As promised – more George and Gracie pics than you can handle. Can you HANDLE the G&G? Let’s see! I wanted to get a shot of them sitting side by side, but they were WAY too excited about the fact that we were both out there to sit calmly and let me shoot some pictures. … Continue reading “4/2/10 – Friday”
As promised – more George and Gracie pics than you can handle.
Can you HANDLE the G&G? Let’s see!
I wanted to get a shot of them sitting side by side, but they were WAY too excited about the fact that we were both out there to sit calmly and let me shoot some pictures.
Galumphing over for some love.
Gracie, out standing in her field.
Gracie in the front, and George way in the back.
There’s a freakin’ stream, basically, flowing through the middle of the back forty. Fred and George and I were on the other side of the stream, and Fred called to Gracie. She thought about it, headed for the stream…
LEAP!
“Aw, shucks, ’tweren’t nothin’.”
Hello, gorgeous.
Did I mention, gorgeous?
Gracie, keeping an eye on the horses on the next property over. Note all the discarded fur on the ground at her feet. Fred had just brushed them both.
“I HAZ A COMPLAINT HE IS BITING ME MAKE HIM STOOOOOOOOOP!”
“Ah, yeah. Right there. That’s the spot!” (Oy, the kitten lips. Kill me!)
Keeping an eye on his brudders.
“Psst! Okay, Mr. Mousie, I’m going to run over and howl at her and distract her by thinking I’m all hungry, YOU run to freedom and then tonight come back and break me out, okay?”
“COMPLAINTS. I HAZ SOME.” Debbie mentioned last week that in a picture of Rhyme, it looks like the color in his eyes is cut in half down the middle of his iris’. I see light blue on the inside and dark blue on the outside of his eyes, it might be the lighting or something but it looks pretty neat! I think you might be right, Debbie – there’s definitely a line down the center of his eye, and it does look like the color’s slightly different on each side. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that before in a kitten. That’s VERY neat!
Previously 2009: “THTOP calling her a bad mother! She is a good mother! I luff her!” 2008: It smelled like evil. 2007: I think you can imagine our happiness.
2006: No entry. 2005: Always/ Sometimes/ Never 2004: Erin should be more concerned with the fact that he’s been killing people and burying them in the back yard and less with his lying. 2003: I believe there’s a seat in the ass-singe section with my name on it. 2002: Sucks to be her. 2001: “Fuuuuuuuuck,” he said. 2000: Don’t come back here looking for no entry, my friends.
New month, new banner! This was created by the wonderful Christine, who’s done most of my banners lately. It’s perfectly adorable and spring-y, isn’t it? Thanks, Christine!!! * =^..^= * =^..^= * =^..^= * =^..^= * =^..^= * =^..^= * =^..^= * Random dogs and other stuff. The guy who lives about quarter … Continue reading “4/1/10 – Thursday”
New month, new banner! This was created by the wonderful Christine, who’s done most of my banners lately. It’s perfectly adorable and spring-y, isn’t it?
The guy who lives about quarter of a mile down the road from us has these two dogs. Sometimes the dogs are contained in a little shelter, but more often they’re out running around. They like to come down to our property for some reason and sniff around, even though George and Gracie lose their MINDS when they see these dogs coming. They do that big, deep, scary Great Pyr bark, and these dogs always haul ass when G&G bark at them. And yet, they keep coming back.
I’ve tried to get them to come to me (to be honest, if I could get my hands on them, I’d at the very least drag them off to be neutered), but the instant they see a human, they run off.
I think this one’s awfully cute.
There’s another dog, a big white one, that belongs to the people who live five houses or so down the road. Apparently he and the other two are great friends. Check out the frolic action going on.
I know, you want to see George and Gracie pics. Just hold on – I’ve got more George and Gracie pics than you can imagine, and I’ll post ’em tomorrow!
Back before we got Maura, when all we knew was that we were getting a pregnant cat, we thought she might have her kittens immediately (HA HA HA). I know that cats like dark places to give birth, and we don’t have blinds or shades on the windows in the foster room, so I came up with a temporary solution. That’s right, I taped PAPER to the windows. (Could have been worse, right? Could have been newspaper or foil.)
It’s working for now, but Kathy visited last week, and told me that they sell temporary shades at Walmart and Target that would probably work better. I guess she wasn’t impressed by my klassy solution. Hee. I’ll be looking for those temporary shades as soon as I can get my butt to Walmart!
Previously 2009: Fred giggled helplessly. Which somehow did not help. 2008: However, I don’t subscribe to the “only pick it up if it’s heads up!” theory of thought.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry. 2005: There’s a saying that men make plans and god laughs.
2004: No entry. 2003: Won’t be happening in my lifetime, thanks.
2002: No entry. 2001: I get the weirdest freakin’ referrals to my site.
2000: No entry.
Photo entries all this week in an effort to clear off my hard drive. Of course, I keep taking pictures, so that’s not helping at all. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The … Continue reading “3/31/10 – Wednesday”
Photo entries all this week in an effort to clear off my hard drive. Of course, I keep taking pictures, so that’s not helping at all.
A rare shot of all four. Corbett’s refusing to look at the camera, though. Brat.
::thlurrrp::
He may be little, but Corbett is old enough to enjoy a good fart joke. He’s weak with laughter. WEAK, I tell you!
Sweet pink kitten belly? Check.
Kitten toes? Present and accounted for.
Kitten wondering how he got in this particular position? Got it.
Second kitten clearly thinking “Just what in tarnation is going ON back there?!” All set.
World domination to commence in 3…2…1…
Reacher notes that that talon is a leeeeettle too close to his eye. Luckily, he’s got cat-like reflexes (ha!) and was able to close that eye before any eyeball-poking could happen.
Previously 2009: (reCOOPerating, HA HA!) 2008: Shea Butters would be an excellent stripper name.
2007: No entry. 2006: It was so friggin’ cute I made Fred listen to it, too. 2005: I have my finger on the pulse of pop culture, apparently. 2004: A day in the life. 2003: What makes me crazy.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry. 2000: Okay, enough of the wallowing.
As a reminder, I’m doing photo entries all this week because I LOVE YOU. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * The Chickens of Crooked Acres. This rooster is part Americauna – which I … Continue reading “3/30/10 – Tuesday”
As a reminder, I’m doing photo entries all this week because I LOVE YOU.
This rooster is part Americauna – which I only know because Fred told me so, and which Fred knows because we’ve suddenly had a proliferation of blue eggs in the big coop. The rooster apparently determines whether the eggs are blue or not. Or something. I wasn’t really listening.
Brahma rooster (in the back) does not care for Americauna rooster. Americauna rooster is casually sauntering away from (the much larger) Brahma rooster very very fast. But he is not running, because he is NOT SCARED OF NO BRAHMA.
Teeny tiny Silkie hen. I tried to get a picture of her next to a Brahma so you could see how very tiny she actually is, but she was uncooperative.
“What?”
You’ve met Sassy McGee (the pain in the ass who sleeps in the big chicken yard and spends her days free-roaming around the property. At least she stays on our property and doesn’t wander onto the neighbor’s lawn, I’ll say that for her.). This is Sissy McGee, our second free-roaming hen. It’s entirely possible that she’s one of Sassy’s chickens – it’s hard to know. She likes to scratch around under the bird feeders and eat up any seed left behind by the wild birds.
I’m sorry, how could you possibly resist the striped belly o’ Corbett?
Reacher’s a kitten on the move. The instant he sees me (or becomes aware that I’ve entered the room), he races over to howl at me. This makes it somewhat difficult to get a shot of all four kittens.
Reacher, minding his own business, happens upon a crime scene.
“Kind sir!” cries Corbett, reaching out in desperation. “Can’t you please help me?”
“Well, goodness me, no,” says Reacher. “I am but an innocent passer-by who prefers not to get involved.”
“I do not know WHO you think you’re fooling,” says Corbett. “You’re a former military police officer who wanders the country with nothing but a toothbrush and the clothes on your back, but you couldn’t mind your own business if your life depended on it. Now get over here and save me!”
“By god,” says Reacher. “I do believe you are correct! I do have a knack for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, don’t I? Now pardon me while I take care of this scoundrel and get involved in a conspiracy that does not involve me in any way, shape or form. I will be the only one with the steely-eyed determined intelligence to identify and solve the problem. Solving this problem will undoubtedly require gunfire and perhaps explosions, and certainly I will need to make sweet love to the first hapless – yet incredibly insightful and brilliant – woman who stumbles across my path. Also, have I mentioned that despite the fact that it’s rare for two clocks to ever agree on the exact current time to the minute, somehow I will always know the precise time of day, no matter how many time zones I’ve crossed, how much torture I’ve been through, how much whiskey I’ve slammed down, and how concerned I am over the location of my toothbrush?”
Rhyme: “Huh?”
(Please note: the above might mean nothing to you if you’ve never read any of Lee Child’s Reacher novels.)
Previously 2009: IT WASN’T WATER AT ALL.
2008: No entry. 2007: Love you! Mean it! 2006: I am absolutely the last person on Earth you want in the vicinity if there’s an emergency. 2005: Questions answered. 2004: I am absolutely stunned that… I frankly couldn’t give less of a shit.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry. 2001: I have to wonder, what the hell do all you skinny people do? 2000: Yes, this is a lame, short entry, but since y’all love me, you’ll be back. Right?
All this week, in honor of the fact that I have a million and seventy-three pictures sitting on my hard drive waiting to be shared with you lucky people, I am going to do all-picture entries. You’re welcome! * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * … Continue reading “3/29/10 – Monday”
All this week, in honor of the fact that I have a million and seventy-three pictures sitting on my hard drive waiting to be shared with you lucky people, I am going to do all-picture entries.
Signs of spring – and pics from around Crooked Acres and beyond.
We were going to Nearville yesterday to walk along the river, and as we drove down the highway, I saw a coyote sitting by a large patch of undergrowth, calmly grooming him/herself. “That – there – coyote!” I sputtered at Fred. “Just sitting there! Grooming himself!” Fred turned the car around, and we slowly drove by the spot where I’d seen the coyote. Of course, the instant the poor thing saw us slowwwwly driving by, he jumped up and fled.
Hawk over the chicken yard.
Cardinal, wondering if I’m ever going to fill up the damn bird feeders.
MOCK!
Ever vigilant.
“What YOU lookin’ at, lady?”
The river we walked along yesterday. We’ve kayaked here extensively in the past. We haven’t been kayaking in a few years, but we’re definitely going to be doing it this year.
I had no idea when I bought this carrier that it was going to be such a huge amount of fun for the babies. Best toy EVER, apparently!
“That’s right, I done it, copper. I done it, and I’d do it again. I was loopy on catnip, no judge in the world is going to convict me. They’ll send me to rehab, I’ll come out clean and UNREPENTANT. So get out those cuffs and slap ’em on, I AIN’T SCARED.”
“What’s going on over THERE?”
“I wants to climb Mt. Carrier, but I needs a nap first…”
“::fume:: They think I don’t KNOW there’s a pea under there. They think I don’t KNOW they don’t believe that I am of royal descent. When I am back in my castle, I will order all their deaths, and I will laugh and laugh and laaaaaaaaugh. Testing the patience of King Spanky. PEASANTS.”
Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry. 2007: (“Why, Robyn, you only sounded like a PARTIAL idiot! I was amazed!”) 2006: “What IS that? Some kind of GODDAMN NICKNAME? You fucking heartless freak? You want me to kick your ass to Seattle, or you want to confess right now, jackass?” 2005: A day in the life. 2004: Naturally, the mental note got lost in the mental clutter, so I forgot she was in there, and only remembered when it had been a few hours and I hadn’t seen her.
2003: No entry. 2002: Don’t look at me like that. 2001: Of COURSE he falls in love with her inner beauty, because EVERYONE knows that fat women don’t have any of that OUTER beauty, for crying out loud. 2000: I can only hope he’ll flash me some butt cleavage.
I vacuumed the hell out of the house (well, the downstairs at least) yesterday, and not ten seconds after I put the vacuum cleaner away, Joe Bob and Sugarbutt got into an altercation in the dining room, and tufts of cat hair went floating through the house, messing up my perfectly clean floor. I just … Continue reading “3/26/10 – Friday”
I vacuumed the hell out of the house (well, the downstairs at least) yesterday, and not ten seconds after I put the vacuum cleaner away, Joe Bob and Sugarbutt got into an altercation in the dining room, and tufts of cat hair went floating through the house, messing up my perfectly clean floor.
I just literally laughed about the poop spoon until I cried.
The best part of the story is one I forgot to tell. You see, Jake and Elwood were hanging around outside the guest bedroom door when I came out with the spoon full o’ poo. Every once in a while, if the fosters don’t finish their plate of food, I’ll let Jake and Elwood eat it, so they’ve gotten it into their heads that every time I come out of that room, there’s a very strong possibility that I’ll have FOOD for them. I walked out of the room with the spoon in my hand, and they saw that I was carrying something, and they started hopping around, CERTAIN I was going to give them some food and perhaps they might not starve completely to death.
(They are the biggest fucking hogs, these two.)
I thought for a moment of holding the spoon down for them so they could sniff it and give me the Face o’ Disgust, but even I am not that cruel.
In the picture of Rhyme, the wood grain to the front right of the picture is very similar to the striped pattern on his head. I bet you didn’t even do that on purpose, did you?
I assure you that on the rare occasion that something cool like that happens, it’s by complete accident. I am no photographer.
You’d think I’d’ve heard this before now, but it made me LOL and spray breakfast all over my own computer. Consider it stolen.
Also, I would like to hereby formally request The Rest of The Story behind “earlier this week it came to my attention that I am having RAGE issues over the stupidest shit.” I love your pissed-off stories.
Oh, I don’t have any specific examples, just drama queen THE WORLD IS AGAINST ME temper tantrums. Like, I couldn’t connect to the internet for a little while and I was all bellowing at my computer, “OH OF COURSE THE INTERNET IS DOWN, IT MUST BE A DAY THAT ENDS IN Y, GOOD THING I ALWAYS PAY THE BILL ON TIME, I HATE OUR INTERNET PROVIDER I WISH THEY WOULD ALL DIEEEEE!”, when in actuality, our internet access has been down very little in the last few months.
Just, uncontrollable rage over the stupidest shit that even while I’m raging about it, the calm and reasonable voice in the back of my head is saying “You know you’re being unreasonable, you need to walk away and calm down” and my response is “SHUT UP YOU GODDAMN VOICE OF REASON I HATE YOU I WISH YOU WOULD DIEEEEEEEEEEEE!”
That sort of thing. It makes me a joy to be around, I’m sure.
I was stuck in St Louis for 8 days relying on free wi-fi sources for Internet. Robyn, you’ll be proud to know that, in their infinite wisdom, the St Louis County Library system blocks access to Bitchypoo, while McDonald’s does not. Btw, this batch of kittens is ADORABLE.
If there was one thing I could go back ten years and change, it would be my domain name. I get my ass blocked all over the place just because of the name of my site. I OBJECT. THE MAN IS HOLDIN’ ME BACK! (The other reason my site gets blocked, you’ll be amazed to hear, is because of the language. What the fuck, man?)
WAIT! Stinkerbelle isn’t givin’ you the stink-eye in that picture! Is she goin’ soft???
Nah, she was just taken by surprise. I’m sure that in the next second, she had a good Hate-on going. Although, now that I think of it, yesterday I leaned past her to open the blinds in the front room and she did NOT squeal at me and run off or squeal and swipe at me. Maybe she IS going soft!
Someone should tell Newt that he can have the even bigger box behind him!
Silly – he KNEW the bigger box was there, but that’s not the box he wanted, because no one was using that box. He specifically wanted Joe Bob’s box for the reason that Joe Bob was in it. Once Joe Bob was no longer in the box, it became much less appealing to Newt.
Oh My God. Now see, if I were you and I had this site, it would’ve ended right after “… small black bird with white speckles …” because I’d’ve been filling out change of address cards. Well, after I changed my pants, that is.
I think birds are fine IF they are sitting nicely OUTSIDE. Not inside. Outside. Not flapping. Sitting. A bird in my house? I can’t imagine it. Fortunately my elder statesman cat (who doesn’t go outside anymore because we are moving and I’m afraid that if he goes outside once we move, he will try to return home to the old house, 25 miles away, so we are trying to convince him he was never an outdoor cat) was never a crackerjack hunter so he only once in a while brought home a slightly stunned vole, and we always checked his lips before we let him in (the cat’s lips, not the slightly stunned vole’s lips) so nothing got in the house. (Run-on sentence, much? Geez.)
When we had a dog, many many moons ago, she once brought home a completely dead bluejay that she had not killed (Golden Retriever. incapable of harming anything) but had found and joyfully brought us. I hid behind a living room chair until my husband dealt with it.
I very much admire your quick thinking with the window. I’d still be cleaning my pants.
This comment made me laugh out loud for real. I should start doing like June and have a comment of the week!
Newt and Elwood, huh? I never would have imagined them cuddling. You should draw up a chart one day of which cats will associate with which cats. For some reason I would like to see and know which ones have cuddled with which and which ones they want nothing to do with. Not including the fosters of course. Well, unless you want to lol
Is Maura sitting on your purple velour pants or do you have a purple velour cat blanket? She looks cute and I agree she should rest up and hold out as long as she possibly can.
She was laying on/ against my purple velour pants. She seems to really like those pants, and I very well might just let her have the pants as a blanket. I’m all about making the kitties happy!
how on earth do you tell Rhyme and Corbett apart? Sure can’t tell from the pictures. They are adorable — tabbys are my fav too 🙂
I’ll try to get a better picture of the two of them, side by side, but in short this illustrates it pretty well. Corbett, in the back, has a lot of tan coloring in his face and body. Rhyme is all dark brown. Both are equally squeezable, though. Just looking at that picture makes me want to go pick them up and squeeze the stuffing out of them!
I just overheard one of my co-workers telling another that if you have over 2 cats, you qualify as a “crazy cat lady”. If that’s true, you’re in deep trouble!!! ha ha ha 🙂
and
I object. I have 3 cats but am not crazy; I swear!! I’d say over 5 is “CCL” material. 😉
I don’t know what the number is that determines crazy cat lady-hood, but I’ve got to say that two can’t possibly be the number. That’s hardly even cat PERSON level, right there. Five is probably approaching the crazy cat lady neighborhood, but it’s a moot point for me – I don’t think anyone would deny that when you have cats numbering in the double digits, you’re loony for cats. We hopped on that particular crazy train lonnnnnnnnnng ago. I can live with it. As long as you don’t walk into the house and say “Holy CRAP, how many cats do you HAVE?” from the smell, I’m okay.
I’ll one-up your poop story with tales of Mia, our very timid little kitteh.
First vet visit after adopting her. Drive over is ok. Driving home we got less than a mile from vets office and I smell something nasty. Realize poor girl has peed and pooped in the carrier (luckily a hard one). Husband is driving so he pulls over and we grab some napkins that we luckily had in the truck to take care of the mess. He takes off his Tshirt so I can put it in the bottom of the carrier because she was a bit wet from the pee and we only had so many napkins.
Second trip go through whole vet visit and I’m paying the bill. Look over at Mia and she’s cowering over in the corner of the carrier. She’d peed and pooped again. One of the vet techs cleans it up saying they’re use to it.
Third trip (yes there’s more) on the trip over less than two blocks from home, you guessed it pee and poop! Hand the “sample” over and tell them it doesn’t get much fresher than that! It was still warm!
After that trip the vet gave us some sort of anxiety drops to try next time to maybe prevent it. Keep your fingers crossed. Beyond that I’ll go armed with paper towels and plastic bags!
Two years ago, I took Kara’s babies to be spayed and neutered, and they vomited all over their carrier. I had nothing but one single handy wipe to clean up the mess. Since then, before I walk out the door with a carrier of kittens, I make sure I have a big handful of dry cleaning rags and a baggie with a couple of damp cleaning rags as well. That saved me last summer when I took some of the True Blood 6 to the vet, and someone pooped in the carrier. Cat poop can be one of the most vile substances on earth, only outnastied by cat pee.
Reacher seriously needed those eye boogers cleaned off his face. I cleaned them off, then called him “Boogers McGee” for the next few hours. I amuse myself far too much.
I’m beginning to think that Maura may even have a few more weeks before she drops these babies. I’m still not seeing or feeling any movement, and as Fred pointed out last night, Maura’s not nearly as huge and uncomfortable as Kara was the day we got her (which was also the day before she gave birth). Don’t get me wrong, she’s definitely getting bigger, but she’s got a little way to go, I think.
She’s LOVING the twice-daily canned cat food snacks and personal attention, believe me. Really, who wouldn’t?
Previously 2009: I am the High Priestess of Litter Box Scooping, Pig Treat Making, and Kitten Butt Wiping. 2008: It took me a few weeks, but I finally finished The Washingtonienne and today I am announcing that bitchypoo.com, in conjunction with vituperation.com, is awarding The Washingtonienne the title of The Most Vapid Book of This Century. 2007: I was filled with a black hatred for the goddamn lights and my goddamn husband and every goddamn thing that ever was.
2006: No entry.
2005: No entry. 2004: Another reason I love the man: he makes me laugh every day. 2003: I’ll tell you what, he’s lucky I didn’t go get the cleaver and chop that fucking finger right the fuck off. 2002: My mind is blank… 2001: It’s just the little things that get to me, y’know? 2000: Married people! Having sex in the middle of the day! What IS this world coming to?
First things first – stumbling around the internet, I came across an article about Denis Leary (well, really about his family and their home in Connecticut and their many animals) and from there I found Ann Leary’s blog, and she is funny as hell, and from THERE I discovered that she’s a writer and has … Continue reading “3/25/10 – Thursday”
First things first – stumbling around the internet, I came across an article about Denis Leary (well, really about his family and their home in Connecticut and their many animals) and from there I found Ann Leary’s blog, and she is funny as hell, and from THERE I discovered that she’s a writer and has published two books.
So I bought ’em.
I finished the first one, An Innocent, A Broad, yesterday, and let me tell you – she is HILARIOUS. Any book that can make me laugh out loud (and I did that a lot) and tear up just a few pages later is a book that gets two thumbs up from me.
This whole section right here is just flat-out NASTY. If you’ve a weak stomach, are a wimp, or are eating, I HIGHLY recommend you skip down to the cat pictures. Don’t whine at me if you get grossed out – I warned you.
I had my six-week followup visit with the gynecologist yesterday. I expected to be cleared to resume all activities, but before that could happen, she had to peer up and see how things were healing. She informed me that while the healing was going well, my internal incision was like a cake.
I nodded, befuddled, wondering whether that was code for something. Saying “What does that mean?” would have been too obvious, so I just lay there in silence and waited.
Not done in the middle, is what she was saying. People heal at different rates, and I wasn’t healed completely. She directed the nurse to hand her a Q-tip with silver nitrate on the end.
I’m familiar with silver nitrate because back when I had the mole on my abdomen removed, it started to get a little infected, and the doctor cauterized it with silver nitrate, and while the cauterizing of the infected mole wasn’t painful, the idea of it was painful. Before I realized what was going on, she’d applied the silver nitrate to the slowly healing section of my incision (the incision at the end of my vagina, people, try to keep up), and while I was just starting to think “Isn’t silver nitrate what they put on my mole and it bubbled and looked gross?”, she’d applied a second Q-tip of the stuff, and was done.
It didn’t hurt while she was doing it or while I was getting dressed or making my appointment to go back in two weeks, but once I got to the car, I started having cramps that approached the worst period I’ve ever had. Apparently my innards do not care for silver nitrate and were beginning to protest.
A couple of Tylenol took care of that, though.
She told me that I’d probably have discharge that would have black flakes in it and maybe even a little blood. I never threw out my maxi pads, THANK GOD, because I’ve been discharging like nobody’s business. I turned over in the middle of the night last night, and I swear it felt like there was a three-liter bottle of water up there, emptying out, glugglugglug.
(You’re welcome.)
I asked her if I could start lifting heavy objects again, and apparently I took her by surprise because she sputtered for a moment and then said “Such as?”
“Forty pounds buckets of litter – cat litter,” I said.
She looked confused and then like she wasn’t looking forward to telling me that I couldn’t lift them, so I said “Well, I don’t have to, I can get my husband to lift them for me.”
She looked bemused and said, “You don’t buy them in smaller sizes at all?”
And I said, “We have a lot of cats.” Which, ha HA, THERE’s an understatement if there ever was one.
In the end, she said to take it slow and work up to it.
So I promptly left her office, went to Sam’s, and loaded 10 40-pound buckets of litter into a cart.
I AM KIDDING. Don’t email and yell at me, I did go to Sam’s, but I didn’t lift anything heavier than a bag of rawhide bones for the dogs.
I swung by Petsmart to check out the cats, then ran over to Target, then stopped by Publix.
Wednesdays have GOT to be Senior Day at Publix, because that place was PACKED, and there wasn’t anyone under the age of 73 in the place. I dropped off my prescription for estrogen, bought a few things, and went back to the pharmacy to pick up my prescription.
“Your doctor wrote this for a three month supply at a time,” the pharmacist said. “And I do have enough to fill the prescription, but if you get all three months right now, it will cost you $120.”
“I’ll just take one month then,” I said.
I came to the decision a couple of weeks ago to start cutting my estrogen patch in half and perhaps eventually wean myself off estrogen completely, but earlier this week it came to my attention that I am having RAGE issues over the stupidest shit, and thus I have gone back to the full patch. (Yes, I am also on a progesterone cream.)
I paid for my prescription, left, and finally got home a little after 11:00. I put groceries (and Sam’s purchases) away, called Fred, puttered around the house, and then went in to feed the Bookworms. They ate, and then Rhyme went into the litter box.
Now, before I go on, let me tell you that I realized Tuesday that Rhyme and Bolitar both had pretty bad diarrhea, so I added some Forti-Flora to their food, and I dabbed some hemorrhoid cream to poor Bolitar’s swollen backside, and Wednesday morning things seemed to be better. Then after I fed them, Rhyme went into the litter box and had explosive diarrhea. I looked around frantically for something to scoop it up with (so I could take it to the vet for testing), and when I had found a spoon to use (I hope it’s needless to say, that spoon will never see the inside of our utensil drawer again), I leaned down to scoop it out of the litter box. Before I could scoop anything, Bolitar climbed into the litter box and hunched down, and so I just held the damn spoon under his butt, and got the best sample in the history of poop samples.
(Pardon me while I go add a grossness disclaimer to the beginning of this section.)
I called the vet’s office, they said I could bring it in, and off to the vet’s office I went, sample in tow.
I dropped it off, let my number, stopped at Publix again to buy replacements for the plastic dish I’d used to store the sample in (OY the old people. I had no idea that store gets THAT busy. Seniors love their discount; who can blame ’em?), and got home a little before 2:00.
I was going to eat lunch and maybe even watch TV, but I was in the middle of doing something on my computer, and had to reboot, and that was all she fucking wrote. The latest version of Firefox had downloaded, so after I rebooted, Firefox did the updating thing, and then it shit the bed. For the next hour, I swore and raged at my computer, rebooted 300 times, had to resort to using Internet Explorer, and threw myself upon the mercy of the geek I’m married to.
He eventually fixed it, but in the course of rebooting this goddamn computer (DON’T LOOK AT ME, YOU FUCKING THING, YES I’M TALKING ABOUT YOU) I fried my Sansa Clip mp3 player and nothing I did would bring it back to life. Yes, I have an iPod, but I actually prefer using the Sansa Clip, because (1) It cost $10 at Woot, so I’m not worried about dropping it and breaking it, the way I’m worried about dropping and breaking the iPod, (2) It’s a lot smaller and lighter than the iPod, (3) It goes down my playlist in order of the shows I’m listening to, and I don’t have to mess with choosing a show and hitting “play”, it just does it automatically.
I’ll be keeping an eye on Woot and will buy the hell out of a new Sansa when it comes around, believe me.
Annnnd… that was my day. It was lovely and sunny and warm yesterday while I was running around like a chicken with its head cut off, and today it’s going to still be warm, but it’s raining like hell. I am going to be one vacuuming fool, believe you me. You have no idea how excited I am to be resuming my vacuuming schedule.
That’s right. You know you envy my super-exciting party ways!
The boys are now on Panacur, have been since last night. They did not appreciate this “medication” business, but they got over it quickly enough. They’re far more interested in getting OUT of their room. I go into their room and feed them, and they’re happy enough to eat and to snuggle with me, but once I leave the room, they (Bolitar, especially) stand at the door and howl. And howl. And howwwwwwwwwwl. They have got the most piercing little voices, and I’m pretty sure that one day they’re going to drive me straight out of my mind with those piercing howls. They do eventually give up and go play and sleep and such, but the ten minutes or so that they howl at the door is ETERNAL.
Still no defined kitten heads or movement seen or felt in the Maura belly region. She’s no dummy – she’s like “I have plenty of food and water, toys, and a cat tree to climb. Why on earth would I want to have BABIES to mess it up?”
Previously 2009: For they are fearsome creatures. 2008: “My flabby sections” would be an excellent band name.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry. 2005: The spud is officially licensed. 2004: Ain’t it always the way that when you call someone names in your journal, secure in the knowledge that they’ll never see it, they always do? 2003: (And before you say it, yes. You shouldn’t give a shit what I think, either.) 2002: Is it just me?
2001: No entry. 2000: If you knew you’d get $341 million for being treated savagely and cruelly for 7 years, would you do it?
“Shall I run across the room like a little lunatic, or shall I take a nap? Decisions, decisions.” The thousand yard stare kittens get when they’re in the litter box always makes me laugh. Rhyme sniffs the kibble (and then he promptly walked through it). Reacher and Corbett: Brudderly love. I love it when they … Continue reading “3/24/10 – Wednesday (kittehs)”
“Shall I run across the room like a little lunatic, or shall I take a nap? Decisions, decisions.”
The thousand yard stare kittens get when they’re in the litter box always makes me laugh.
Rhyme sniffs the kibble (and then he promptly walked through it).
Reacher and Corbett: Brudderly love.
I love it when they flail around with their mouths open. Makes me laugh.
Previously 2009: You’d think it’s not such a big decision, but I AM a master ditherer, so dither I shall. 2008: And then they tried to say that I was calling Rick’s feet “dainty”, so in one short day I managed to insult everyone in the house.
2007: No entry.
2006: No entry. 2005: I. Am. PISSED. 2004: “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t believe I quite understand. Could you explain this “spoonful” word to me via pantomime again?” 2003: That, or she’s a stalker-reader.
2002: No entry.
2001: No entry. 2000: Some people just have a smack-me face, don’t they?
One day last week, I was walking around the house opening the blinds. In the front room, I opened the blinds at the end of the room near the TV, and realized I could hear a cat growling. I looked down and saw Jake sitting there staring loonily at the corner next to the TV, … Continue reading “3/23/10 – Tuesday”
One day last week, I was walking around the house opening the blinds. In the front room, I opened the blinds at the end of the room near the TV, and realized I could hear a cat growling. I looked down and saw Jake sitting there staring loonily at the corner next to the TV, and looked to see Elwood hunched behind the big square thing that has something to do with our surround sound. The growling was coming from him.
For a moment, I thought that he was growling at Jake because he was tired of getting his ass kicked (Jake is half the size of Elwood, but he can kick some serious butt when he wants to), but then I looked closer and realized that there was a bird hanging from his mouth.
A small one. A dead one.
I reached for Elwood, who responded by running behind the couch. I shot a blast of compressed air behind the couch, and Elwood ran out from behind the couch, and down the hallway. I chased him down the hallway into the dining room, where he outmaneuvered me and headed back to the living room. Back behind the couch. Another shot of compressed air. Back down the hallway. I finally caught him in a corner of the dining room, and picked him up, bird and all, and carried him to the back door. I stepped out onto the top step, forced his jaws open, and took the bird from his mouth.
He hissed at me, then ran back into the house.
I couldn’t figure out where the hell the bird had come from – Elwood doesn’t go outside. I went back to the front room, finished opening the blinds, and then went into the guest bedroom to open the blinds.
(This was before the kittens took up residence in that room.)
As I opened the blinds, I realized there were tiny feathers all over the guest bedroom. Then I realized there were tiny feathers all down the hallway. Also all over the side of the front room we never use. All I can guess is that one of the other cats brought the bird inside, and Elwood took it from them, and probably every cat in the house stampeded after Elwood, and he was tired of them trying to steal his bird from him, and thus the growling.
The entire time, I had to have been sitting in front of my computer, oblivious. Oblivious is my default state, apparently.
AND THEN.
Last night, I was scooping the litter boxes in the laundry room, and I heard the oddest sound, a high-pitched squeal. That’s weird, I thought to myself. I’ve never heard the cats make a sound like THAT before. I started to stand up, and a small black bird with white speckles came flying through the door from the kitchen. He was closely followed by a melee of cats, and my response was to scream (my response is ALWAYS to scream), and the cats scattered.
The bird flew directly to the window by the dryer, and flapped helplessly there.
“BIRD!” I yelled to Fred. “THERE’S A BIRD!”
I considered the flapping bird for a moment, wondered how we’d capture him since I was sure he’d end up behind the dryer when he saw us coming, and then the obvious solution came to me. I walked over, unlatched the window, and opened it. The bird flew outside. I closed the window. Problem solved.
The question here, however, is where the FUCK that bird came from. All the doors were closed, the cats were inside, and the bird didn’t look like he’d been at the paws of torturing cats all day long. My first thought was that perhaps one of the cats had brought it inside during the day, it escaped, and waited until it thought it could make a break for it (which is likely giving that bird too much credit). The problem with that is that there’s no place in this house that the cats can’t go – all the high places are available to them, the bookcases, the top of the cupboards in the kitchens. Had a bird been biding its time atop one of the bookcases, the cats would have found it.
All I can guess is that it came down the chimney in the front room and flew from the front of the house to the back. Which, I don’t know how plausible that is (that fucking chimney in the front room is a nightmare. We had a cap put on it so that birds couldn’t get in, but the fucking cap flipped off and the guys who put it there are no longer in business. Swallows build their nest in the chimney, and then the fucking baby birds fall down the chimney, nest and all, USUALLY while we’re sound asleep, and either die or are chomped upon by cats. Ugh.).
Or maybe the birds are getting in the same way the wasps are. It’s a fucking mystery, is what it is.
Yesterday evening, Fred had to put down a Black Copper Marans hen. She was born with something wrong with one of her legs, but she got around okay, so we let her live. (Here at Crooked Acres, the crippled and lame chickens tend to live longer lives than the perfectly healthy ones, because we feel sorry for them – see Charlie and her twisted-up toes.) Yesterday, he realized she didn’t look right, and when he brought her out of the coop, she went a few steps and then laid down in the mud. He put her back in the coop and came in to discuss with me whether he should wait and see if she improved, or just go ahead and put her down.
We ultimately decided that he should put her down.
Our decision to have a flock of Black Copper Marans was the dumbest move we’ve made since we moved here, bar none. We ordered 40 hatching eggs last Spring, and we now have five of the goddamn things. They were going to be our moneymaking flock, because people pay something like $60 per dozen fertile Marans eggs (it may even be more, I don’t remember). AND NOW I KNOW WHY THEY PAY SO MUCH. Because we get, perhaps, one egg every other day.
I’m trying to convince Fred that we should just move all the chickens out to the big yard, so we can have ONE chicken yard instead of having to deal with two yards, and since George and Gracie are out there to protect the chickens, we could actually go out and stay out after dark without having to be too concerned about the chickens.
We’ve now hit the point where when we get up and leave the room, the kittens – even if they’re paying no attention to us and are off playing with each other or a toy – try to follow us out the door. Bolitar, especially, runs for the door when I leave. He’s made it out once or twice, then he just stands there and looks around like “It’s a whole new world!” until I pick him up and set him back in the room.
Then he howls at the door. OH does he howl. Sometimes another kitten will join in on the howling, and OH their hearts are just breaking at the injustice of not being able to get through the door, they are PERSONALLY insulted at this turn of events.
Luckily it doesn’t last for long, and then they toddle off to play or sleep or whatever.
“Babies? No. There are no babies in there. I accidentally swallowed a basketball. It’ll go away. Seriously!”
I have to get a shot of Maura from above – she seriously looks like she swallowed a basketball. Her appetite seems to have ramped up – before, when I’d bring her her plate of canned kitten food in the morning and evening, she’d come over and greet me and rub up against me, maybe inspect my litter box scooping technique, and then wander over to the plate. Nowadays, she dives right into the plate of food and doesn’t come up for air until it’s gone.
I guess she needs plenty of food to grow those babies. I mean, that basketball.
Previously 2009: IT IS SPRING AND IT IS SUPPOSED TO BE HUMID, AND I STRENUOUSLY OBJECT TO GETTING ZAPPED BY STATIC ELECTRICITY IN MARCH IN ALABAMA.
2008: No entry. 2007: No offers yet though, damnit. 2006: “Hookers and blow!” he crowed jubilantly. 2005: Also, there’s that whole pesky “dealing with people” thing, and I don’t like that sort of thing at ALL. 2004: The spud passed the test for her learner’s permit, THANKYAJEEZUS.
2003: No entry.
2002: No entry. 2001: Fred and I chose the names of our future child/ren way before we ever met – Seth Forrest and Samantha Jayne. 2000: On the other hand, I was shopping in Wal-Mart, wasn’t I? What’d I expect, diamonds and furs?
We had a very quiet and low-key weekend ’round these parts. I suspect we would have gotten more accomplished if it hadn’t been RAINING and overcast and ugly and cold(ish) most of the weekend, but OH WELL. Spring? What Spring? The high today’s only supposed to hit 49. Also, it’s currently 37 and spitting snow. … Continue reading “3/22/10 – Monday”
We had a very quiet and low-key weekend ’round these parts. I suspect we would have gotten more accomplished if it hadn’t been RAINING and overcast and ugly and cold(ish) most of the weekend, but OH WELL.
Spring? What Spring?
The high today’s only supposed to hit 49. Also, it’s currently 37 and spitting snow. I OBJECT.
I could use some warm weather, I’m telling you.
Saturday, we got up and headed out later than Fred would have liked. I was making him get groceries with me since I have not officially been cleared to lift stuff, and I like having company at the grocery store, so I was milking it for all it was worth. I expect next weekend I’ll be on grocery duty all by myself. We stopped by Lowe’s first because the light over the sink had gone out, and we needed a replacement bulb. We also needed a new light for the laundry room. I guess three years is about how long those fluorescent lights last, which I’m thinking isn’t bad, especially considering that the kitchen light gets a lot of use.
As we walked into the store, I said “You have the gift card, right?” Fred got a Lowe’s gift card at Christmas, which he hadn’t used and I’d rediscovered Friday afternoon, and which I immediately gave to him to put in his wallet.
“Oh,” he said. “No, you didn’t remind me.”
Remember in the last season of Jon & Kate Plus 8 when Jon went somewhere to buy a shower head for the new house, and he got home and Kate was all “Did you use the coupons?” and he was all “No, I didn’t take any coupons with me” and before our very eyes, she turned into a shrieking harpy, her voice went up sixty-three octaves and she screamed “YOU DIDN’T USE THE COOOOOOOOOOOUPONS?!” in the same tone you or I would scream “YOU THREW THE CHILDREN INTO A CAGE OF HUNGRY TIIIIIIIIIIGERS?!” and yanked open the coupon drawer and held out a handful of coupons in shrieking appeal to him, all “WHY DO YOU THINK WE HAVE THE COUPONS IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO USE THEM?!” and he shrugged and wandered off (that could be a summary of Jon Gosselin’s role on that show, shrugging and wandering off), probably thinking to himself We bought a three million dollar home and I’m a man whore who sleeps with any 19 year-old skank who’ll have me, and your issue is that I didn’t save $1.99 on the shower head?
Anyway.
So I got all shrieking harpy, “WHERE did you PUT the gift card? WHY do you think I gave it to you? WHY wouldn’t you just put it in your wallet when I handed it to you?” and he shrugged and wandered off.
As it turned out, Lowe’s had the laundry room light, but not the one we needed for the kitchen, so we bought what we needed and left. PAYING CASH FOR OUR PURCHASES BECAUSE THE GIFT CARD WAS ON HIS DESK AT HOME.
Hmph.
We went to get groceries, and it was a quick trip, because these days our grocery lists tend to be pretty short.
Once home, Fred made breakfast (over the past few weeks, we’ve gotten into the habit of having a bacon-sausage-eggs breakfast on Saturday mornings), we ate, and then I spent a good long time with the kittens and with Maura.
Saturday afternoon, we headed out to get dinner and to stop by the dollar store. The only place I’ve been able to find simple clay litter around here is at the dollar store. (With kittens, you need to start them out on clay litter, because they tend to try to eat the litter at first, and eating clumpable litter is a bad thing when it comes to tiny digestive systems.) We went into the dollar store, Fred loaded up a couple of bags of litter, and then we stood in line.
We stood in line for, literally, ten minutes. There were four or five people in line in front of us, and in that ten minutes, only one of them finished their transaction and left. (Some issue with the PIN pad or a food stamps card or something, I wasn’t paying attention.) Finally, Fred turned to me and said desperately “Can we go to another dollar store?” I said we could, he put the litter back, and we left.
In town, we stopped by one of the myriad dollar stores to buy litter, and although it was a lot busier than the first dollar store, we were in and out of there pretty quickly. We picked up dinner, and came home.
We spent the evening watching a couple of episodes of the second season of Breaking Bad (we’d started watching that season, but about three episodes in, we switched from one satellite cable provider to another, and we currently don’t get whatever channel Breaking Bad comes on – AMC, maybe?), then hung out with the kittens and then with Maura.
Sunday was a day where we really did nothing at all. It was crappy and rainy out, so we decided to spend the afternoon watching TV. We finished off the second disc of Breaking Bad, and then at Fred’s suggestion, we watched The Girl Next Door. This is not, as you might think, the craptastic Elisha Cuthbert movie, but rather the movie based on the book by Jack Ketchum. Fred read it last week, and said it was “disturbing” and decided he wanted to watch the movie. Since it was available instantly via Netflix, we watched it.
It was disturbing, I’ll give you that, but it was also horribly acted and I really don’t recommend it. At least it was only an hour and a half long.
The Bookworms are doing just fine. They’re down to getting a bowl of (watered-down) formula two times a day now. They could probably go without, but I want to be sure, since they’re not eating canned food, that they get enough liquid in. There’s a bowl of water in the room, and they’ve all sniffed at it, but they’re not terribly interested in it just yet.
They are just the sweetest little guys, I can barely stand it!
Corbett, considering whether he wants to climb up into my lap.
Active little monkeys – Reacher’s biting the stuffed Mama cat. Rhyme is biting the bed. And Bolitar is fighting with the carrier.
Bolitar, scaling the carrier. They ADORE this carrier – they like to hang out inside and fight with each other. They also like to climb up to the top of it and then go back down the other side. It’s particularly funny when three of them are hanging off the carrier.
Previously
2009: No entry.
2008: No entry. 2007: “What’d you do, come up with some new exercise plan?” he asked. 2006: Why do I feel like an ass all of a sudden? 2005: Damn. He saw through my wily scheme! 2004: She stood and let it sink in, then turned and flounced off.
2003: No entry. 2002: Cat pee, by the way, is the vilest-smelling stuff on this planet. 2001: Don’t you hate it when someone tries to be reasonable in the midst of your tightly choreographed hissy fit? 2000: “Of course they do, they like soft toilet paper. It’s the mafia, babe!”
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