Category: Life

NAME ONE OF EMMY’S (future, as yet unborn) BABIES!

Go here to find out how!

And here to see the spreadsheet

Aside from my main email address, I also have a second email address that consists of my first name and my second name at gmail, and there are Robyn Andersons all OVER the world who are under the impression that my email address is their email address, and they hand out that email address to, it seems, everyone they say hello to, because every so often I get an email address intended for someone who is not me but has my name. For one, someone in Australia let me know that they wouldn’t be attending Joe’s party. Which is probably a good thing, because I didn’t want to plan Joe’s party anyway, GOD.

Last Summer, I had this email exchange (I may have covered this here already, I don’t remember) :

They said: Hi, Robyn. Hey, we did SOME work on the burn pile yesterday (Sunday), but the heat was really beating us down. That, and I believe there’s more work there than meets the eye. We’ve moved some of it to the street, but we really didn’t make much of a dent. Perhaps we can discuss, again, the merits of moving the pile as opposed to burning it down and cleaning it up in the Fall.

Thanks

I said: Dave, since the burn pile in my back field is still where it’s been since a tornado came through here at the end of April, I’m going to assume you’ve got the wrong email address. 🙂

He said: Wow. Sorry about that. How long have you had this e-mail address, because I could swear I used to be able to connect with MY Robyn Anderson at this address. And not everybody has a burn pile. It’s funny that you do, AND you spell your name the same way. 🙂

I said: Well, I’ve had it since 2004. Possibly there’s supposed to be a middle initial in there or something for your Robyn Anderson? I get a lot of emails meant for a lot of different Robyn Andersons, from Australia to Canada to points all over the US. There are more of us than you’d expect, I guess! 🙂

Some lady in Australia emailed to let me know that: Please find attached your service/inspection report. Should you have any queries regarding the attached please don’t hesitate to contact me.

Then yesterday, I got an email from someone with a link to online divorce in Illinois (though the email sender was emailing from Texas) and an email that consisted of There are quite a few of these. I also printed off all the information and forms you will need to proceed with the filing. C ya.

The emails have, at least, dropped off so that I maybe get a couple of them a month, so they’re not SUCH a big pain in the butt (though I did get an email to confirm a dental appointment for a Robyn Anderson elsewhere and I cancelled it OH YES I DID because I was in a bad mood at the moment and GODDAMN, really, you people don’t know your own damn email addresses?), and most of the time if it’s of a personal nature I’ll email the sender back to let them know they have the wrong email address because I’m nice like that.

I have a forwarder on that email address to forward emails to the main address that I use, or I’d only see the emails when it occurred to me to log in and check (which I never do), because at some point I thought it would be a super awesome idea to use that email address (instead of my main email address) to give to stores when I sign up for oh, whatever the fuck they call their special savings cards. You know, the ones you put on your keychain and they scan at checkout and you save like 5 cents per can of cat food or whatever (I have about 15 of those cards on my keychain, and the ONLY one I ever use is the one at Petsmart and it’s a pain in the ass to look through them all to find the Petsmart one, GRRR MY LIFE IS SO HARRRRRRRRRD), only then I forgot I was doing this (I have all these FABULOUS fucking ideas but I am too much an airhead to remember them from one minute to the next) and started giving stores my main email address, and oh. What a fucking mess.

I don’t know why I bothered with setting up the forwarder, though, all I get from that email address are emails I don’t particularly want (why does Jo-Ann Fabrics send me like 300 emails a month when I visit there almost never?), if I turned off the forwarder, I’d never have to see them.

BUT I MIGHT MISS SOMETHING IMPORTANT.

Gah.

Shut up, me.

Long story short (too late!), Illinois Robyn Anderson is getting divorced, I guess. Though I’m not sure why her friend in Texas is being so helpful. I should have asked.

I have to go for a mammogram this morning. I don’t want to, I seriously considered canceling it, but I have other errands that need to be done out in that general direction of Huntsville, and I need to just get it the hell done and over with. This will be my first mammogram where I’ll be sporting boobs that are firm and perky rather than like lemons in tube socks, so I expect that it’ll be pretty uncomfortable.

SO looking forward to it. Fun times!

Some quick TV talk:

Gossip Girl: I wish the writers would stop trying to force this stupid, loathsome COMPLETELY unbelievable story line wherein Blair has a thing for Dan. If Dan Humphries is not the most boring character on all of TV I don’t know who is. He cannot possibly pull off this scruffy artiste look he’s got going on, can’t we write him going over a mountain and dying a painful, permanent death, please?

Revenge: I’m starting to catch up, finally (watching it on my iPod), and I have two things to say: (1) Emily VanCamp (Emily Thorne) is supposed to be badass and threatening and hell-bent on vengeance, but dear, dear girl, you sweet little muffin, you are about as scary as a marauding pack of cotton balls. You make me giggle at the beginning of every show when you lisp about your father dying “an innothent man.” (2) Is there any actress in all of Hollywood more wooden than Madeleine Stowe? I think not. Oh, and bonus (3) Connor Paolo (Declan Whozits)’s fakey Massachusetts accent gets all OVER my nerves. That said, I’m enjoying the show quite a bit.

Speaking of actresses, I read somewhere (in a gossip magazine, so take it with a grain of salt) that Angelina Jolie refuses to even acknowledge the existence of George Clooney’s current girlfriend (Stacey something?), and that it doesn’t matter to George Clooney because he finds Angelina Jolie a pain in the ass and doesn’t care what she thinks. The idea that Angelina Jolie might be a pain in the ass does not surprise me one teeny tiny little bit.

Everett has gone off to Petsmart, hopefully to be adopted so fast it makes our heads spin. He howled and howled and howllllllled all the way there, and then when I put him in the cage with Lucy, he hissed at her, hissed at me, and hissed at the employee walking by on the other side of the glass.

Drama queen.

Lucy was okay; when I walked in, she meowed and ran over to the door of her cage and slithered through when I opened it to put Everett inside. She purred when I picked her up and nuzzled her behind the ear, and she was okay with going back into the cage.

Sally, on the other hand, was sitting in front of her litter box (basically, as far from the door of her cage as she could get), and wouldn’t come to me no matter how much I sweet-talked her. I finally had to take the litter box out to reach her, and then I petted her and scratched her under the chin and she purred for me, but wouldn’t come over to me, so I didn’t push it.

I worry about her – I really thought that being in a cage by herself would bring her out of her shell, but it doesn’t appear to be doing that. I hope that she calms down and relaxes a little – I hate the thought of her being there, unadopted. You can’t really blame people for not wanting to adopt a cat who won’t show the slightest bit of affection. I did put a note on her description saying that she’s scared in new situations and once she warms up she’s a total sweetheart. Hopefully someone will come along who’s willing to give her a chance.

I’d love to make her a permanent resident – I’d love to make all three of them permanent residents, really – but I’m not kidding when I say that we’re over capacity on the permanent residents. It’s tough to see them go, and I hate to see them sitting there, but I have to have faith that the right people will come along and fall in love with them.

Everett, flirting with da bird.

And getting a bit too close to Miz Poo, who was aghast.

She reached out to smack him, but he was too fast for her, and was keeping his eye on da bird.

Then he went and sat in the box.

A lot.

All day Sunday, he carried this green sparkle ball around, keening as though he’d killed something and deserved praise.

Such a cutie pie.

I have to say, I think he went off to Petsmart just in time. Yesterday morning when I came downstairs, I found him sitting in the back yard at the bottom of the steps, looking around. At eight months old, he’d finally figured out the cat door.

No babies for Emmy yet. Every time I leave the house for longer than a few minutes, I rush up to the foster room to see if she’s birthed those babies yet. She yawns at me and says “What babies?”

She is absolutely packed full of kittens, that one. You can’t tell so clearly when she’s laying in her basket or hanging out in her kennel, but yesterday she flopped down on the floor, and I could see the writhing mass of kittens moving and kicking in her belly. I spotted what was, without a doubt, a kitten foot moving across her side. It is so cool and so weird to watch (and to feel).

I can’t wait to meet those babies. ANY DAY NOW, EMMY.

“Just hanging out on my shelf. No babies here!”

(We were doing the slow-blink love-eyes at each other.)

“I am not pregnant. I am just full-figured.”

Stinkerbelle, atop her pantry. Going by the look on her face, I suspect she was looking at Tommy.

Previously
2011: Behold, I continue to live!
2010: No entry.
2009: No entry.
2008: Damn those cats and their Snackin’ Time.
2007: Who knew that Hellcats enjoy ripping eyeballs from your face and then batting them around the room?
2006: Yeah, one of those days.
2005: So sue me.
2004: Always.
2003: What keeps me sane.
2002: No entry.
2001: Plants.
2000: Translation: I’m going to get a gown that will cover your fat ass.

NAME ONE OF EMMY’S (future, as yet unborn) BABIES!

Go here to find out how!

And here to see the spreadsheet

Over at Dinosaurs Can’t Eat Pizza, Nance and I made Pork and Corn Stuffing Bake this week!

Fred had Friday off, and while I’d like to report that we did lots of fun and exciting stuff on Friday, what we mostly did was run a few errands and then sat on the couch and watched movies, nothing too exciting, just stuff on the Netflix queue. Actually, Fred watched the movies while I lay on the couch and read magazines and played Words with Friends.

Saturday morning started off SUPER fun. We’ve been having an issue with the XBox wherein we’ll be watching a movie and it’ll cut off because the wireless connection has dropped. Which is super annoying if you’re trying to watch a movie you want to see, obviously. So we ordered a cable from Amazon and it arrived Friday, which meant that Saturday morning I had to crawl under the house and take one end from a hole in the floor of the computer room, and wiggle-squirm my way to the other end of the house and pass the cable up the hole in the front room, behind the TV.

It is completely, totally, I am not shitting you, NO FUN being under the house. It’s weird and creepy and cramped. Fred has a strong dislike (I didn’t say “fear”!) for small spaces, and I’m smaller than he is, AND I was willing to do it, so that’s why I was running the cable and he was not. I was able to crawl on my hands and knees for a few short distances, but most of the way I had to wriggle on my stomach to get under the ductwork. The distance from the computer room to the front room isn’t far at all if you’re walking it, but if you’re crawling it, and it’s dark, and you’re wriggling on your stomach, it seems like three miles. I talked encouragingly to myself the entire way, causing Fred to yell “Who are you talking to?!” “MYSELF!” I bellowed. But I wish I’d told him there was a nice man down there with me, I bet that would have creeped him out.

The ground is covered in heavy black plastic, and the only living things under there aside from me were spiders (spiders don’t scare me), and Fred has reported that a lot of Cave Crickets (AKA Camel Crickets, AKA Spider Crickets) live under there and hang out on the “ceiling” (ie, the underside of the floor), but I didn’t see any. Probably because I didn’t look up; I prefer to live in ignorance, thank you. There’s no way for anything bigger than a mouse to get under the house (there are grates on all four sides, and the only way for anything bigger to get in is to go through the door that I went through), but that didn’t stop me from being dead certain that I was going to come face to face with an angry, hissing, possibly rabid possum.

The worst part of the whole thing was getting to the hole at the front of the house, passing up the cable, and then knowing that I had to turn around and go all the damn way back. I was breathing really hard (wriggling like that is HARD WORK. I bet worms have awesome abs.) and I stopped for a moment to rest and put my head down and I thought “I could just stay here forever, I don’t want to wriggle all the way back there” and then I thought “Is this what a panic attack feels like?” and then I thought “Okay, you big fat whiny INFANT, MOVE YOUR ASS” (which is what I often say to myself when I want to get off the elliptical after three minutes), and I wriggled my way back.

I was filthy and my shoulders and knees hurt like a motherfucker, but I got over it and I lived. My shoulders and abs are sore, but I lived.

The best part? I get to do it again next weekend, because when Fred was making the hole that the wires were going through bigger to accommodate the new wire, he cut through the wire that connects my computer to the, uh, whatever the hell it’s called. The magical thing that connects my computer to the internet. I’m currently connecting wirelessly, but I can definitely tell the difference – it’s faster when I’m hard-wired. The new cable will be here this week, and next weekend I’ll be back under the house.

This time I’m taking the camera with me. And I MIGHT even look up. If I see a million cave crickets staring down at me, I’ll probably have a heart attack.

Sunday, we went to the recycling center, and then we went on a scenic drive where we ended up at our favorite feed store and got to look at the animals, which is always fun.

Cute but nope, still don’t want sheep.

Ducks and geese and goats.

I don’t know what kind of ducks these are, but they sure are pretty.

I love llamas. They have such attitude.

This little goat was crying and crying for his mama.

“Maaaamaaaaaa!” Nope, still don’t want goats.

Then we came home and I did laundry and we both hung out with Emmy and then there might have been napping on the couch.

Also, it was sunny all weekend, and we have been NEEDING some sunshine, and I understand it’s supposed to get up into the 70s this week.

I have no complaints about the weather at this juncture.

No babies yet! We’ve made more progress with her – she ate in front of us, and Fred actually got her interested in playing briefly at one point over the weekend. She still isn’t coming over to us for petting, but I’m sure that’ll happen in time. Right now all she wants to do is eat and sleep. She’s eating pretty much everything we put in front of her, apparently she’s not a picky girl.

NOM.

“I approve of this stuff, lady.”

When the bowl was empty, she sat and licked her lips for a long time.

Then she took a bath.

Then she looked at me.

Then she headed toward her basket and stopped for a rest on the shelf.

She gave Fred a look…

And then settled down in her basket for a long nap in the sun.

The good news is that Sissy Bear Cub, the cat that Lucy was sharing a cage with at Petsmart, has been adopted. That’s good news because Sissy Bear Cub is a black cat who’s been at Petsmart for a long, long time. The bad news is that now there’s room at Petsmart – which means that later this morning, I’ll be taking Everett to Petsmart to share a cage with Lucy.

There’s a “Top Reasons to Adopt a Black Cat” printout on the outside of Lucy (and now Everett’s) cage that I’m going to reprint with a few of Everett’s jumping pictures included, so maybe that’ll catch someone’s eye and make them take a second look at Everett and Lucy (and Sally in her own cage).

Fingers crossed that all three of the black Peppers are adopted quickly. I have a good feeling about this!

I sure am going to miss Everett and his crazy jumping ways, though.

::grab::

He’s just so CASUAL about being way up there in the air. It seems to take him very little effort at all.

“Ho hum, hanging out here in the air again.”

That right there is an interesting position.

Interpretive dance.

Considering his next move.

The property next door belongs to a church. When the tornado came through (and passed by about half a mile from us) last April, several trees on the church property fell down, taking some of our trees with them. There was some cleanup on both sides, but there are several dead trees just kind of hanging out on the edge of our property. Last week I glanced out the window and saw Newt exploring.

It’s hard to tell, but he was about fifteen feet up, just kind of checking things out. I see a lot of squirrels run around on those trees, so maybe he was hoping to find a squirrel snack.

He looked around for a few minutes, then turned around and came back down, safe and sound.

Previously
2011: No entry.
2010: No entry.
2009: I call it “SHUT THE DOOR! I’M LAYING AN EGG! GOD!!!”
2008: All that said, I can tell you that, somehow, Paula Deen annoys the fucking shit out of me.
2007: Just call me Betty Homemaker.
2006: I swear to god, I have NO CONTROL over what comes out of my mouth sometimes.
2005: No entry.
2004: Dude, what the fuck? I don’t talk for 20 to 30 minutes on the phone to people I know and LIKE, let alone some strange man from the CDC!
2003: A Day in the Life of Mr. Fancypants.
2002: No entry.
2001: But I kinda like the irritability.
2000: My heart stopped, my jaw dropped, and I whispered “Oh, shiiiiiiiiiiit!”

Tandem jumping, starring Alice Mo and Lucy Peppers.

Alice Mo is 1/16th Cherokee. True story.

Eye on the prize.

Got too close to Lucy Peppers, got all hissy. Lucy looks terrified, no?

Okay, drama queen, dial it back.

“NO REALLY I AM NOT KIDDING YOU, LUCY PEPPERS ::HISS::HISS::HISS:: ”

Lucy’s like “No, seriously. WHAT is her problem?”

Leapin’ Lucy.

Apparently that jump was just an excuse to get closer to Alice and unleash the Peppers Paw o’ Doom. She’s a smart girl, that Lucy Peppers.

The bullies always crumble when you stand up to them, don’t they? A LIFE LESSON FOR YOU.

Note that she hisses at Corbie as she brushes by him, but he’s concentrating so hard on the teaser that he doesn’t even notice her.

Thank you all for the name and group name suggestions! I am definitely naming little mama “Emmy”, and the litter name will be (drumroll please) “The Nominees.”

A couple of people suggested that group name, but Andrea/ Luanne suggested it first, which means that she wins bragging rights! Try not to let it go to your head, Andrea, though I’m sure that you’ll make room on your resume for that. 🙂

The list of names that are in the running for the kittens (whenever they may come) are: Golden, Clio, Obie, Tony, Razzie (Fred insists that it’s “ie” not “y”. WHATEVS.), Espy, Darwin, Hugo, Sama, Olivier, Genie, Brit, Dundee, Peabody, and Pulitzer. These names are not in the running because they’ve been used for shelter cats in the past: Oscar, Juno, and Felix.

I can pretty much guarantee you that we’re going to have a Darwin and a Razzie out of this litter, because I REALLY like those names. Well, I like all of those names, actually, but I like Darwin and Razzie especially.

Mama Emmy is doing well. She seems to prefer to spend her days in the kennel and her nights in the basket on the wall. She’s no longer holding her ears out to the side in a manner that suggests “I hate you and want to kill you”, but rather holds them in a more relaxed, perked manner. I decided to stop being scared of her because I think that bringing that kind of energy into the room with me was not a good idea (have I been watching My Cat From Hell, do you think?) and look – if she lashes out and scratches me, it won’t be the first or last time that happens to me. I make frequent short trips into the room to visit her, and rub her ears each and every time, which she enjoys. She also talks to me a little – she talks to Fred more than she does to me, but I think we’ve established that the mama cats have a deep and abiding love for him.

She also howls at night. I thought, the first night it happened, that it might mean she was ready to have her kittens, but it’s been three nights running now, and there aren’t any kittens yet. I’m sure that she’s lonely – there were a lot of cats in that house where she was living, so being alone is probably not something she’s accustomed to. I had thought at first that maybe we should see about bringing another cat from that house here to keep her company, but mama cats are protective of their kittens and I’d hate to bring a cat into the room to keep her company, only to have her stressed about protecting her kittens from the other cat. I think that she’s still scared and lonely and just not sure what to make of this whole situation. But we are making progress, little by little, so I think we’re going to be okay.

She drew first blood on Fred yesterday, though it was HIS OWN FAULT. He tried to pick her up – have I mentioned that he always pushes the new cats further than I think he should? – and in her strong desire to get away from him, she scratched up his arms with her back claws.

I mean, let us not forget that when he tried to pick Rufus up, WAY before Rufus was ready to be picked up, we ended up with poop on the wall.

Isn’t she a purty girl?

Okay, a little bit glare-y. But I did wake her up. Maybe she’s grumpy when she first wakes up.

I was able to finally get a good look at her belly, though I didn’t touch it. I can report that I absolutely, definitely saw baby movement. I bet it won’t be TOO long now! (Though of course I thought that exact same thing with Maggie when we brought her home last year, and she hung in there for over two weeks before she had her babies!)

Spanky, mid-yawn.

He’s such a sweet boy.

Previously
2011: She lubs her daddy.
2010: Until then, may all your tunes be loony.
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: I’d hate for him to be able to CLIMB things.
2006: HOT MONKEY SEX, that’s what.
2005: I can tell you this – I’m not terribly fond of my mailman right now.
2004: No entry.
2003: No entry.
2002: Not bad, since it’s been ten years or so since I read the play, eh?
2001: Resolutions for 2001.
2000: Well, apparently “coke” sounded like “coffee” to the Einstein taking my order.

This Friday will mark six weeks since I re-started exercising on a regular basis. Before that, it had been yeeeeeears since I lifted a weight or did any kind of cardio. I’ve been “going to” restart the exercising for all those years, but damn. Exercise is borrrrrrrring.

Don’t even try to convince me otherwise, okay? I don’t want to run (my knees won’t let me), I’m not interested in yoga (and don’t try to convince me otherwise), I hate walking (the roads aren’t particularly safe around here and I don’t want to drive 10 minutes up the road to use the walking path near the high school because WALKING IS BORING.)

To fully understand my opinion on this topic, imagine that I’ve thrown myself on the floor and am flopping around like a fish and whining the whinest whine possible when I say, GODDAMN IS EXERCISING BORING.

So at the beginning of the year I had a come to Jesus meeting with myself, and I was all “Look, you. Either you’re going to be a doddering old lady, or you’re going to be a doddering old lady who can’t open the two liter bottle of Diet Coke without help. WHICH IS IT GOING TO BE?”

I like me some Diet Coke, so after more whining and flopping around on the floor, I got bored with complaining and sucked it up. (“But Robyn, I thought you weren’t supposed to drink diet soda after weight loss surgery?!” Yes, and I’m not supposed to have 13 cats in one house because that’s totally crazypants. I’M A REBEL.)

For the past five (six as of this coming Friday) weeks, I’ve worked out four days a week, and I’m sorry? Did you just sneer at me? Because let me ask you this: which is better, exercising four days a week when YOU think I should be exercising five or six, or exercising NO days a week because I’m in prison for running you down with my car because you got all judgey on my ass?

(Rhetorical question, because the judge would totally be on my side.)

ANYWAY.

Four days a week, I exercise. I take Wednesdays off, and I exercise thusly: Monday and Thursday I lift upper body weights (chest, shoulders, back, biceps, triceps) and then do 20 minutes of High Intensity Interval Training on the elliptical, and then on Tuesday and Fridays, I do lower body weights (quads, hamstrings, calves, abs) and 20 minutes of High Intensity Interval Training on the elliptical. My weight lifting is three sets of ten, one exercise per body part, plus an additional set of ten of a completely different exercise for the same body part. I lift heavyish, but not to failure.

I don’t love it. In fact GODDAMN IS IT BORING. But as I told Nance and Crazy Jane the Runner a few weeks ago, my mantra when it comes to exercising is “I don’t have to love it, I just have to do it.”

“But Robyn! Dr. Blah-de-blah says that blah blah blah cardio for AT LEAST SIXTY MINUTES SIX DAYS A WEEK!” Well, girlfriend, if you want to slog your way through sixty minutes of cardio six days a week, do please knock yourself out. The way I have my fancy exercise schedule set up, I am never more than two days away from a day off. Some days, that’s the only knowledge that gets my ass out of bed.

What’s the best kind of exercise you can do? Class? Anyone? Bueller? That’s RIGHT: the BEST exercise is the exercise you’ll actually DO. I’ve managed to force myself through 50 – 60 minutes of exercise four days a week for the past five weeks, and so that’s what works for me. Might I wake up one day, say “Fuck this” and then never exercise again? I very well might. But then again, yesterday morning I woke up, said “Fuck this”, turned over to go back to sleep, petted Everett Peppers for five minutes, then got my ass out of bed and exercised – and went the furthest distance I’ve ever gone in 20 minutes on the elliptical.

If you find an exercise you actually enjoy, then I’m happy for you. With the rare exception, I just don’t enjoy exercising (I have a weird love for triceps exercises, especially pushdowns, OH MY GOD I LOVE THOSE THINGS and I also loathe the actual act of quadriceps extensions, but ADORE the way my legs feel afterward)

Okay, here’s my dirty little secret: my favorite part of the day is when the exercising is done and I stumble back to the house on legs that are shaky and trembly. I love noodle legs. So I guess what I’m saying is that I hate the exercising, but love the way I feel afterward. It’s like brushing my teeth. The act of brushing them is OH MY GOD SO BORRRRRRRING ::flopping around on the floor whining whinily:: but I do love the feel of clean teeth.

(Hey, remember the Pearl Drops commercial where she ran her tongue across her teeth and was all orgasmic about her clean and shiny teeth? God, I hated that. Put your tongue back in your mouth, freak. No one needs to see that shit.)

We have a TV and DVD player AND a VCR out in the garage (note to the whippersnappers: before movies came in digital or DVD form, they came on these big ol’ blocky things called “tapes” and it took like 43 days to rewind the fucking things, and you HAD to rewind them before you returned them to the movie store, or they’d charge you $1 for not rewinding. Rewinding is when you hit a button so that the tape would… You know what? You’re on the computer right now, you go Google that shit. I’m sure someone somewhere has a page on the oddities of how the old folks used to watch movies). When I first started working out, I was watching movies. I watched The Cutting Edge (I say that When Harry Met Sally is my favorite movie, but I think that The Cutting Edge might really be my real favorite. My god, I love that movie.) and Music and Lyrics, Boys on the Side, Clueless – a bunch of movies that I happened to pick up at a movie sale a few years ago. What I need when I’m working out is something I can watch, that will entertain me, BUT that I don’t have to keep my eyes and attention on the entire time. Those movies worked for me because I’d seen them all before.

Then I ran out of movies.

I had NO idea what the hell I was going to watch. I mean, I’ve got a ton of stuff on my Netflix queue, but it was all stuff that I wanted to see, and that I needed to pay attention to. For instance, I plan to start watching Downton Abbey (YES, for the love of all that is holy, you fuckers have made me curious enough to give it a try!), but I suspect that I’d be missing out if I needed to turn away and do bent-over rows and couldn’t watch the TV the whole time (I mean, I could still keep my eyes on the TV, but the show wouldn’t have my 100% attention because I’d be counting to 10 WHICH REQUIRES MORE CONCENTRATION THAN YOU’D THINK, it’s easy to lose count).

And then I had a stroke of brilliance.

Last week I started watching the first season of Friends while I work out. I love that show so very much, AND THERE ARE TEN SEASONS OF IT! It is absolutely perfect, exactly what I need. When I’ve watched every episode, I’ll probably start watching Seinfeld. And then? I’ll start Friends all over again!

So there you go. More than you ever wanted to know about what I’m doing, four mornings a week. Sweating, swearing, and watching the best show ever.

(Also, on the days I get up to exercise, I actually set the alarm on my iPod Touch to wake me up at 5:30. I don’t jump right out of bed, but it gets me going (my alarm is the sound of ducks quacking, heh), and I’m usually done exercising right around 7:00.)

PS: I meant to say up there that what I like about High Intensity Interval Training is that I watch the seconds, and the minutes take care of themselves. I’m more concentrating on when the next minute comes around so I can up (or lower) the intensity than I am worrying about how much time I’ve got left. I discovered HIIT cardio years ago when Fred and I were following the Body for Life program. This time around I’m doing the HIIT for cardio, but not for weight lifting. Whatever works for me, right?

Mama kitty update (but no picture today, sorry). Yesterday the shelter manager, Susan, and another Challenger’s House volunteer/ foster mum, Winnie, stopped by. I took them up to peek in on mama kitty. Winnie petted her through the side of the kennel (which has mesh sides), and though mama kitty didn’t roll out the welcome mat or anything, she put up with it and didn’t move to the back of the kennel. Considering how freaked out she was Friday night, that’s definitely progress!

The biggest progress of the day happened when I was gone. Fred went up to the foster room with turkey – and she ate it OUT OF HIS HAND. This is the first time she’s eaten in front of either of us (until then, she was only eating when we weren’t around), and she took several pieces directly from him.

He has a way with the lady cats, that husband o’ mine.

Name update: I’m almost positive I’m going with Emmy as her name. Several of you suggestion Tabitha, but that’s been used by the shelter in the past. Someone also suggested Hope, which I really liked, but that’s been used as well. So I’m likely going to go with Emmy, and the naming theme? Awards. Possible names for kittens: Oscar, Golden, Clio, Obie, Tony, Razzy (that last one was a suggestion from Fred). Got an award name you want to throw into the hat? Let me know!

Also, I need suggestions for a name to call them as a group. Fred suggested “Pawards”, but that’s kind of awkward and doesn’t really roll off the tongue. Any suggestions?

At some point during his morning routine, Fred takes a few minutes to sit down on the kitchen floor. The cats gather around and he pets them and gives them love.

I know, right? SWEET.

Yesterday morning when he sat down, only Corbie and Kara were interested in being petted, which was unusual – usually most, if not all, of the cats come around for petting. After he’d given Corbie and Kara enough petting to get their day started right, he got up to go take his shower. Which is when he found all the rest of the cats, standing around the doorway to his bathroom. One of the cats – I highly suspect Everett – had noticed that when Fred puts da bird away, he puts it on the third shelf of the bookcase in the front room. Everett (just a guess) had climbed up there, grabbed it, and then pulled it into the bathroom. Fred said they were all standing around, their attention on the feathers, apparently waiting for it to start flying through the air.

Upon hearing that, I had to go around and squeeze the stuffing out of all the cats. SO CUTE.

So, Sally and Lucy are now at Petsmart. They howled all the way there, but once I got them settled in their cages (Sally’s in a cage by herself, and Lucy’s in a cage with another black cat who’s been there for quite a while), they seemed okay. I’ll report any adoptions as they happen, of course!

I love how you can see the shadow of da bird on the doorway.

Loony Jake joins in.

Whiskers in sunlight! Y’all know how I love that.

This is how an Everett jump goes. First, he’s suspended in mid-air for like 45 minutes.

Then he kicks his back legs out to prepare for landing.

Then he’s like “Okay, I’ve been up here long enough. Time to reach for the floor.”

BUT THEN, he realizes he’s made a terrible mistake! There’s looniness in the way! Abort, abort, abort! But the landing gear is already down! Oh NO!

Slooooooowwwwww mooooooootion craaaaaaaash.

(The open mouth kills me dead.)

But somehow, the mighty Everett survives to jump again.

One foot up, one foot down. Grabbing claws engaged.

Annnnnd ::FLOOP!:: Up he goes!

::HOVER::

Reach for the floor…

And a textbook landing. Nice job, Aviator Everett! Now go get some catnip and take it easy.

Newt, on one of his favorite places to hang out, the top of the truck. Bath time, too, apparently.

Previously
2011: No entry.
2010: No entry.
2009: No entry.
2008: I don’t think y’all need any more ammunition to prove that I’m a blithering idiot.
2007: “She keeps abandoning us for that damn Smallville house and those damn Smallville cats. Let’s pee in her bed, Suggie!”
2006: Holy hot dog! That’s a good freakin’ show!
2005: Questions answered.
2004: No entry.
2003: “Why, god? Whyyyyy?”
2002: He was in the room with me for less than 90 seconds. Was I happy? Oh, yes. Thrilled.
2001: I don’t know about that man…
2000: New vehicle.

There’s a group of more than 20 abandoned cats in Limestone County here in Alabama. Forgotten Felines, a local cat rescue, is spearheading an attempt to save this group. They need donations, please help out if you can!

The ChipIn page is here, with lots of pictures. Forgotten Felines’ Facebook page is here. Please spread the word!

I have been horribly lax in pointing y’all to Dinosaurs Can’t Eat Pizza. Nance and I made Hot Honeyed Spare Ribs this week. Last week, Nance made Black Bean Brownies, I made Oat Bran Muffins, and we both made Country Club Chicken. (Spoiler: not all of those recipes were hits with us!)

In case you missed it over the weekend, I posted on Saturday to announce our new foster, who is still not named. More about her later in the post.

Last week, I was thrilled to get an email from someone who adopted kittens who were our fosters five years ago. They were with us in January 2007, a mother and her three kittens. We named them Fantine (the mother, a calico), Javert, Eponine, and Cosette.

Yes, they were entirely too old to be nursing, but you know how kittens are. They’d nurse their entire lives if their mothers let them!

Eileen emailed to let me know that she had adopted Javert and Eponine.

Javert.

Eponine.

Mama Fantine (I love this picture).

Javert is now Gus, and Eponine is now Belle and Eileen had this to say:

I came across your blog, Love and Hisses, today. It’s funny because I’ve come across your blog before in the past, likely because you mention Challenger’s House (I don’t remember what I was searching for at the time, but your blog popped up in the results). But today I was looking at another person’s site that showed pictures of cats that they helped adopt out through Challenger’s House and I started thinking, wouldn’t it be great if I could find some pictures of my babies (cats) that I adopted? So I typed in their former names, added in Challenger’s house, and presto! Your blog popped up. I was extremely excited to see pictures of my 2 cats, Gus and Belle, formerly known as Javert and Eponine, who were fostered by you. And I was especially excited to see those fantastic pictures on your Flickr stream!! I don’t know that I ever got to see their mom, but wow was I amazed to see she is a beautiful Calico! I remember seeing Cosette at Petsmart, the day I adopted them (Jan 2007) and I felt awful that I wasn’t able to take her too. I just wanted to say thanks for taking those pictures 5 years ago, they are absolutely precious and a joy to look at. I felt like I got a little glimpse into their past.

Sorry for the long email, I was just ecstatic to come across their photos, and wanted to let you know that I really enjoyed seeing photos of my little darlings, Gus and Belle.

Here are the pictures Eileen sent – I think it’s safe to say that Gus and Belle got even more gorgeous as they grew up!

I cannot help it, that tiny tie is just absolutely killing me DEAD.

Eileen, thank you so much for the update! I love to hear how our former fosters are doing, and seeing your great pictures of them was awesome.

We are making teeny tiny inroads with little mama, progress that is pretty much invisible to the naked eye, but we know they’re there. She’s still scared, but Fred is taking the lead on this (he tends to take the lead with the scaredy cats, because he has a pretty good feel for these things – whereas I would prefer to stand back and let the progress happen on its own, he rushes in, and somehow it works.) So far, he’s been able to pet her (first with a leather glove on, and then once she stopped objecting to being petted he petted her with his bare hand), and she’ll “talk” to him occasionally. She doesn’t seem to much enjoy the petting, but she tolerates it, and that’s something she wasn’t putting up with when we first brought her home.

She spends most of her time either in the basket on the wall or in the kennel (which is covered with a towel). Occasionally she’ll push her way behind the kennel, but comes out when we pull the kennel away from the wall.

Saturday night, after making us worry, she ate the bowl of chicken baby food and deli turkey that we left for her, as well as some of the kitten kibble. She also used the litter box more than once, which I was glad to see. There were other signs that she’d been exploring the rest of the room – not that there’s much to explore, but she knocked over the pillow by the door, and possibly batted a toy across the room (though it’s also possible that Fred or I kicked the toy across the room without realizing it).

She’s still unnamed, but I’m leaning toward naming her Emmy. I like good, solid, simple names for our mama cats – Kara and Maggie were names that came to me pretty quickly and I consider Emmy to be in that same line. Nothing’s written in stone yet, though, I’ll keep y’all informed!

This is the kennel – it might look familiar to you if you were following along when we had Maggie last year.

“I not love you, lady.”

“This guy who gives the ear scritches, though, he’s kind of okay.”

“You go ‘way and leave me alone with the ear scritcher, mm’kay?”

Why do I suspect that after Kara and Maggie were kind enough to give birth to their kittens during daytime hours (well, Kara had hers in the evening) so we could witness the blessed event, this mama is planning to birth hers in the middle of the night?

This evening, I’ll be taking Sally and Lucy to Petsmart. Ordinarily I’d wait and take them tomorrow morning (adoption hours are held Tuesday evening), but I’m honestly not confident that I’ll be able to get both girls into carriers without help from Fred. They are wily and slinky and good at hiding, so I’ll need him to grab one while I grab the other, and we’ll stick them into carriers at the same time so we don’t end up putting one in a carrier and then have to hunt the other one down.

Y’all keep your fingers crossed that they’re adopted quickly, won’t you? For the past week or so, both girls have taken to jumping up onto the bed the instant they hear me turn over in the morning. They lay on me and purr, roll around, knead, and peep at me. They are just the sweetest girls! I’m going to miss them – and yet, I hope I get to miss them and that they don’t end up having to come back here for another break.

Every Pepper loves that catnip banana.

Miz Poo critiques Everett’s form: “Not high enough.”

Corbie jumps in and grabs da bird.

Everett supervises.

Crazy Corbs.

Got it!

Not ever going to let it go.

No, seriously. She’s not letting go.

“MINE.”

Miss Maxi keeps an eye on her property.

I don’t know what I was doing here, but it was clearly causing the Ears of Annoyance.

One of the compost heaps. Or, as Maxi sees it, a warm place to hang out (that’s bedding that came from the chicken coop last Fall. I’m sure it’s nice and warm as it composts.)

Previously
2011: No entry.
2010: Do you remember Hoyt?
2009: EVERYONE knows that Fred likes cheese, just not on a salad.
2008: About ten minutes after Lupe started her circuit of the kitchen, I heard her sing a happy little song and went into the kitchen to find that she’d docked herself and was happily recharging.
2007: “Hey,” I said despondently. “He’s dead.”
2006: But I’m afraid that now it’s tasted human blood, it’s going to require a periodic human sacrifice.
2005: No entry.
2004: The Bean appeared before me, eyes wide and dark, a sad little I’m a poor kitty who has lost his way look on his face.
2003: They freaked out.
2002: Um. In yesterday’s entry, I MEANT to link to Fred with the words “nice butt”, not MYSELF.
2001: We got proof today that we, in fact, do not have two gay hamsters.
2000: No entry.

Just a quick one today!

There’s a group of more than 20 abandoned cats in Limestone County here in Alabama. Forgotten Felines, a local cat rescue, is spearheading an attempt to save this group. They need donations, please help out if you can!

The ChipIn page is here, with lots of pictures. Forgotten Felines’ Facebook page is here. Please spread the word!

So, that group of 20+ abandoned cats I mentioned up there? Well, it just so happens that since the Peppers are going to start to go to Petsmart, and since they’ve been out in the house 24/7 lately, the foster room was available. Last night, we got this sweet girl from Michelle at Forgotten Felines:

Oh, and? She’s in a family way. Which means KITTENS up in this house! Possibly soon!

She’s scared to death, and we haven’t been able to get our hands on her – she hisses and growls at the idea of being petted, she’s not eating despite the many different foods we’ve offered her. Mostly, she hides. We had to take the cat tree out of there, because she was hiding on the bottom of it, and I’ll be honest – I didn’t want her to give birth on that cat tree ’cause it’s less than a month old! I had put the kennel in the room, and she hid behind it, so I moved it against the wall so she can’t get behind it. She sat in the wall basket for a while, and then finally made her way into the kennel.

Fred got her to “talk” back to him a couple of times, but for the past few hours she’s been in the kennel, curled up in one corner, ignoring any attempts we make to engage with her.

I haven’t honestly been able to get a good look at her midsection. I only know that she’s pregnant because I’ve been told – Michelle was able to handle her briefly and said that she’s lumpy. Fred said that she’s “huge” (which, let me remind y’all, is what he said about Maggie last year, and then it was weeks before Maggie had her babies). If I were given a choice in the matter – and I know it’s certainly not up to me – I’d like it if we had at least a week to try to get this new girl to warm up to us. It’s been less than a day, and honestly we don’t know what she’s been through in her life – she was living in an abandoned house with a bunch of other cats, then she was snatched up into a carrier, taken to a vet to be tested, driven to a place she’s never been, and put in a room by herself.

I’d be scared too!

Fingers crossed that she comes around and that she starts eating. We’ve tried tempting her with canned kitten food, baby food, the stinkiest canned cat food we have, Bonito flakes – she’s just too scared at this point, I think. If I have to, I’ll run over to the store and buy some canned mackerel and see if that won’t get her interested. I know that their appetites drop down to just about nothing in the day or so before they give birth, so we’ll see. We’ve certainly had kittens in the past who were this scared or even scareder, so I’m not giving up hope.

She doesn’t have a name – we haven’t even really discussed a naming theme yet. Fred wants to wait ’til the kittens are born, maybe we’ll do that. We’ll see!

How funny is it that this is the third pregnant cat we’ve had, and they’ve all been brown tabbies?

Everett likes to pick fights with his sisters, who are VERY annoyed by him. The other day he and Sally were hanging out on the walkway around the kitchen, and he decided to get obnoxious.

Sally’s minding her own business, and Everett comes over and gets all up in her space and is like ::SNIFFFFFF::

Sally’s appalled and is all “RESPECT THE BUBBLE!”

“Oh, THIS bubble right here?” ::poke::

“Stop TOUCHING me with your nasty, stinky boy paw.”

::POKE::

“Ugh! God! Stupid boy! Get away from me!”

“STOP sniffing me!”

“::SNIFF::”
“Ugh, you are SUCH a jerk!”

“I can’t wait to go to Petsmart and get a cage by myself away from YOU!”

Then of course Everett is like “Wait – where ya goin’?!”

Pardon me, Sir, your tunes appear to be loony.

Previously
2011: Higggggggggggggggggggh.
2010: Gone for a week and a day and THAT GODDAMN UTERUS is still makin’ my life difficult!
2009: I held up four fingers. “I. Have. A. TOTAL. Of. Four. Buckets. Of. Litter.” I said slowly.
2008: This is my “What the fuck am I supposed to do here with this board that isn’t as tall as the others?” face.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: Amazon is the Jonathan Baker of boyfriends.
2004: I could have crowned myself “The Queen of Fuck.”
2003: Because M&Ms rock, and so does my husband.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Have I mentioned that three-day weekends rock? They surely do.