is always juuuuust out of reach.

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: “I’m not looking smug, I’m looking RUEFUL,” I said.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: “Bessie, Jayson Blair is black.”
2003: No entry.
2002: I hate it when there’s a web page touting some wonderful product, but you CANNOT place an online order.
2001: SIR! RECRUIT BITCHYPOO IS DONE WITH HER ENTRY AND READY TO POST IT, SIR!
2000: we watched the ultra-crappy End of Days last night

Is anyone out there still watching Brothers & Sisters? Because I still am, actually, and while I do enjoy it, I’ve gotta say:

1. Please, would someone put Scotty out of his misery? All he does is sit around and look concerned, say sweet and supportive things to Kevin The Neurotic, and try his best to not actually, y’know, TOUCH The Neurotic One. Seriously, have you ever in your entire life seen two people with less chemistry than those two? If I have to suffer through one more dry close-lipped kiss between those two, I’m going to hurt someone. NORA AND SAUL have more chemistry than Scotty and Kevin.

(Okay, that was gross.)

2. Dear Writers of Brothers & Sisters: If you’re going to demand that we sit through a two-hour “movie event” version of the show, please for the fucking love of god, make it so that at the end, we’ve gained some sort of fucking knowledge that we might not have gotten from a regular one-hour show. Fucking “Narrow Lake” is turning into an albatross. I give you three more episodes to figure that fucking horseshit out, and then I’m going to drown the entire fucking cast in the nearest body of water.

3. What the fuck, Rob Lowe? You’re practically nothing but a glorified extra. You’re far too pretty to swan in, look mildly concerned, and then swan back out.

4. The Walkers? Too goddamn close. This family needs to put some motherfucking distance in. When Kevin was all “Weep weep weep accidentally did something 25 years ago that I didn’t know I did, weep weep weep”, and Kitty was all up in his shit hugging him with love and concern, I was like “Hi, how about his HUSBAND, sitting over there looking uncomfortable? You wanna maybe make some room, Kitty, and let the LOVE OF HIS LIFE in for a hug and a dry kiss?”, and then when Kitty announced her test results when they were all celebrating the good news that happened during the “special movie event” (I’m trying not to spoil it for you people who haven’t watched it yet), and Kitty was all teary-eyed, and then “Oh, let me subvert your attention while I announce my much more important news because it’s allllllllways about Kitty in MY world!”, and Rob Lowe was sitting at the table looking vaguely concerned, and she told the news, and everyone got up to hug her, how about you people make way for HER FUCKING HUSBAND? I mean, not that he was getting up to hug her (what the fuck, Robert?) or anything, he was too busy making the transition from vaguely concerned to vaguely relieved, but still.

Okay, happy searchers, here’s the information you’re desperately searching for, which is repeated from my entry on April 5th:

Fred’s company and their largest customer have parted ways – and as a result, Fred is looking for a job.

That’s it, that’s all there is, I’m sorry there’s no drama to share. Fred is looking for a job.

He’s sent out a large number of resumes, has been on an interview, and during this time off has boned up on C++, which took him about two days because he’s a smart motherfucker. Now we just wait for the right opportunity to come along and a job to be offered, and in the meantime he’s got the garden planted and has mowed the lawn fifteen times.

I thought he might drive me crazy, with the always being present in MY HOUSE, but it’s been fine. I refuse to allow him in the kitchen when I’m cooking dinner, but that’s not really an unemployment issue. It’s more an issue with him always thinking he’s got a better way to get something done, and I don’t much cotton to being told a “better” way to do my shit, thank you. If he’s got a better way to make dinner, then by all means – perhaps he should take over the making of the dinner.

Fucker.

It’s only been two and a half weeks that he’s been seriously looking for a job, and as smart as he is and as good as he is at what he does, I have no doubt that he’ll find himself employed soon enough.

Someone asked yesterday if Maura was going to become a permanent resident. The short answer: no. The slightly longer answer: once she’s cleared by the vet and has had the last of her vaccinations, she’ll be going to the adoption center. The long answer: we have 11 cats, 2 dogs, and a large number of chickens. Fred is unemployed at the moment. We are not adding another mouth to feed to the family, are ya CRAZY?

She’s a sweet girl, completely laid-back, and good with other cats (as far as we can tell from her reaction to Jake entering her room for the last two nights) – I have no doubt someone will fall in love with her.

Sweet Corbett.

Rhyme hugging my arm with his front paws while kicking my arm with his back legs, and Reacher looking on.

Corbett and Bolitar pulled that cat bed off the bottom shelf of the coffee table and cuddled up for a nap. In the background, Jake is curled up on the cat bed he pulled down from the table under the window. None of the cat beds stay where I put them, is what I’m saying.

::thlurrrp::

Reacher. Isn’t it amazing how quickly they go from little round roly-poly babies to long and lanky kittens?

Corbett, Bolitar (in the back), Reacher, and Rhyme cuddle up for bedtime.

Almost five years old, and Tommy and Sugarbutt still snuggle up for a nap. I LOVE that!

Of course, they don’t fit quite as well in one cat bed as they used to…

Tommy and Sugarbutt, October 2005.

Previously
2009: Scenes from around Crooked Acres.
2008: It just looked like a great big blob of tumor, is what it looked like.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: “Light” my ass!
2004: An odd duck, that one.
2003: Unfortunately, he lived.
2002: 10 Things I Learned Last Week
2001: No entry.
2000: No entry.

From reader Amy – go read about sweet little Pug Casey, and help out if you can!

Seriously – have you ever seen a cuter little face?

I recently read a post on someone’s blog somewhere (I can’t even begin to remember where it was), and the person was answering a question someone had asked wherein she had read her boyfriend’s text messages accidentally, and stumbled across the fact that he was supposed to have lunch with an ex-girlfriend while she (the question asker and current girlfriend) was supposed to be out of town. Now, the focus of the question was on whether the girlfriend should be concerned/ say something to the man in question. That’s not what caught my interest, though – what caught my interest was in the blogger’s answer to the question.

(Jesus christ, could I make the build-up to my point any more convoluted and boring?)

Okay, I went and looked – it was Slynnro, this post, and in her answer to the question, she says This is the thing about reading texts and emails- you tend to find things you wish you hadn’t.

Which leads me to my point, and that is that I have full access to Fred’s email and texts (Fred generally hands his phone over to me if there are texts, so that I can delete them – he has never sent a text in his life), and holy Virgin Mary in a pink sparkly sidecar does that man send and receive the MOST FUCKING BORING emails that have ever been seen on the face of the earth. I would almost welcome a flirty email with a “fuck me!” subtext from an ex-girlfriend when I’m snoring through his emails just to break up the tedium.

Now, I’m not a complete idiot, it’s entirely possible that he’s got a second email address about which I have no clue, and that there’s a veritable treasure of flirty emails –

(I’m sorry, if you’ll pardon me while I guffaw a little at the idea of any hapless dumbass sending Fred a flirty email, because if I know my husband, I imagine he’d be mostly impatient that she was wasting his time with that happy horseshit when there’s shit to be stirred on the internet.)

but I doubt it.

And just so y’all don’t think that I’m all breathing down his neck when he’s sending or reading his emails, I don’t look at his email all that often, maybe every few months. I either have to be looking for some specific information, or hugely bored with nothing left anywhere on the internet that I haven’t already read, to even think about looking at his email.

Also yes, of course he knows that I read his email, because he’s aware that I’m nosy like that, and I have full access to all his shit all the time. He has full access to all my shit all the time too, of course, but he doesn’t bother reading my email unless he’s looking for an email address or something else that I’ve asked him to look for. As bored as I am by his email, he is six times that bored at the thought of reading my email.

Of course, he’s WRONG, because my email is far more interesting than his. I mean, I have emails about cats and Real Housewives and Dr. Phil; how does it get more interesting than that, I ask you?

I’ve recently realized that I go through nickname phases when it comes to the cats. Instead of calling each and every one of them by their names (because if I even tried, I’d be a mess of sputtering through the fragments of six different names before I got to the right name. “Spank – Sug – Tom – Mom – ELWOOD! Stop that!”), I go with a general nickname. I think for a little while last year it was “Honey”, then I went through about a six month “Bunny” phase, and now I’m calling them all “Turkey.”

“Whatcha doin’, Turkey?” I say to Elwood, who’s hanging out minding his own business. Then I walk into the next room and it’s “Hello, Turkey-butt.” to Sugarbutt, who’s sitting in the middle of the kitchen floor hoping that it’s almost time for The Snack. And so on.

I always add “butt,” “face,” and “dork” to the end of the nickname for reasons that are unclear to even me.

They don’t care what I call them – if I yell “Turkey-butt! Time for the snackin’!”, they come running just as fast as if I yell “Suggie! Time for the snackin’!”

It’s probably no surprise that most of them don’t know their names, is it?

“Hello! Tryin’ to sleep, here!” (Bolitar)

Do you SEE the baleful look on Corbett’s face?! He’s got himself some hate going on, right there. I don’t know what Bolitar did, but it was apparently QUITE offensive.

Getting ready to jump on his brother and kick some butt.

“I am but a poor sweet baby who wants nothing but a cuddle.” Don’t be fooled!

“HELLO! That belly’s not going to rub itself!”

Don’t be fooled by the sassy look. She’s a complete and utter sweetheart.

Spanky, snoozing on the couch. He’s such a HAPPY boy.

Previously
2009: Rude little brats.
2008: No entry.
2007: Feel free to cut and paste, assholes, though I fully understand if you prefer something with a few more misspellings.
2006: Must… resist… evil… urge…
2005: “Ah JEEZUS, here she goes again with the Gatlinburg! She goes for four days and talks about it for four weeks!”
2004: Oh. My. Eyes.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: Entries I liked.
2000: No entry.

You guys, I am SURE, already read this, but in case you haven’t, let me be the one to tell you: go read Jane right now, and then read this one, too.

And then shave your heads to show solidarity. Also, wear nothing but pink. Also also, make sure you give her LOTS OF BIG HUGS. She pretends to be a non-hugger, but she secretly loves the long, long hugs. She’s a closet hugger!

Okay, you guys had questions about the chart. Let me see if I can address them all…

The chart is set up thusly – the names going across the top are the ones who are feeling, and the names going down the side are the ones who are being felt about. For instance, in the first column, where Spanky’s at the top, that shows his feelings toward Miz Poo, his feelings toward Tommy, and so on, going down the list. Most of the time the feelings are the same in both directions, but there are a few occasions where the cats have different feelings toward each other – ie, Spanky tolerates Jake and Elwood, but Jake and Elwood like Spanky.

Don’t feel sorry for Miz Poo and Kara – they are not fans of the other cats, but that’s because they’re people lovers, not cat lovers. Miz Poo would be perfectly 100% happy to be an only cat (it’s good to dream!), and Kara would too, except that then Kara would go crazy because there’d be no one for her to keep in line. As long as the other cats stay the hell out of their way, they ignore them. If anyone gets too much up in either of their faces, they hiss and smack and make it known that The Bubble has been breached.

There is one time of day when Kara LOVES THE HELL out of all the other cats, and that’s Snackin’! Time! While the cats are milling around excitedly waiting for their Snack!, Kara will rub up against any other cat she happens across. Usually that’s Jake and/ or Elwood, sometimes Spanky. And sometimes she’ll rub up against Jake or Elwood, and then in the next second she’ll smack the hell out of them.

I don’t know what on earth the deal is with Joe Bob, honestly. When he was our foster cat four years ago (or thereabouts), he was great friends with Mister Boogers, Tommy, and Sugarbutt. When we adopted him and Fred brought him home, Mister Boogers didn’t care for him at all, Sugarbutt ignored him, and Tommy went back and forth between being friends with him and picking on him. Most of the other cats have no use for him (oh, how Stinkerbelle LOATHES him, mostly (I think) because he picks on her), which is too bad, because he’s a good cat. I will say, though, that it’s not all their fault – he’s kind of touchy about being looked at by the other cats, and can take it as a challenge if they look at him for too long. He’s a little bit of a drama queen, is what I’m saying.

Actually, the chart is incorrect, now that I think about it – Spanky HATES Joe Bob, and will follow Joe Bob around and glare at him, sniff at the places where Joe Bob has been, and just generally make Joe Bob feel uncomfortable. (We call him “Creepy Cousin Spanky” when he acts like that.)

Someone asked if there are any major cat fights around here, and the answer is that sometimes there are, mostly between Stinkerbelle and Joe Bob (though now that I’ve said that, I think it’s been relatively calm between the two of them). Occasionally Jake or Elwood will chase Stinkerbelle, and she runs and hisses like the hounds of hell are after her. Sometimes Stinkerbelle will be up on top of the bookcase in the front room, and Kara will jump up there, and there’s a hiss-off, culminating with one or the other of them jumping down and running off. One day last week, Miz Poo was on top of the cat tree near the same bookcase, and I don’t know WHAT possessed her, but she decided to jump up to the top of the bookcase. The problem was, Maxi was already up there, and there was yelling and hissing and growling, and I sat up and looked over to see Miz Poo jump down to the top of the cat tree in terror, and then the poor thing fell OFF the cat tree (she’s fine).

Okay, I think that answered all the questions – of course, if I missed one, feel free to ask again!

So, I think I forgot to mention that I had my follow-up appointment last Thursday with my gynecologist (if you’ll recall, at my 6-week appointment, my internal incision wasn’t quite healed up). It was again not quite there, so she hit it up with the friggin’ silver nitrate a little. This time around it hurt a lot more than last time, WHICH I ENJOYED SO. She told me that I didn’t have to come back for another follow-up, but to let her know if I had any problems.

I don’t intend to have any problems. I am not fond of that damn drive, I’m telling you.

The thing about my gynecologist’s office is that instead of calling the day before to remind you of your appointment, they now call you two days before. And when you answer the phone, they make sure they have the right person on the line, and then they remind you that you have an appointment.

Then there’s this pause. I always say “Okay!”, expecting that they’ll say “See you then!” and hang up.

But they don’t.

What they do is remind you that if you don’t show up for your appointment or cancel it at least 24 hours in advance, they’ll bill you for the office visit. And I always feel really defensive, like “BUT I WAS PLANNING ON BEING THERE!”, like they KNOW me, and KNOW that my REAL plan was to just ditch the appointment and not bother to cancel in advance. Which would be stupid on my part, because I have to go back eventually, right?

(Well, I guess I don’t. I could always find a gynecologist nearer, I know But I’m too lazy to go looking for another gynecologist right now.)

When they called on Tuesday to remind me of my Thursday appointment, I confused the lady who called by saying “8:45, right? I’ll be there!”, and she just meekly said yes and hung up.

Had I known that the Census Bureau would be wasting MY TAX DOLLARS by sending me a postcard letting me know that my census form was on the way and THEN sending the census form and THEN sending another postcard to inform me that I should have gotten the census form, I wouldn’t have been quite so fast to fill the damn thing out and send it back. The SAME DAY, I sent that stupid thing back.

Will they be calling me now, to check and make sure I understand that they know I filled it out? Will they be knocking on my door? “Mrs. Anderson, it says here that there are only two people living here, but HOLY CRAP you spend a lot at Sam’s. Can you explain that to us? Also, the washer seems to run a lot, as shown here by your water bill. Cats? You have cats? Really, I don’t think a couple of cats would make… Oh. 11? You have 11 cats? In this house? Oh… and five fosters. So that makes… Okay, so two people and 16 cats. I see. Well, we’re going to need to put you on the SPECIAL list….”

Fucking census people, mind your own fucking business. Unless you wanna find out how many GUNS two people and 16 cats can cram into one house*.

(Attention FBI and other law enforcement: That is not a threat. That is me being annoyed and talking shit.)

*I don’t know how many. A lot. Enough so that Fred and I could each have one in each hand and one in each foot with a few left over. Not that I’m saying my toes are strong enough to pull the trigger of a gun, but you know, desperate times call for desperate measures. And unless you count the shootout over the kibble between the Bookworms yesterday, no one’s been shot yet. YET. But I’ve got guns and I know how to use ’em, stalkers. That’s all I’m saying.

I’m sorry, does that little face KILL YOU DEAD like it kills me?

Dreamy little Corbett. He is just SO FREAKIN’ GORGEOUS, I can’t stand it.

“Halp! HALP I SAY!”

“Who, me? Sharpening my claws on your jeans? I’d NEVER.”

“Hellow.”

“Okay, hi, my eyes are UP HERE, if you don’t MIND. Jeez.”

Tommy needs a good dusting, apparently.

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: If you see my bottle of Feliway, please send it home. Thankyew.
2007: “If a fluffy black cat prances across the yard, goes upstairs and shits on the carpet, could you give us a call?”
2006: “Hmm,” I said, like that meant something to me.
2005: Just because the fuckers are talking to me doesn’t mean I’m obligated to listen to their bullshit, does it?
2004: What exactly the fuck was I supposed to be doing at 5:30 on a Sunday afternoon, running for fucking president?
2003: No entry.
2002: Apparently the Committee for Deciding Who is Hellbound was meeting in the waiting room.
2001: “Jesus has arrived in Madison,” he said nonchalantly.
2000: Now that, my friends, is wickedly fast.