Tuesday, September 30, 2014

Reversal of fortune



Of my three permacats, Sodapop has always been the most resistant to fosters.  While Tinks LOVES foster cats and kittens, and Pony just ignores them, Soda has always been the one to bring on a histrionic display when new fosters are introduced.  He howls and yowls and has a snit fit for a few days, and then he's over it.

Except with Callie.  Callie, one of the two feral fosters, has been here for over a year now.  And Soda had been fine with her (except at first, of course), until a few weeks ago, when Soda decided that Callie was The Enemy.

He started hissing at her.  And yowling. And swatting.  And actively chasing after her, anytime she came into view.   Anytime I saw him acting up, I'd yell at him, and swat at him if he was within range, but still he kept at it.

He never actually attacked her, but he was making her life miserable. So much so that she was spending most of her time under my bed, and I was considering asking the rescue for her to be moved to another foster home,  just so she could get relief from Soda's constant badgering, although I was reluctant  to do so, because that would just reward Soda for his bad behavior, and I felt like maybe she needed to learn to stand up for herself.  

And then I got home from work one day last week.   I don't know WHAT happened while I was gone, but everything had changed in the household cat balance.

Soda, who had been waiting on the front stoop with Pony for me to get home from work (yes, they do this)(no, I don't know why, except they know they'll get wet food when I get home)(they have a pet door, so it's not like they're waiting to go in), refused to go into the house.  Callie was in the living room.  Soda finally slipped in, slinking past Callie just as fast as he could.  Callie strutted toward to Soda, who ducked around her into the bedroom.

Ah-ha!  I thought.  The bullied finally became the bullier.  Callie finally got sick of Soda's crap and let him have it.  Good for her!

Peace reigned in the house for a few days, until the other night, when I was in the kitchen and heard a mighty wailing and yowling from the living room.  Callie shot past me out the pet door, and I ran into the living room to find Soda, right in the middle of the room, trying to lick tufts of CALLIE'S FUR off of his face.

Oh COME ON, Sodapop.

I turned around and ran out after Callie, which hahahaha she won't let me anywhere NEAR her, but I got close enough to see that she wasn't actually bleeding and didn't have, like, chunks missing or anything.  Evidently it was a glancing chomp.

Since then I've been watching the two of them closely, and I swear to God, they goad each other into action.  It's like watching a pendulum swing back and forth, back and forth, as the balance between the two of them shifts. 

I'm not going to worry about rehoming Callie.  Half the time lately, she's the aggressor.  Even when she's being picked on, it doesn't seem to particularly bother her now; she doesn't even bother to go under the bed anymore.  She just bides her time and stirs the pot when the mood hits her.  I'm starting to wonder if they're enjoying their little back-and-forth.  And most of the time they're able to live harmoniously; it's just every once in a while, they mix it up.  Like little kids who get bored and start poking at each other, just to get a reaction.

Cat dynamics, man.  Where's Jackson Galaxy when you need him?






Monday, September 29, 2014

Trail of Cheetos








Yeah, no, I don't know why somebody left a Cheetos-and-cereal trail on the flood wall.  Ideas, anyone?

ANYway, yesterday was a gorgeous day for a walk.  Even though we haven't had a hard frost yet, the trees are inching their way toward peak, with a few already flaming:





The shadows are long, even at noon:





 The creek is low:


The asters are blooming like fireworks:





And the light is golden in the woods:


I think by this coming weekend, the trees will be at their prettiest.  And after that ... well, we all know what's coming.  But for now we can pretend we don't.


Friday, September 26, 2014

OMG WHAT THE F*CK HOLY SH*T




I just got a call from an insurance company.  Looking at the caller ID, I thought it was a telemarketer and almost didn't take it, but then I thought the better of it. 

Turns out, many many MANY years ago, my mom took out a life insurance policy and named me, her youngest, as the beneficiary.  I dunno why either; probably one of my dad's bar buddies was selling insurance or something. 

Mom passed away in December.  The insurance company got wind of it.

They're sending me a check.  For

oh crap I probably shouldn't say it here, should I?  Beware of scammers and all that.

For lots of dollars.  Not enough to pay off my mortgage or anything, but enough to take a very VERY nice vacation should I so choose.

Out of the blue.

All I can think of is, many years ago, when my great-aunt Grace passed away and unexpectedly left my Mom a sum of money, and how pleased we all were for Mom. 

And now it's me.

Thanks, Mom! 

OMG HOLY CRAP YIPPEE



Beach baby, beach baby, there on the sand, from July to the end of September ...






I was accidentally listening to the classical music station the other day, and the announcer was introducing a symphony, and he starts talking about how the song Beach Baby used a portion of the theme and blahblahblah and I was all, "Beach Baby!  I haven't heard that song in YEARS!"

Turns it came out in *gulp* 1974.  When I was twelve.

So here ya go.  A blast from my past.  You're welcome. 



(Updated to add:)  And now this song is STUCK IN MY HEAD and I've been whistling it all morning, which ordinarily I would worry was bothering my co-workers, except ONE of my co-workers has suddenly developed the EXTREMELY ANNOYING HABIT of inserting the word "literally" into EVERY SINGLE SENTENCE so I'm pretty sure we're even.


Thursday, September 25, 2014

Five dollar necklace




Huh?  Huh?  Is pretty, no? 

I found it at Charlie Brown's, which I hadn't been to in a while because evidently new people bought it and they ripped out all the walls and now it's just like one big open ... space, and it seems like the vendors all raised their prices, maybe because they're being charged more rent, and anyway, I was not impressed AT ALL when I went in a few months back because now it's just like all the other overpriced junk shops in the area, but it was raining the other weekend, and I thought, eh, why not, might as well just pop in and

voila

five dollar necklace.

Lucky me.


Wednesday, September 24, 2014

Decisions, decisions


So!  Now that my sanity-saving fence is up, it was time to stain it.  I went to Home Depot last weekend, perused the options, and picked out a stain.  I didn't want something too dark; just something natural-looking.

Here is the fence, unstained:


I decided to stain the back side, facing the neighbors, first, in case I didn't like the color:



That right there is the world's sloppiest application of Thompson's Waterseal Waterproofing Stain in Transparent Woodland Cedar.  I'm not sure on the color:  Too dark?  Just right?  I might go with a lighter, or even a clear, stain on my side, but I'm not sure. 

Oh!  And in other house news, I've been willow tree shopping for a while now, because while the giant willow in my backyard is gorgeous, it is nearing the end of its lifespan and I wanted to get a replacement started.  I've been looking at garden centers and on line without finding anything in my extremely limited budget.  I actually started some cuttings last weekend, more as a science experiment just to see if they would take than anything else.  But then!  At Tractor Supply for an adoption event last Saturday, I had a chance to browse the garden area, and holy crap you guys, they were selling six-foot willow trees for TWENTY BUCKS.



Welcome to my backyard, little willow tree.  Ignore the cats; they're kind of jerks.

Oh, and I actually went BACK to Tractor Supply and picked up ANOTHER willow tree Monday night, because why not?  TWENTY BUCKS.  And then?  Last night?  I went back AGAIN and picked up a pink dogwood.   hahahahaha ALL THE TREES I NOW OWN ALL THE TREES.

Time to dig some more holes. 

Okay, okay, back to the main point:  The fence stain.  Too dark?  Too light?  Just right?  Enquiring minds want to know.






Monday, September 22, 2014

What lies beneath


The contractor who installed my fence has been doing some other odd jobs around the house for me.  Installing a new floodlight for the backyard (necessitated by hearing the nighttime yip-yip-yipping of coyotes in the distance a while back - NOT a sound you want to hear as a pet owner), replacing a wonky exterior outlet, etc.  I also asked him to do a little sleuthing.

When I bought the house five years ago, there was brand-new carpet in the bedrooms and the hallway.  Very nice, but when you foster kittens, some of whom are still learning the ABCs of litterboxing, carpet is a pain.  It would be much easier if there was a hard floor in the foster room, and since my living room had a hardwood floor that was obviously original to the house, I wondered ... maybe there was hardwood under the carpet? 

Of course, there's only one way to find out - rip up the carpet.  Engineers call it "destructive testing" - ripping something up to find out what's behind it.  So I asked the contractor to cut some of the carpet in the foster room closet and see what was under it.

Would it be linoleum?  Some kind of crappy subfloor?  Would it ... could it ... be hardwood?  Oh, the suspense was killing me.  Finally, it was time to find out.

The contractor went into the closet and started cutting.  He pulled up a square of carpet and padding and handed it out to me.  Then he said, "Here, come take a look," and survey SEZ:




(inserting some spaces here for suspense)



(can you even stand it)



(here we gooooooo...)










Ding ding ding IT'S HARDWOOD!  The angels sang.   Looks to be in excellent shape, too, if maybe in need of some cleaning and refinishing.

Holy crap you guys, WHY do people carpet over hardwood? Whyyyyyyyy?  Wood floors are so pretty.

So!  I'm going to have the contractor pull up the carpet in the foster room ASAP.  Just so I can go in and gaze at all the wood glory.  As soon as the budget allows, he'll come in and refinish the wood, and then, down the road, do the other bedroom and the hallway. 

Oh happy day.







Friday, September 19, 2014

Diatowhatsis whatsis?



So, add this to the column of "Things I should probably not be admitting":

In addition to ringworm, my household also had fleas.

Yes, I flea-and-tick treat my cats.  And my foster cats. Religiously during the warm months, as my neck of the woods is Tick City.  And Pony gets treated year-round, due to his immune issues.

So, I treat all of the cats I can get my hands on, i.e., Pony, Soda, Tinks, and Bindi.

Who does that leave out?

Callie.  Meet the Flea Factory:


I can't get within five feet of her, thus, I can't flea-treat her.  And she DOES have fleas.  My other cats are unaffected, as they are flea-protected, but Callie and I are the only two animals in the house who are NOT flea-treated, and we both?  Are flea-bitten.

Aye-yi-yi this foster biz.

So.  I started researching flea control methods.  A fogger bomb was out, as were standard insecticides, because I have no way of removing Callie from the premises during treatment.  (Doesn't she look stressed, in that pic above?  DOESN'T SHE?  Little sh*t.)

And then, I remembered another blogger (if it was you; speak up - I can't remember WHICH blogger) had mentioned some kind of ... dust.  Some all-natural treatment.  Something ... earth.  Dia-something-something earth.

So I googled "dia earth", and up popped

Diatomaceous earth.

Turns out diatomaceous earth is one of those products, like vinegar, that will supposedly cure everything but cancer. And maybe cancer, too.  It's a talc-like substance that is evidently the remains of fossil shells blah blah blah snooooooze.

And it will kill fleas. And ticks.  And silverfish and bedbugs and whatever other little nasties are lurking in the carpeting.

Sold!  While at Agway a couple of weekends ago for an adoption event, I picked up a bag of it.  And spread it liberally all over the house.  And, because I do like to hedge my pets (typo and it stays) and I also like my toys, I picked up one of these:





I could not resist the graphic of the fleas merrily traipsing toward the trap.  "LA LA LA LA SH****T!"  Ha.

While the flea trap did not capture any fleas (I didn't set it up until a couple of days after I had spread the earth), I can say with confidence that the amount of scratching going on in my household has substantially decreased since I used the diatomaceous earth.  And I, at least, am no longer flea-bitten.  I can't speak for Callie, but she seems happier as well.  Diatomaceous earth FTW!

And I am curious:  Have any of you guys used diatomaceous earth?  For fleas or other uses? Of which there are about ten billion, at least according to the internet.  Do any of you actually ... eat it?  Or feed it to your pets?  Enquiring minds want to know.





Wednesday, September 17, 2014

well, THAT was a real cob job



So, I got home yesterday, and the tree trimmers  were gone.  They cut out a sh*t-ton of branches, mostly right in the middle of the trees, so it kind of looks like a narrow tornado came through. 

Like this:


Hmpf.

(That's not my trees, btw.  Just a VERY ACCURATE representation.)

They also bashed a big dent in the top of my mailbox and flattened the mailbox garden.  I tried to fluff the black-eyed susans back up, but they're not having it. Hopefully they'll rebound.

Oh, and they left nine million branchlets all over the damn front yard.  AND left a bunch of widowmaker branches hanging.

Sheesh.  So basically, the utility company, to which I pay some of the highest energy costs in the country, did a job that would get a regular company fired.

On the plus side, the front yard gets a bunch more sun now.  So ... yay?



Tuesday, September 16, 2014

Cool or ghoul



So, I was paging through the weekly CVS flyer this morning, when I came across this:





AWESOME, right?   It's a plastic cat skeleton Halloween decoration.

As soon as I saw it, I was all, waaaaaaaaaaant.

I needed it to add to my House of Strange!

I went to the nearest CVS on my lunch and sure enough, there it was ... Skeleton Cat!  And on sale for sixteen bucks!

I almost ... almooooossssst bought it.

But then I got to thinking.  Is it ... too much?  Too strange for the House of Strange?

Because frankly, it wasn't gonna be just a Halloween decoration.  It would be a permanent addition, like Angel Rabbit Man or the flamingo or the Infant of Prague statues.  

See ... I like bones.  I like their permanence.  I like their structure.  I have lots of deer antlers and skulls and bones.  Stuff that I've picked up on my hikes.  But is a skeleton of a cat, even if fake, is it ... over the line?

What do you think?  Enquiring minds want to know.




There goes the neighborhood. (Trees, that is.)



A couple of months ago, I came home to arcing electrical wires in the front yard.  I called the utility company, and they sent a guy right out to cut back some branches from the locust trees out front.  At the time, I jokingly suggested that he cut 'em right down.

Yeah.  Well.  This morning, bright and early, there was a gigantic utility company tree-cutting-and-chipping truck out front.  By the time I left for work, a dude with a chainsaw in a cherry picker was busy at work.

I walked over to a guy on the ground.  "Are you gonna take 'em out, or just trim them?," I asked.

"Well, our orders are just to trim, so that's what we're gonna do today," the guy said.

It should be noted that the word "trim" has a substantially different meaning to the utility company than it does to you or me, so we'll see how much of those trees is left by the time I get home.

Eh.  I don't know which Einstein planted locust trees under power lines in the first place, so it's just as well that they go.  And let's hope that the utility company applies their "trim" judiciously.




Saturday, September 13, 2014

Holy SH*T you guys, why did no one ever tell me about H&M?!



Dudes.  Duuuuuudes.  I've seen the H&M ads on line, but there isn't a store in my area.  The other day, I decided to check them out at their on-line store.  Holy CRAP.

Dress #1.   Your basic cotton Little Black Dress, with lace around the neckline and hem, plus a tie waist.  Ten dollars.:




Dress  #2:  Another Little Black Dress, this one a little shorter and  more dressy, with a shirred waist.  Ten dollars:





Dress #3: Cotton sundress, with a scoop back with criss/cross back accents.  Yeah, I'll have to put it away until next summer, but it was SEVEN DOLLARS:



Dress #4:  Oh my god I LOVE this dress.  Retro pattern/style.  Twelve dollars:



Am I too old to wear knee-length dresses?  Ask me if I give a sh*t.  These dresses all look great on me.  I can pair them with tights/patterned hose and cardigans or blazers for the cooler months. (Except for the sundress.  That's gonna have to wait.)

I read a lot of reviews saying that H&M's shipping sucks, but I ordered these on Tuesday and they were on my doorstep today.   Flat-rate shipping is $5.95, tax was $1.80, and my grand total for FOUR DRESSES, all of which I LOVE, was $46.75.

Oh H&M, I love you.  Wanna get married?


Oh, and Tinks has already got to work adding his own,  personal accents (i.e, shedded fur) to my new dresses:



TINKS!





Friday, September 12, 2014

Freaky Friday: Bus Stop







From (bottom) left:  Wheel Cat, mermaid, Angel Rabbit Man, and the awesome flamingo I bought at the fair.  Oh, and Grinning Cat, there on the shelf.  He's not waiting for the bus, though.  He's just hanging out.





Oh, and speaking of angels, there was a photo caption on the front page of the local paper this morning:  "New York State Police Maj. Donald Faughnan stands in front of the Angle of Hope in Port Dickinson Park ..." Um. No. No, that statue of a winged woman is not an "angle".  Christ.


Wednesday, September 10, 2014

Random


Lots of random in my life lately.

Okay, so, first off, this post mentions a spider, so if that will squick you out, please to avoid. I will mention it when I get to the spider part so you can avert your eyes if necessary.


I bought a dress at Kohl's the other weekend that cost me ... zero.  Originally forty-eight bucks, marked down to $9.60, and I had a ten dollar gift postcard from Kohl's, so ... zero.

I have a couple of thoughts on this (because God knows I have thoughts on everything):

1.  Does anybody actually ever buy anything at full retail?  Especially at stores like Kohl's, where everything is on sale all the damn time?  Was that dress EVER offered at forty-eight bucks?  Somehow I doubt it.

2.  I have no idea why Kohl's keeps sending me these ten-dollar gift cards.  I mean, I'm not complaining or anything, but every few weeks, they send me a card (there was another one in my mailbox yesterday), I take it to the store, I pick out something that costs less than ten bucks, and I'm good.  They must have figured out by now that I'm not a typical shopper, and I'm not going to take that card and go spend, like, fifty bucks or something.  (and yes, you can absolutely find stuff for less than ten bucks at Kohl's.  Like the dress I just bought.  Clearance jewelry is also a sure thing, as is hosiery (early this spring I set myself up with tights for life by combining an 80% off sale with ten-dollar gift cards).  Towels are also on sale for less than ten bucks all the time.  I will never need to buy a beach towel again.  Thanks, Kohl's!  I don't know why you keep sending me these cards, but don't stop!

Okay, moving on.  Do you ever dream about bloggers?  Like, dream that you're a relative to a blogger or a neighbor or something?  Do you ever feel kind of ... creepy, afterward?  Like you've somehow invaded their personal life or something?  No?  Just me?  Okay, then , forget I asked.

I've been trying to eat fewer processed foods lately, just because it seems like a good idea, so I bought some real sliced cheese, as opposed to the processed cheese product pre-wrapped slices I usually buy.  And ... I like the fake stuff better.  Like, a LOT better.  Who let me out of the trailer park?

Is anybody besides me watching "Chrisley Knows Best"?  It's this reality TV show about a guy who is as gay as the day is long, his wife (a female)(!), and their five kids.  They're really, really rich, but he's really involved in his kids' lives, and it's pretty interesting to watch him keep his teen kids in line as they try to work around him.  He says he's spent over a million bucks on drug rehab for his oldest son, who has an out-of-wedlock daughter, and he and his wife are open about all the plastic surgery they've had, and it's just ... interesting. 

Utopia?  Anyone watching that one?  I haven't, yet, because it looks too much like Big Brother to me, but I was just wondering if it was any good.


Okay, here comes the spider part.  YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.  I was cleaning the foster room the other weekend, moving things from side to side so I could vacuum underneath everything, when I turned around and saw ... the biggest goddam spider I've ever seen in my LIFE, outside of a tarantula.  Thank GOD it was dead, because I think *I* would be dead of fright right now if it wasn't.  Thing was HUGE.  aaaggggh. The gigantic corpse was where a throw rug had been, before I picked it up to clean.  I must have picked up the rug and turned around with it before I saw the spider.  It must have crawled under there and died.  I'm surprised I didn't hear its DEATH THROES, it was so flippin' big.  Before I could even let myself process the fact that a spider that big was in MY F*CKING HOUSE, I just vacuumed up the corpse.  And now I'm trying to forget that the whole thing ever happened.  Maybe it was just ... a big wad of yarn or something.  Black yarn. Yeah, that's the ticket.

Spider?  What spider?  *shudder*








Tuesday, September 09, 2014

Gasoline



 I usually buy gas at a station downtown.  I run over there at lunch or after work; it's always a few cents cheaper at this one particular station.

In order to get there, I have to cut through a pretty sh*tty neighborhood; delapidated, low-income, high-density housing.  The crap side of town, if you will.

I've never had any problems over there, until yesterday afternoon after work.  I was a block or two from the gas station when I saw a clot of kids in the road up ahead.  There were a lot of them, probably thirty or forty, pre-teens and young teens,  cutting up and running around, and they were clustered in the street in front of two multi-family houses.  I was too far down the street to turn around by the time I saw them, and frankly, I was a little ticked off that they would just block the entire road.  Where the hell were their parents?

I drew closer in my car, and the kids on the fringe started moving out of the street, although a couple of them actually rode their bikes right in front of my car, like they didn't understand what a car could do to a kid on a bike.  Oh, who am I kidding, of COURSE they understood; they were just jerking my chain.  One or two kids ambled in front of me, close enough to touch the hood before they turned and strolled the other direction.  As I slowly drove forward, I could hear catcalls, most of which included the word "white".  Yep, I am.  I am that.

I wasn't scared.  This was a busy street in broad daylight, and I wasn't the only one trying to maneuver a car through the crowd.  I did kind of wonder where the cops were; we were only a block or two from the main station. 

I wasn't angry, particularly.  Just inconvenienced.  I just wanted to get my gas and head home without having to run a gauntlet of kids.

What I was, was sad.

It was four-thirty in the afternoon on a weekday, and here's a bunch of punks harassing cars on the street.  They weren't in an after-school program, they weren't playing sports, they weren't doing homework, they weren't in the park a block away, and they weren't being supervised by their parents.  They were just running wild, acting up, acting ... aimless.

Where will these kids be in five years?  Dealing drugs, some of them.  Doing drugs, some of them.  Some of the girls will be knocked up, and some of the boys will be in jail.  Some of them will be working in fast food, and a lot of them will be on welfare, because that's what they know. 

Very few of them will be in college.  Very few of them will go on to a career as a teacher or a doctor or a cop, with a home and a spouse and a couple of kids and a couple of cars in the garage.

Grim view?

Yep.  It's just a sad fact that very few get out of the hood.  Very few even try.  Kids model what they see, and what they see is welfare and unemployment and drugs and violence and broken homes and taunting the people who pass through their neighborhood.

It's sad, is what it is.  Is what I was, yesterday.


Monday, September 08, 2014

Hidden Heron


I was down by the creek the other day, trying to get pics of a blue heron.



Herons are hard to photograph.   They blend in, for one thing, and they take off if they think you're getting too close, i.e., within about a hundred yards.



Elusive bugger.

Someday, heron, I'll get a good picture of you.  Someday ...







Friday, September 05, 2014

Small world



An acquaintance of mine, a woman I went to high school with back (WAY back) in the day, does not drive.  I asked her why once, thinking maybe it was due to a medical condition, but she said no, she had actually gotten her driver's license once upon a time.  But then she went off to college and didn't need a car on campus, and then she moved back home and got an apartment within walking distance of her job, and she couldn't really afford a car on her salary, so she just ... didn't drive.  Never quite got around to it.

She is able to walk to work and to some grocery stores and store-stores and her gym, but public transportation is spotty at best around here, and so if she wants to go more than a mile or two, she either has to take a cab or rely on friends. 

*shudder*

I don't know.  I go where I want, when I want.  If I feel like driving up to Ithaca for an afternoon, I hop in the car and go.  To the restaurant across town, to the county park two towns over, to the State Fair ... I go.  I just ... I cannot imagine how small my world would be if I didn't drive.  I mean, I don't particularly enjoy driving, per se,  but I sure as sh*t like to go places.  Lots of places.  All the time.  And the idea of having to rely on someone else's schedule to go anyplace is, frankly, frightening to me.

Just last night after work, I went to the library, and then I went to the pizza joint to pick up a pizza, and then I went home, to my house out in the semi-sticks, right where I like to live.  None of which I'd be able to (easily) do if I didn't drive.  And that's not even anything really fun; it's just everyday basics.  This weekend I'm doing an adoption event on Saturday which will include shlepping all the tables and crates, and then I'm sure I'll get some hiking in on Sunday,  probably up at the state forest, and I couldn't do either of those things if I didn't drive.  (Unless a friend happened to be available to cart me around.)

And I mean, sure, things are different than they used to be; now the internet and nine billion cable channels can bring the world to you (more of the world than anyone needs to see, sometimes), and it's not like she's just sitting in her apartment staring at the walls or something (as far as I know).  But still. I wanna go.

I dunno.  What do you think?  Could you get by without driving?  Would you want to?  Would you be happy?



Thursday, September 04, 2014

Mallow



The hibiscus (hibiscuses? hibisci?) and Rose of Sharons (Roses of Sharon?  I DON'T KNOW) in my yard are blooming away.

I have to net the crap out of the hibiscus(es?) in the side garden, or the deer pluck the buds right off.

 Horse and hibiscus:


I moved a couple Rose of Sharons from my old apartment's yard.  I moved a LOT of plants from the old place.  The new tenant probably wondered what all the giant holes were for.  Five years later, the Rose of Sharons (?) are doing well.






I planted this double one (which has a visitor) by the mailbox.  I really need to get a pic of the mailbox garden; it looks very pretty, if I do say so myself.



Gotta love the late bloomers.

Wednesday, September 03, 2014

Movin' on up



Sweetie and Lump, my last two foster kittens, have moved on.


Seeing as how I have had no success in eradicating ringworm from the premises, I decided that it would be best if they went to a different foster home, one with more time and tolerance (and talent) to deal with fungal issues.  Get the little incubators out of the house, so to speak.


These two cuties have gone to the rescue group's founder, where they will have full-time run of the house until their adoptive family arrives.

I took them in to work with me on Friday morning, and they went to their new home from there.  I spent the weekend cleaning the SH*T out of the foster room (thank you, ringworm!).  It took six loads of laundry just to wash all the bedding, towels, etc.  I steamed cleaned the carpet TWICE - the first time didn't do the trick (urk). At first I was horrified at how much dirt came out of that carpet, but then I remembered that at one point I had TWELVE KITTENS (and two mama cats) in that room, and I cut myself a break.  I disinfected all surfaces with Clorox spray, washed the windows, etc., etc., and I hope I never see a ringworm outbreak again.  Well, other than the spot on Soda's ear ... did I mention that one of MY cats now has ringworm?  *sob* 

Bye bye, little babies.  I'll see you this weekend at our adoption event, and hopefully you'll find your new homes right quick.




(Oh, and what is the cat count now?  Well, I've gone from NINETEEN cats a couple of months ago (insanity times infinity) to five.  My three, and the two feral fosters.  And that's a totally acceptable number of cats. *whew*)


Monday, September 01, 2014

Good fences make good neighbors F*CK YEAH!!


First, I had to mark the fence line.  Tinks helped.  In this pic, my yard is on the left and my neighbors' yard is on the right.  Where Tinks is.  Oops.



When I got home from work on Thursday, the post holes had been dug:






That dirt is FULL of rocks.  I was going to say it was like digging holes in a creek bed, but actually, the creek used to run where my yard is now, so the contractor WAS digging holes in a creek bed.   The holes were 30" deep.

Up next:  The posts:


Fence sections all ready to go:






And finally,  VOILA:






My new fence. I love it.  I love that fence so much I wanna MARRY it.  Ha.