Well well well, look who's still here

Yep, plans changed, as they so often do, so these dudes are still at my place.

It's okay, guys.  Hang out as long as you like.

Bad boys, bad boys, whatcha gonna do?

Back when I was in high school, I always fell for the bad boys.  The rebels.  The ones with cars, the ones who drank and smoke.  Me?  I was a little nerd, a good girl, a band geek, an honor society member.  But OH did I lust after those bad boys.

One of them was named Pete.  Tall, with dark hair and a beautiful smile.  EXTREMELY good-looking.  He always hung out on Smokers' Hill behind the school, and you KNEW he drank and got in trouble with the best of them.

I am confident that Pete did not know I existed, but I sure had a crush on him. 

And here we are, thirty-five years out from high school, and I saw on the news this past weekend that Pete got busted for running a meth lab. (!)  Time (and meth) has not treated ol' Pete kindly:

That's his wife there on the right.  I don't think meth's been doing HER any favors, either.  All Pete needs is a swastika on his forehead and he'd be a dead ringer for Charlie Manson.

Wow.  You know, I always just assumed that the bad boys straightened up after high school.  Sowed their wild oats, so to speak, got it out of their systems, and carried on with life like the rest of us.  I know *I* did my share of carousing in my twenties, but eventually that got old, and responsibilities ensued, and I, well, grew up.

Guess not everybody did.  Holy cow.

Seen on Memorial Day

Wait ... what?

A pickup full of soldier mannequins ... ooookay.

Oh, Craigslist posters, you're so FUNNY

Seen in the local Craigslist Pets section: "UN planed mix puppets coming next month". Oh boy! Puppets!

The listing goes on to say, "We don't know the father breed I be live a small brew".

Wait a minute ... are we talking puppets or BEER here? Either way, it's all good. Who can argue with puppets and/or beer? Sign me up!

One more week ...

This weekend, Honey and the babies will be moving on.

The babies will be eight weeks old, and are done nursing for all intents and purposes.  Oh, they still enjoy the occasional trip to the Milk Bar, but once Honey went into heat and became less interested in her little minions, they mostly weaned themselves.  Which is kind of amazing, since I've had kittens in the past who were STILL nursing at SIXTEEN weeks!  These guys?  Nope, they're good, thanks.

One of the babies has already been spoken for (can you guess which one? I'll bet you can ...), and now that all of them are "of age", the family will be going to the rescue's adoption facility, where Mama can be spayed, the babies can start their vaccination series, and the two who have not yet been claimed can find their permafamilies.

Will I miss them?  Oh, yes I will!  But!  Another reason they are moving on is to make room for this:

Meet Brooke.  Brooke, who was found by the side of a highway in a neighboring town.  Brooke, and her as-yet-to-be-determined number of due-any-day kittens.  (Judging by that photo, I'd say there's a few. *cough*) When I take Honey and her kittens to the rescue facility, I will be bringing Brooke back.

Can't wait to meet you, Brooke!

Pics from last weekend

The initial tree:

I wonder if R.M. and S.K. are still together?:

Blueberry bush:

Wild Azaleas getting ready to bloom:

Let's go for a boat ride!

Ferns unfurling:

Trillium all in a row:

Lady Slippers allllllllmost ready to bloom:

MOAH DRAMA!

Oh my God, the soap opera with my sister Ditzy continues.

All was quiet for a few days, and then the calls started again.  Monday, she asked me to come up on my lunch break, and when I did, she didn't even WANT anything.  "I just don't want to be alone all day," she said.

Well I DO, sis.  I DO.

She called me AGAIN yesterday morning, saying that she "might have to go to the hospital" and wanted to give me a set of housekeys in case she was "in the hospital for a long time".

With a MIGHTY EYEROLL, I went up at lunchtime.  She claimed she was feeling "worse",  and wanted to know if I could take her to the emergency room and wait with her there.

"Where's Chris (her long-time, long-suffering boyfriend)?" I asked.

"Oh, Chris will be stopping by," she said, vaguely.

"Ditzy," I said, "I think it's time that your two (adult) kids stepped up to the plate.  I can't take you to the hospital and then wait with you.  I have to go back to work.  I'll call the ambulance, and you call the kids and have them meet you at the emergency room."

Just then, Chris showed up.  I told him that I was going to call 911, and that Ditz needed to call her kids to meet her at the emergency room.  I called 911, the ambulance showed up (all her vital signs were COMPLETELY NORMAL, btw), they loaded up Ditz and got her on her way to the ER, and then it was just me and Chris.

And then the truth came out.

"I broke up with Ditz a while back," Chris said.  "But she just keeps getting sicker and sicker, and I don't have the heart to not be here for her now.  She even started wearing the engagement ring that I gave her again.  She hasn't worn it for years.  I told her that it wasn't going to make any difference, that I wasn't going to come back, but she still thinks I will, if she needs me."

Ohhhhhhhhhhh.

So THAT's where all this is coming from.  Long-time boyfriend dumps her, she's suddenly without someone to give her sympathy and headpats, and *I* start getting phone calls.  And she ramps up the illness level in a last-ditch effort to hang onto her man.

"Chris," I said, "you don't owe Ditz anything.  Lord knows you've put up with her fake "illnesses" for all these years.  The family wrote her off years ago.  If her two kids don't want to help her out now, then she's going to have to figure something else out, because I've had it with her, personally.  I'm sorry, but that's the way it is.  I'm not going to be her next enabler."

OUCH.  I SAID IT.

And now?  Caller screening, baby.  If she calls me at work, the call is going to go the answering service.  If she calls me at home (Update:  SHE DID), it's going straight to voice mail.  If her kids won't help her out, then she's SOL, because I'll be damned if I'll enable this bullshit. She can hire somebody to hold her hand.

And that?  Is why they oughta let me teach at Bitch School.  I'd be damned good at it.

It's that time of year again

Time for the backyard wildflowers to bloom!

I can't bear to mow these pretty flowers down - which means I'll probably be out there with the weedwhacker in a couple of weeks, because once they're done blooming, the grass will be too high to mow.  Oh well.  Yet another reason for the neighbors to hate me.  Suck it, neighbors.  The flowers stay.


Tinks likes the tall grass:

Ponyboy came to join him:

What's a warm Spring day without a sunbath?

Just chillin' in the sunshine, that's my boys.

Babies!

Oh, my, they grow up SO FAST!  These guys are almost seven weeks old now.  Solid food eating has commenced.

Litter-box using has ALSO commenced, with some doing better than others.  *Little Red* *cough*

(In all fairness, Little Red appears to be about a week behind his sisters, developmentally, so I'm sure he'll come around.  Knock wood.)

Ruffian poses for her Glamour Shot:

Little Red says, "I'm so adorable, I don't HAVE to pose!  I just lie here and look pretty!

Yes, Little Red, WE KNOW.  You're the stunner of the litter.

Raffles displays her Ears of Annoyance:

and tells her Mama a secret:

Ain't nothin' cuter than a kitten.

Tink-a-dink-ding-dong

Tinks had his surgery on Wednesday, and it went well!  Unfortunately, his teeth were in such bad shape that the vet had to pull SIXTEEN of them - all of his back teeth.  Yikes!  But she gave him a long-acting shot for the pain before he left her office that day, and he seems to be in good spirits.  I've been giving him Fancy Feast broth packets, which he slurps right up, but he's also eating regular canned food and - amazingly - even dry food!  I've been trying to discourage that because I don't want him to bust his stitches open, but he's been gulping it right down.  That's one tough cat, right there.

And in OTHER cat news, I got - wait for it - an anonymous letter in my mailbox last night.  Addressed to "Resident", it was supposedly from someone in the neighborhood, complaining that my cats are destroying her property.

Yep, my cats are mighty destructive, all right.

hahahahahahaahaaaaaaaaaaaa

I don't know WHAT'S going on, there.  This anonymous person says that MY CATS are digging in her gardens; spraying, pooping and peeing in her "open storage space"; and otherwise wreaking havoc.

A couple of things I would point out to this person, if I KNEW WHO IT WAS:

(a)  My cats have never destroyed any of MY property.  Which means either my cats have some kind of EVIL VENDETTA against this anonymous person, or something else is doing the damage to her property.  As far as digging in the garden goes, the most likely culprit is either a skunk going after grubs, or moles, who also dig for grubs.  Could be woodchucks, too, 'cause God knows we've got enough of those around here, not to mention squirrels, chipmunks, rabbits, and plenty of other wildlife.  As far as spraying, um, nope.  And peeing/pooping?  In her "open storage space"?  While I guess it's possible, most cats prefer to void in an area where they can cover it up afterward, not on a hard surface.

(b)  If this anonymous person would care to come talk to me, with proof, either pics or video, that it is indeed MY cats who are doing the damage, and not skunks, moles, or any of the OTHER nine billion cats in the neighborhood, I will gladly pay for her petunias.  Put up or shut up, buttercup.

I hope she also sent this letter to the owners of the nine billion other indoor/outdoor cats in the neighborhood, so that we can all meet up and have a good laugh.

She (oh, come on, you know it's a woman; no man EVER could come up with something this ridiculous) concluded by saying that while she had contacted the local animal control officer who told her there was nothing he could do (because DUH, stop wasting people's TIME, lady), unless I started keeping my cats inside, she would be forced (gasp!) to have the town council pass an ordinance banning outdoor cats.

Oh, honey, good luck with that.  And in the meantime, come talk to me in person.  Show me PROOF that MY cats "destroyed" your property, and I'll gladly get out my wallet.

Until then?  STFU.  And get a damn life, already.

Sheesh.

Killer

I swear, if I hadn't already quit smoking, this commercial would have made me do it:

Weekend pics

 The mayapples are unfurling:

The trillium will be blooming soon:

I had to pay a visit to Camp Evans before it opens for the season.  (The sign says "Welcome to Camp Evans".  I am assuming that they are going to resurrect it/replace it before camp starts. 

There's something about a summer camp with nobody there - I guess I've seen too many horror movies ...

Philosophical question - Can you call a forgotten trail "forgotten" if it's marked with "Forgotten Trail" markers every fifty feet?  I would think NOT.  Hmpf.

Grand Jury

So!  I had to go testify in front of the Grand Jury on Friday about the guy who hit-and-runned me back in November.

Waiting in the witness room were me, the guy whose mailbox he hit, the four guys he FOUGHT WITH after getting into yet another accident that morning after he hit me (one of whom he threatened to "motherf*cking kill"), the first police officer on the scene (who he tried to run from), and the second police officer on the scene, who he threatened "to sue for everything you own and everything you ever WILL own." 

Whew!  Nice guy.  Turns out that two weeks before he hit me, he had gotten pulled over for DWI in a neighboring town, and in the six months since, he's racked up some domestic violence charges.

Did you know there are, like, thirty people on a Grand Jury?  I did not?  I thought it was like a regular jury, with twelve people.  Live and learn!  (Okay, I just looked it up.  In this state, it's 23.)  It was kinda scary getting up in front of all of those people! 

According to the Assistant District Attorney, who is prosecuting this case, it is difficult to convict on DWI if the person in question refuses to take a Breathalyzer test.  (The dude who creamed me, (DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW BAD I WANT TO PUBLISH HIS NAME HERE?), refused to take a Breathalyzer after BOTH of his accidents.)   Which is one of the reasons the ADA put all eight witnesses in front of the Grand Jury.  Strength in numbers and all that.

By the end of the day on Friday, the Grand Jury would have voted on whether or not to indict him, and on what charges.  And now the case will continue its way through the legal system, with the next step probably plea-bargaining by the defendant's lawyer. 

It was really interesting, with me and all of the other witnesses sitting in the waiting room and swapping stories as we waited our turn to testify.  We were able to reconstruct the defendant's trail of destruction that day!  One of the police officers was planning on proposing to his girlfriend this past weekend in the center ring of the circus that was in town (he was sure she would say yes; I sure hope he was right!).  The Assistant DA gave his opinion on some local high-profile cases.  And I was surprised that here in my little town, the two police officers present on Friday estimated that they have to take someone into custody by force, as they did with this dude, on average once a week.  Once a week!  Tough job.

So!  Interesting day.  If it does go to trial, I will have to go and testify again, so maybe my judicial education will continue.  Time will tell.

Seen in the neighborhood

I was walking through my neighborhood last Saturday when I saw something odd up ahead.

 Hmmm ... what is this?

 The man in the treestump has been there for a while:

But the flamingos were a new touch:

I don't know what getting "flamingo'd" means ... but it happened right down the road from me.