Bitchypoo

Happy birthday, Jane!!!

Thanks, all of you, for helping me figure out just who this picture of Gus reminds me of.

As it turns out, it’s this picture of Jim Morrison that I was thinking of.

But there are other 70s stars who fit the bill quite nicely, too.

Peter Frampton.

Barry Gibb.

Leif Garrett.

Linda Ronstadt.

Billy Joel (creepy eyes, huh?).

And Rex Smith. (OH how I loved Sooner or Later!)

Also, Shaun Cassidy, Deborah Harry, and Diana Ross!

Give Gus a little satin jacket, and he would have been at home in the 70s, no?

Fred’s been working long hours lately, getting ready for a presentation that’ll be taking place sometime today. Friday night he didn’t get home until almost 10:00 – after going in to work at 5:30 that morning. I’m a work widow!

I’m not complaining, though. The difference in his attitude when he comes home from work now, as compared to how it was when he came home from his old job – the one he lost in the Spring – is just night and day. He’s in a good mood, he’s happy, he loves the work he’s doing, he likes the people he’s working with. And the people at his job realize just how good he is at what he does, and they appreciate it, which is always nice.

Have I mentioned that I like to live dangerously? I do. Remember how I was all hand-wringing about the hormone replacement therapy I was on, and how I’d packed on like 5 pounds and it was driving me nuts?

I took myself off the estrogen patches and progesterone cream. I just said “What if I just stop it with this shit?”, and before I left for Maine at the beginning of July, I took myself off everything and then… nothing. I’m fine. I haven’t gained weight or lost weight –

Well. The truth is that I did lose a little weight. When I got back from Maine and weighed myself, I had lost three pounds. I truly don’t get how on god’s green earth I lose weight when I go on vacation. Anyone who was around me while I was in Maine could attest to the fact that I ate like a linebacker the entire time I was there (whoopie pies! breakfast out! these fucking awesome things called cranberry bog frogs that I picked up at LL Bean and I am not kidding you when I tell you that I must have crammed 30 of them down my throat in about two days. I ate so much lobster there was probably a lobster shortage throughout the Northeast – and I know you’re going to say “Oh Robyn, lobster isn’t very high fat or calorie!”, which is true, but are you aware that you dip lobster in butter? Oh yes you do. Also, some of that lobster was mixed with mayo and served atop a roll).

You might try to tell me that perhaps I was more active while I was in Maine, but not really. I did plenty of sitting on my ass, floating in the pool, and sitting and shooting the shit with my family. In fact, this was probably the least active vacation to Maine I’ve had in a while, due to the heat and humidity while I was there.

I am not – PLEASE UNDERSTAND THIS – complaining about losing a few pounds while I was on vacation, and those three pounds are back, of course. I just wish I had some idea of how it is that this happens, the weight loss despite all the eating. When I go visit Nance, I always lose a few pounds too, and the two of us pretty much set up Hershey’s IVs and don’t move much, unless you count our flapping jaws.

But anyway, my point: I feel fine despite having taken myself off the estrogen and progesterone. A couple of times a day, I tend to have a few minutes where I get really really warm – there’s a flush of warmth that starts in my upper abdomen and moves up to my face, and I sweat. It only lasts for two or three minutes and then goes away. It’s nothing like the classic hot flash I’ve always heard about – remember Samantha on Sex and the City, having a hot flash with sweat pouring down her body? – so I hesitate to call it that. A “fleeting warm surge”, perhaps? It’s a little unpleasant, but I turn on the ceiling fan and I’m fine.

Every now and then I check with Fred – “How am I doing? Have I been acting particularly irritable or angry lately?” – and he makes some smartass comment (SHOCKING), but so far I seem to be doing fine.

I’m aware that what works for me now might not continue to work for me down the road, but I’ve got the estrogen patches if I decide I need them, and I’ve got the progesterone cream if I decide I need THAT, so we’ll see.

It’s been five months since the hysterectomy and so far I’m giving it two thumbs up. I’ve tossed my pads and my Diva Cup and don’t miss either of them!

I wish I could get a good picture that shows the truly gorgeous color of Moxie’s eyes.

I don’t know what Martin was smelling on the rug, but it made him go ::FLOOF::, and he stayed that way for a good long time.

Melodie, hanging out in the cat bed on the floor instead of fleeing to the cat tree! Yay!

Poor long-suffering Moxie. All she wants to do is hang out and be petted, and that little brat Martin keeps picking fights with her.

Melodie got tired of Martin’s sass, and fled to the cat tree. Boo!

I truly can’t stand how gorgeous Corbett is.

Rhyme’s all “Come give us a kiss, darling.” That or “Come here and let me bite your face off!”

Joe in the Joe cave, Reacher doing god knows what, and Jake and Rhyme about to get into a fight (or a snuggle, hard to tell).

The fact that Elwood and Reacher are hanging out atop the bookcase in the front room – Stinkerbelle’s spot! – helps explain why it is…

..that Stinkerbelle is suddenly spending so much time in the computer room.

Her deep and consuming love for Tommy probably has something to do with it, too.

Previously
2009: I assumed wrong.
2008: No entry.
2007: Questions answered.
2006: I’m sorry, but my Aunt Fanny am I a size 40C.
2005: I suspect people as beautiful as Angelina Jolie and Brad Pitt have to be a little bit nuts, anyway.
2004: WONDERFUL.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: A Day in the Life of a Bitchypoo.
2000: Maine recap.

New month, new logo!

This one was made by Sofia (in Sweden!), isn’t it adorable? Thanks, Sofia!

(The text in the background of that banner is from this entry. I recognized it immediately!)

For the record, if anyone’s feeling artsy and wants to make a banner for future months, go for it. I love the banners you guys come up with. Y’all so talented.

Okay, y’all have GOT to help me out. This is the picture I’ve been staring at for the last month. It’s my July calendar picture:

(That’s Gus, from the Wonkas, if you didn’t already know it.)

That picture reminds me vaguely of a picture from the 70s. It might be an album picture, or it might be a publicity shot. It might be Barbra Streisand or Barry Gibb or possibly even Andy Gibb or perhaps someone I can’t think of. All I know in the very faintest edge of my memory, is that the person’s face and hair takes up the whole picture – or at least most of it. On second thought, maybe it’s a topless man. What I know is that the hair is dark and luxurious and takes up a lot of space (unless it’s blond. But it’s definitely luxurious and looks kind of wind-blown). And the person’s face is looking directly at the camera.

Google image search isn’t bringing up anything that strikes a chord with me. Anything come to mind for y’all? Help? THIS IS DRIVING ME NUTS.

Maybe no such picture exists. Maybe I just made it up. ARGH.

I was wandering around the internet over the weekend, and followed a link to another link and then suddenly I was looking at a picture of a smug douchebag, and I wasn’t exactly expecting it, so I said aloud – because I talk to myself a lot – “Who’s the douchebag?”

I think someone needs to buy the domain whosthedouchebag.com or maybe whatadouchebag.com, and we could all upload pictures of douchebags we know or have run across, complete with stories of why the alleged douchebag is a douchebag, and then people could vote for the level of douchebaggery that comes across in the picture and story on a scale from 1 – 10.

There could be categories of douchebag, like “Sensitive New Age douchebag,” “Smug and condescending douchebag,” “Using the wrong too/to/two or there/they’re/their douchebag,” “Know-it-all douchebag,” “Celebrity douchebag,” (“Mel Gibson douchebag!”) and “Bible-thumping douchebag who tells you that your wife must submit to you while he’s trolling the internet for strange men with whom to have torrid sexual encounters*.”

For instance.

I told Fred about the woman (assuming) on YouTube who chastised me for “allowing” Kara’s kittens to nurse even though they were 4 months old (Drive-by douchebag!), and I told him that I’d posted a reply saying, in effect, “Yes, well, let me just go back in time and force her to wean them, shall I?”, then I closed comments on the video so she couldn’t post a reply to my reply.

“You’re a douchebag category all your own!” he said.

Everyone’s got their douchebag moments, which makes the whole whosthatdouchebag.com that much more appealing, no?

*This douchebag exists, he runs a message board Fred has frequented on and off for years, and I LOATHE him. Back when we lived in Madison and I didn’t want a dog – and then we ended up with Jake – he told Fred that HIS wife also didn’t want a dog but she submitted to his wishes and now could often be found “romping” with their dogs. In the time since then, they’ve divorced and it came out that he’d been trolling the internet for years looking for sexual encounters with strange men, and in one of the ads he used the words “man scent” (as in, expressing his desire to get up close and personal below the waist and “inhale your man scent”), and you better bet your ass I use that phrase when I want to see Fred shudder with revulsion.

So, one week is the amount of time it took for Miss Melodie to come around. On Saturday I went into the kitten room and took her down off the cat tree, as usual. Then I sat on the floor holding her to me, and patted her and kissed her behind the ear and told her how pretty she was like I usually do. She put up with it for about 30 seconds, and then she fled for the cat tree. Only this time, instead of climbing to the top of the cat tree and glaring down at me, she stopped halfway to the cat tree, turned around, and came back for more petting.

She’s still skittish, but it’s definitely progress.

Ninja Moxie will put the smack down, little boy.

“I disapprove of this behavior.”

Martin loves to attack this pillow. I think it must taunt him when I’m not around.

This is the face of a kitten who has just woken up and doesn’t want to get down off the cat tree himself. He wants me to come get him and put him on the floor. He meows huskily at me until I bend to his will, and as I’m putting him down on the floor, I like to say “Wahhh! I’m the BAY-BEE!” in a mocking way. Oh, I crack myself up.

Joe in the Joe cave. Is that a happy boy, or what?

But someone’s always gotta come along and ruin the happy moment. (That’s Corbett. I’m sure he just wanted to be friends. He wasn’t trying to be all up in Joe Bob’s space. Right? Yeah, right.)

Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: Really, here at Crooked Acres, it’s sometimes best to just look the other way, and not ask aaaaaaany questions.
2006: No entry. Sorry!
2005: I wanted to lay in bed and sniff my hair all day long.
2004: me: “Brian, I sure do love you, but I’m glad we’ll never have to sit this close to each other ever again.” Brian: “I feel the same.”
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry.
2001: $1200 for one single washer. What the fuck’s up with that?
2000: can you say “Bring a book”?

Everybody loves Martin.
(Or loves to taunt him, anyway!)

::ignore::

::ignore::

“Hey! Where ya going???”

“Come on, punk. Come here and do your best. You know I’ll wipe the floor with you.”

::plbbbbbbt::

“Whatsamatter, little man? You scared of the GIRL?”

“Whatcha doin’ with that paw, you little BABY?”

“That’s right, ya little wimp. Run off and cry to MOMMY.”

A mancat can only take so much, y’know.

Previously
2009: Maddy does not approve of this “Twitter” nonsense.
2008: Oh tomatoes, how you PISS ME OFF.
2007: No entry.
2006: Y’all are good for my yellow ego!
2005: Maine recap.
2004: Hawaii recap.
2003: Maine recap.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: The cats are suddenly deciding to take closed doors as a personal affront.

Thanks, you guys, for your suggestions on what to do with the dill. Right now my plan is to use most of it to make Ina’s chicken stock (which I will then can!) and some of it to put in egg salad. The rest, I’ll print out and use next year when I have my very own fresh dill from my very own herb garden!

Our garden this year is just head-to-toe FAIL, I’m telling you. The goddamn something-or-other bugs have hit the squash. And while it’s fine with me if we don’t get any more scalloped squash, I’d like more yellow squash, and I’ve been so intent on shredding and freezing the zucchini we’ve gotten so far that I haven’t even made any zucchini bread yet.

The two regular tomato plants are putting out nice green tomatoes, but they’re getting big mushy spots before they have a chance to get more than half ripe. I told Fred yesterday that we’re going to pick the tomatoes green from now on, and oven fry them and use them in green tomato chili. Oddly, the cherry tomato plants are going like gangbusters, so I guess I’m not going to complain.

We got a ton of spaghetti squash, but when I started roasting them so I could pull the squash out and freeze it for future use, the squash wasn’t stringing. It wasn’t a matter of the squash not being ripe – they were definitely ripe – and it wasn’t a matter of being undercooked, so fuck if I have any clue what the problem is.

Did I tell you about the corn? Fred planted 7 rows of corn. Guess how many ears we ended up with.

GUESS.

17 fucking ears. Luckily, we still have a ton left over from last year, so we won’t go corn-less for the next year, but GOOD GOD ALMIGHTY, this year has sucked garden-wise.

Oh well. Maybe the second round of green beans will do better than expected. Here’s hoping.

Yesterday morning I was sitting at my computer, and I heard the driveway alarm go off. I glanced out the door and saw a regular egg buyer walking toward the door. I opened the door and he called that he wanted two dozen eggs. I got them for him, and went out to hand them over to him.

“I was here, oh, two weeks ago?” he said. “Both vehicles were here – ” he motioned toward my car and the truck, “but the house was closed up tight and no one came to the door!” (“Both vehicles” amused me, because I don’t think anyone in town knows that Fred actually has his own car, since he parks it in the garage.)

He put both hands on his hips and looked at me like he expected an explanation for this. Like it’s a rule that if both vehicles are here SOMEONE BETTER BE HERE TO SELL HIM EGGS DAMNIT.

(The “Eggs for sale” sign wasn’t up, for the record. It bothers me a lot less than it used to when people stop by to buy eggs even when the sign isn’t up because the driveway alarm goes off and alerts me that people are approaching. I guess my real issue before was that I’d be sitting at my desk minding my own business and then look up to see someone RIGHT THERE on the other side of the door which always startled the hell out of me. Now that I know they’re coming to the door it’s still an annoyance, but one I can deal with.)

“I was on vacation in Maine,” I said.

He nodded, handed over his four dollars, thanked me, and left.

I went into the kitchen to make lunch, and as I did so, I glanced out the window over the sink. This window, I’m sure I’ve only mentioned 340 times before, looks toward the next door neighbor’s back yard, and I could see her sitting on her deck talking to two men who were wearing suit pants and button-down shirts.

I immediately wondered who they were. They seemed like some sort of professionals, maybe lawyers in business casual clothing. They would talk and she would talk, and they were filling out some sort of form. There was a large book they’d occasionally refer to.

Obviously my inner Gladys Kravitz was in residence, because I spent far too much time watching them through the window while I made my lunch.

I actually went out at one point to move the water in the garden (I watered the garden row by row, all day long, so of course it rained yesterday afternoon.) and oh-so-casually didn’t look over in their direction, but I had my ears perked and listening, and couldn’t hear a damn thing.

They must have been there sitting on her deck talking for at least 45 minutes – don’t look at me like that, I didn’t stand there and WATCH them talking the whole time, I’d just peek out there every once in a while. Nosy, me? NAH. – and when I went into the kitchen to check on my green tomato chili, they were gone.

I’d just started chopping up yellow squash to boil, when the driveway alarm went off. I went to the porthole window in the dining room to see who was out there, and as it turned out, it was the two guys who’d been sitting on her deck for the last 45 minutes.

My reaction, when I look out into the driveway and see a stranger getting out of their car, is inevitably “Oh, hell no.” If I don’t recognize the person/ people, and I’m not expecting anyone, I don’t answer the door. This might be a bad habit, because maybe they’re thieves and if I don’t answer the door they’ll think no one’s home and they’ll break into the house and steal all the cats (IN MY DREAMS), but it’s a habit I intend to keep up, ’cause ah hates strangers.

They went to the front door (another reason to not answer the door – if someone has bought eggs from us before, they know to come to the side door. If they haven’t bought eggs, the sign isn’t out and I’m not expecting them, why would I want to deal with them? Ed McMahon will probably come back with my $30 million check if I don’t answer the first time.) and knocked. I didn’t answer, just kept chopping squash, and they left pretty quickly.

When I heard the driveway alarm go off again, I went and watched them pull out of our driveway, to see where they’d go. They pulled into the driveway of the house across the street, but either those people weren’t home or they didn’t answer the door, or possibly they sent the strangers on their way when they heard what they wanted, but in any case five minutes later the car was gone.

Wow. I just used an awful lot of words to describe a completely unfascinating afternoon, didn’t I? Don’t you wonder how I get shit done around here, given that I spend all my time with my nose pressed to the window watching to see what’s going on?

Funny that when I lived in a subdivision and there was always stuff going on outside, I rarely even looked out the window, isn’t it?

Poor Miz Poo. She’s all “Do you SEE what I have to put up with, here?”

Sugarbutt thinks Bolitar’s just a little too close. Bolitar doesn’t care.

Jake’s face is KILLING ME. He’s like “PARDON ME THIS IS JAKE’S CAVE THIS IS NOT MEANT FOR KITTENS TO COME TROMP ALL OVER THIS IS MY PRIVATE PLACE FOR PRIVACY.” And Corbett’s all “See my butt?”

Something I learned yesterday – Moxie is scared of thunder and will hide under the chair in fear every time the thunder happens. She doesn’t want to be coaxed out from under the chair, she doesn’t want to be snuggled safely in your arms. She wants to hide under the chair, thank you.

Melodie could not be less scared of the sound of thunder. A particularly loud crash of thunder happened yesterday afternoon and Moxie dove under the chair. From her perch on the cat tree, Melodie just sat and gazed out the window at the rain. I would have surely expected it to be the other way around.

Martin and the pink fluff.

That’s Moxie’s tail he’s chewing on. She puts up with this for far longer than I would expect, and then when she’s had enough, she turns around and smacks him. It’s a system that seems to work well for them.

Melodie, following Martin around.

“What?”

This morning, Melodie came immediately out of her Melodie cave (the condo on the cat tree) to greet me when I went into the room. Either she’s getting more comfortable with me (she was ALL OVER Fred last night, purring and rubbing on him. The lady cats love Fred, for sure.) or she’s figured out that when I come into the room for the first time in the morning, I give them canned cat food. Either way, it’s progress!

A couple of weeks ago, I said that Stinkerbelle spends 99% of her time on top of the bookcase in the front room. Well, she must have gotten word of what I’d said, because she immediately set out to make a liar out of me. She’s been coming out more and more, sitting angrily in the computer room glaring at me, climbing up onto the top of the cupboards in the kitchen, sitting on top of the canning cabinet in the dining room. She’s been a social butterfly, if by “social butterfly” you mean a cat who stalks around the house smacking at any kittens who venture too close to her, that is.

Previously
2009: I screamed at the top of my lungs, and then I took a gasping breath, and I screamed some more.
2008: No entry.
2007: (Unless there’s a secret “Robyn is a blithering idiot” message board somewhere, which is possible but – given that the world apparently does NOT revolve around me (even though it should), my blithering idiotness probably doesn’t occupy the minds of others the way it occupies mine.)
2006: I look like a fucking Simpson!
2005: “I dropped my purse!” I lied.
2004: I’m a slug in a family of energizer bunnies.
2003: No entry.
2002: My primitive mind can’t grasp these concepts.
2001: No entry.
2000: I’m just not feeling very chatty today.

I made refrigerator dill pickles over the weekend to use up all the cucumbers in the refrigerator, and for the rest of the day my hands smelled like dill, and it was surprisingly pleasant. Now I’ve got a package of fresh dill in the fridge and the cucumbers are mostly played out, so I don’t think there’ll be any more refrigerator dill pickles. I’ve been half-assedly searching for recipes to use the dill in, but haven’t really seen any that strike my fancy.

What’s your favorite way to use fresh dill?

I didn’t grow dill in my tiny herb garden this year, but only because I thought I’m not crazy about dill. As it turns out, it’s the dried stuff I’m not crazy about. I grew cinnamon basil, but one day last week I finally got around to trying a leaf of the cinnamon basil, and it had a black licorice aftertaste to me. I loathe black licorice, so I yanked the cinnamon basil up.

I’ve got sweet basil in the herb garden, lemon thyme, and rosemary. I planted cilantro, but it died out (probably Jane was sending hate rays toward it).

Yesterday for dinner we had pork shoulder steaks (if I haven’t mentioned it before, pork shoulder steaks, when grilled, taste exactly like beef steaks), zucchini sticks, zucchini pie, and pineapple casserole. It was a pretty fabulous meal, and the best part is that there are plenty of leftovers.

Apparently I’ve got food on my mind this morning.

I made these no-bake cheesecake bars on Friday, and realized (or I guess I should say “remembered”, since I always seem to forget somehow) that I’m not really so crazy about cream cheese unless it’s on a bagel. I liked the whipped cream part, and the melted chocolate drizzled over the top part, and of course the graham cracker crust part, but the chocolate cream cheese part? Not so much.

I’ve got nothin’ to say today. I’m going to blather on about the kittens, then vacuum the house, spend some time with the kittens, and catch up on some vital tv-watching.

Stay cool.

Los Gatitos are now at the adoption center. I haven’t heard that any of them were adopted, so I’m assuming they were not. That surprises me, honestly, because I was sure they’d be snapped up in no time flat.

However, I DID get to witness Garrity and Franco being adopted, FINALLY. Friday marked three weeks since I took the Rescuees to the adoption center, and while Sheila was adopted fairly quickly, the boys just sat there, unadopted. Every time I went into Petsmart the four of them were either playing or snuggled up to each other, and they seemed happy enough, so I wasn’t too worried about them.

Garrity and Franco were adopted by two girls, roommates (each girl adopted one kitten), so they’ll have each other to play and hang out with. That leaves Lieu and Gavin, and I hope it won’t be long for them.

When I put Los Gatitos in their cage, Pancho was all “Hey, look! TOYS!” and Evita and Hermano went into the litter box to hide.

I HATE IT when they hide in their litter box!

They’ll adjust, they almost always do. I’m not surprised that they were scared at first, but I’m glad that they have each other for comfort.

Meet Martin’s new sisters!

Moxie. Doesn’t she look like a little panther?

Melodie. She’s in the condo on the cat tree, snuggled up to her stuffed cat “baby.”

Moxie is a lover. She’s a people cat. She wants you to pet her. She wants you to snuggle her. If you stop petting her, she lets you KNOW that things have gone amiss and there is no petting going on, please resume the petting.

Melodie is a skittish, sweet girl. She’s a cat’s cat. She’s been hiding out in the condo on the cat tree a lot. I go up and hang out in the room, pet Moxie and Martin, and talk to Melodie. She usually starts out in the condo, then comes out to see what’s going on. A few times she’s come down off the tree to walk around the room.

She seems to like Martin. And for his part, when we walked into the kitten room and let Melodie and Moxie out of the carrier Friday night, you should have SEEN Martin’s face. Oh, did he think it was Christmas! He said “You brought me friends to play with!”

Moxie, for the most part, thinks he’s annoying – but she’ll play with him when the mood strikes.

Melodie definitely likes Martin – and when I walked into the room yesterday afternoon, who came out of the condo?

Martin! Have you been SNUGGLING with Melodie??

So far, things are going well. I’m letting Melodie go at her own pace. I always greet her when I come into the room, pet her (and she starts purring immediately, so underneath the skittishness she’s a lover, too.) I know she’ll come to me asking to be petted when she’s ready. We’ve already had a few “conversations” where she meows at me and I meow back. I don’t know what I’m saying to her, but it gets her to come out of her cave, so it can’t be bad. I hope!

“What? We’s snugglin’. Go away.”

So, I might have put a little basket of laundry (dish towels and cleaning rags) on the table, and Bolitar might have found it and turned it onto its side and climbed in to hang out on the clean laundry. Annnnd three days later, it might still be there. What? You don’t leave your clean laundry on the table so the cats can sleep on it? It’s a good excuse not to fold laundry! (Which will need to be washed again, I suppose. At least the stuff on the top of the pile.)

One day I should walk around the house and take pictures of all the boxes I have sitting on the floor just in case the cats want to sleep in them. In the kitchen alone are at least four boxes. When WILL House Beautiful call to ask if they can feature my fabulous home, do you suppose?

It’s gotten consistently hot enough outside that even Newt is spending his days inside trying to stay cool. Now THAT’s hot.

Previously
2009: And no one was even drinking!
2008: No entry.
2007: I think y’all know that I happily contribute to charities and have donated to a lot of your causes and will continue to do so, but I don’t support Blogathon, haven’t for a couple of years, and don’t intend to in the future.
2006: I may have Hepatitis.
2005: But not to worry, it was just cramps. Whew!
2004: I want to rip her goddamn fucking ::fliiiip::TAP::TAP::TAP::FLIIIP::TAP::TAP::TAP::FLIP::TAP::TAP::TAP::FLIP::TAP::TAP::TAP:: head off her stupid fucking goddamn neck
2003: No entry.
2002: I caught the eye of one of them, who noticed my intensely guilty terrorist-like face, and waved me over to wand me down.
2001: No entry.
2000: Because, you know, my life is so damn chaotic. Yeah.

Speaking of white kitties…! I have a question about mine. I don’t know anyone else who has had as much experience with kittens, so I’m going to ask my question here. Robyn, have you ever had foster kitties with conjunctivitis? I just got two new kittens, sisters – one tiger and one white with a tabby patch on her head. They are about 11-12 weeks old and the tiger has conjunctivitis. Do you or any of your readers know how long this lasts or what possible complications may be? I know to be careful about spreading it: the sisters are separated and I wash my hands – including a quick rinse with a bleach solution – after I handle the tiger. I did take her to the vet and got some eye ointment, but I was hoping for some advice not just from a vet or the internet but from someone who has actually had to take care of a kitten with conjunctivitis.

Also, how long after getting spayed can they play together? Zelda (the white kitty) was just spayed and I had them separated for about a day and a half, and then I let them together but they were playing so roughly. It was only a couple of days later that Mrs.Parker (the tiger) got conjunctivitis so I had to separate them again anyway, but also, one of Zelda’s stitches had been pulled out. I don’t know if she herself licked it so much that it came out or if Mrs.Parker ripped it out while they were fighting. Mrs.Parker didn’t get spayed at the same time because she was too little, but she’s scheduled for Thursday. How do you deal with so many spayed kittens at the same time?

I’m going to throw this one out to the readers – I don’t remember having a cat diagnosed with conjunctivitis or how long it might last. Readers? Experience?

As far as how long to wait before you let kittens play together, I would think that by the third day after surgery, they’d be healed enough to play together, even if they’re rough. I’m lucky in that the vet who spays and neuters our kittens uses surgical glue to close the incisions, not stitches, so there’s not as much of a threat of them reopening the incision by playing roughly. I could be just not remembering correctly, but I don’t think I’ve ever had a problem with any of the incisions on any of my fosters.

(Someone also asked last week why my just-spayed Bookworms weren’t wearing collars, and that’s why – I’ve never had an issue with them worrying the incision or pulling out stitches (since there aren’t any), so I’ve never put collars on just-spayed/neutered kittens. The only time I’ve had to put collars on kittens was last year when the True Bloods had their eye surgeries, and even that only lasted a day or two.)

“Momma! Momma! MOMMAAAAAA!”

“HEY. What do you want? Why are you banging on our door? STOP MAKING ALL THAT NOISE!”

“I want the Momma! I’m hungry! Why is she hanging out in there where I can’t GET to her? Do you have food in there? I smell food!”

“There’s no Momma in here.”

“…….”

“…….”

“But she’s right there. Sitting next to you. Pointing the camera at me.”

“You don’t see nothin’. You understand me? NOTHING. No Momma. No food. No white kittens. It’s a figment of your imagination, you big baby. Now, quit banging on the door. We’re discussing the correct way to pet a kitty. With the Momma who isn’t here.”

“…….”

“…….”

::pout::

Sofia has gone to her new home – I got to meet her new mom last night, who was VERY excited to be bringing Sofia home. I’m sure I’ve got more pictures of her to share, because she’s such a gorgeous cat that I couldn’t stop snapping pictures of her!

The rest of Los Gatitos are going to the adoption center on Friday – and I’ll be bringing home two new kittens to put with the little feral so he won’t be lonely. Their names are Melodie and Moxie, so going along with the “M” naming theme, I circumvented Fred’s demand to name the little guy “Tony Rocky Horror” (The guy in Pulp Fiction who got thrown out of a window for giving Marsellus Wallace’s wife a foot massage.) and named him Martin.

The name Tony Rocky Horror will be showing up again, though, I guarantee it. Had Melodie and Moxie not already been named, I had thought we might go with a naming theme of characters who are mentioned in a movie or TV show, but never actually seen. Unfortunately, the only other character name I could think of off the top of my head was Maris (Crane, wife of Niles on Frasier).

More on him (and pictures, too) tomorrow, I promise.

I actually had the option of taking the Bookworms (at least a couple of them) to the adoption center on Friday. But I know Los Gatitos will be adopted very quickly, so I figured it’d be best to take them and let them be adopted rather than having them sit here waiting for room to open up at the adoption center.

When I told Fred, he accused me of just wanting to keep the Bookworms around longer.

I deny that.

I have a dream that one day, I’ll figure out how to consistently take pictures that aren’t all crooked as if I’d just held out the camera and snapped a picture without looking.

Previously
2009: (Don’t answer that. Let me live in my dream world.)
2008: Out of curiosity – anyone still think we won’t eat those pigs?
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry.
2004: No entry.
2003: Handwritten.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry.
2000: Jemima J.