26 posts tagged “pets”
I feel like I've got lots to be thankful for this week, in spite of the fact that is so cold outside that my brain cells are half-frozen.
- We came home this week to a letter from the emergency animal hospital where we took Cleo that sad Sunday night last year, when we had her emergency surgery for a stomach blockage and lost her. They had made a donation to a gorilla rescue and rehab center in her name. We both just thought that was the most wonderful thing ever, and I actually got a little teary-eyed.
And the letter made us think back to the little weasely girl who was part of our lives for just a few weeks. While I chopped a salad and Lee made chicken for dinner, we talked about how joyful and full of life and fun she was, and about how Vin never used his ferret hammock until SHE started using it, then he finally decided to check it out and pile in on top of her. He still uses it now. If it wasn't for Cleo, the Vinster probably never would have discovered the sheer joy of being a ferret in a hammock. I used to plop him in it now and then before she came along, and he'd just sort of look at me like "what's so great about this?" She taught him something in her short little life.
- The gym is still ridiculously crowded after work, to the point of being more annoying than beneficial. So we decided to suck it up and start getting up extra early and going BEFORE work. Which means being at the gym at 5:30 a.m. It sounds horrible, and when I roll out of bed in the morning, it IS.
But today, after working out, I stepped into the parking lot to find a thin blanket of snow on the ground that wasn't there when we went in. A few stray flakes were still falling from the sky, and it was still dark in that just-before-daybreak kind of way. The air was FREEZING, but invigorating. For just a moment, everything was beautiful. If I'd still been home snoozing, I would have missed that snowy moment. It has stopped already. We haven't gotten much in the way of snow around here the last few winters, and I'm glad I didn't miss it.
- My co-workers and I had planned a happy hour at the family pub for after work yesterday. The plan was made before I knew we'd be shifting our gym schedule. So by the end of the day yesterday, I was really regretting it. I enjoy my co-workers AND pub time, but after such a long day I was yawning and sleepy and all I wanted to do was get home to my comfy house. A few people who were originally going to go had to bail because of things going on with their kids or in one case feeling sick. With each cancellation, I became more and more tempted not to go myself. My couch and blanket were seriously calling me. But in the end, I went, and the small but lively group of us who went ended up having a really good time, relaxing, and blowing off some steam.
Sometimes you have to force yourself out of your routine even when you don't feel like it. I did yesterday and ended up being really glad. A little social fun on a Wednesday breaks up the monotony of the workweek and makes me feel closer to Friday!
- Speaking of which, I'm thankful that it IS almost Friday, and that I have a long weekend coming!
- Last but definitely not least, I'm thankful that Lee is still enjoying his new job so far. When you have two people who work full-time and they're BOTH stressed and not so happy in their work, it is hard to maintain a positive atmosphere at home. When one person is out of work and the other is stressed and not so happy in their work, and you're both worried about money, it is just as hard. But now, his positive outlook and hopeful attitude about each day really help ME let the stress and craziness of my own job roll off my back a bit when I get to come home. Bad outlooks and stress are as contagious as colds. But so are hope, contentments, and a feeling of looking forward to the day. His happier outlook is rubbing off on me, and not only am I glad he's in a better place, but I'm enjoying feeling a bit better myself!
Things are busy and hectic and sometimes I feel like I don't know my head from my butt, but overall, life is good. And so I'm thankful.
... to be a better housekeeper!
I have no excuse whatsoever. I have been off work all week, and yet just LOOK at the size of the dustbunnies I've let accumulate in my dryer's lint trap:
Oh, wait - that's NOT a dustbunny. It's a dustkitty!
I sure manage to amuse myself taking pictures of my pets in my appliances, don't I? Sometimes I complain about the fact that my house is so small that my laundry facility and my kitchen are one and the same. It leads to the kitchen table becoming my laundry-sorting place. And then, because laundry is BORING, I stop halfway through and have to move the piles of clothes to the living room come dinnertime. Of course, they then sit on the couch for a day or two ...
But anyway, if I had a basement or a laundry room, I wouldn't be opening and closer the dryer in the "Grand Central Station" area of my house. I'd have many fewer incidents of curious critters wanting to check out the warm noisy thing in the kitchen. And curious critters are so darn cute!
Really, though, I do need to be a better housekeeper. But you know what? I think I'll make trying to write more my New Year's resolution instead. Resolutions should be attainable, after all!
Happy New Year, my friends! We'll be bringing in 2009 at the pub with the family and some friends. Right now, the wind is howling so much outside that if my family didn't have a pub right up the road, I'd probably opt for a movie and snuggle night for New Years. It really looks icky out there. And Lee is out erranding, and just called to tell me he was driving up the road and a flying trashcan plowed into the van. It didn't do any damage or anything - it was a light plastic one. But still, how Wizard of Oz is that?
Appropriate for the New Year, I guess. Because there is no place like home!
You know that wonderful feeling of taking warm blankets out of the dryer on a cool fall morning and feeling how soft and cozy they feel on your skin?
Well, it seems Sly must like it too. He watched me do just that, padded around on the freshly dried blanket, and before I knew it, decided that a spin in the dryer might be a good thing for HIM!
Next time someone says "take me for a spin," don't assume they mean in your car!
You know that perky little bird that chirps in the window as the sun comes up? The one the silly jokes talk about bopping on the head?
Well, that's my sweetheart. Lee is, without a doubt, a Morning Person.
It wasn't always that way. When we first met, his work shift was either 2pm-10pm or 4pm-midnight. I worked a standard 8-5ish kind of day, but was a serious night owl. I had been adjusting to living alone for the first time in my adult life, and often had trouble sleeping before the wee hours of the morning. Every strange noise in my little home would jerk me wide awake, and that would be all she wrote on the sleep front. On top of that, I tended to often be at the pub anyway, and not even get home before midnight. So we started out as Critters of The Night, for sure.
About a year into our relationship, he was offered a chance to switch to a morning shift, and jumped at the opportunity. It gives him his late afternoons (of which I'm very jealous!) free, and gives us more time together in the evenings. When we started living together, his morning routine rubbed off on me, in part because I'm a light sleeper who wakes up at the sound of movement in the house. I don't get up as early as him, but I do have him wake me shortly before he has to leave for the day, so we can have a quick cup of coffee together and I can have an hour or two of quiet, introspective time at home before I have to get ready for a long workday.
In this new routine, we learned quickly that he was only a night owl by virtue of adapting to his old work shift. In the wee hours of the morning, he is bouncy, energized and invigorated. I, on the other hand, really am more of a night person. My mornings find me quiet, introspective, and ... sleepy.
The flip side of the coin is that by evening, Lee is fading fast and ready for some shuteye. I often get a second wind as the night falls, especially on the weekends.
So often, he ends up kissing me goodnight and heading to bed while I stay up to read or watch TV or, during my non-writer's block phases, to write. But the other day, he surprised me with a sweet little gift. He was out shopping and saw one of those little lights that you can clip to a book to read in a dark area, and picked it up.
"Now when you want to, you can read in bed even if I'm sleeping," he said. The fact that he likes having me there as he drifts off to Slumberland makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.
So, I was very happy with my little book light. But we quickly discovered that it provided more than just a way for us to cuddle up at night even when his bedtime is earlier than mine. He didn't realize it when he bought it, but in addition to the reading light this little gadget also has one of those laser lights on it. You know, the little red dot you can use to annoy the crap out of other people?
Other people, or your cat.
When we turn this thing on, Sly goes nuts. He flies around the house after it, chasing the elusive dot. He whaps at it and doesn't understand why it doesn't stay in his grasp like a moth or other wayward bug. He cusses it out in meowese. Sometimes he looks for it even when we aren't playing with the light.
He's gotten to the point where he's figured out that the weird red dot has something to do with the book light. When one of us picks it up, he automatically starts meowing and looking at the walls and the ceiling.
It's hilarious.
Or at least, we think so. Sly seems to feel a little differently:
Over my many years of blogging, I thought I learned a few lessons.
Watch what you say and show online. Don't write anything you wouldn't want your boss or your mother or your neighbor or anyone else in your life to see or know. It can and will bite you in the butt.
So when I started this blog, I said that one thing I would never do is use it to air my dirty laundry on the internet.
I lied.
I give you Vin Weasel, Laundry Lounger.
We can all learn something from this. Namely, that what to one of us is nothing more than a pile of dirty clothes and chores is another's happy place:
I plan to spend a lot of my weekend doing exactly what Vin was doing here - lounging about and relaxing. Only not in the clothes hamper.
There's a fun trip to a historical re-enactment and another steamed crabs extravaganza (this one in honor of the long weekend and my sister and aunt's birthdays) in the near future too. Good times for all.
I think I'll use Vin's clear attachment to these dirty clothes as an excuse to not waste the weekend on laundry.
Hope you all enjoy yours too!
I need a weekend to recover from my weekend.
Lee and I had my niece from Friday night through tonight, since my sister and parents were taking a trip. Mom and Sis both gave me this warning in separate pre-weekend phone conversations:
"Whatever you do, don't let her con you into letting someone spend the night. They're BAD."
But my niece and her little friend were having so much fun, and being SO good Friday night. We played a board game, and then they entertained themselves with Guitar Hero while Lee and I caught the Steelers pre-season game. So when the inevitable question of "Can she stay over ... we'll behave, I swear!" came, I said "well .... okay." My mom and sister, after all, hadn't said Niece couldn't have a sleepover. They'd just warned me that it was a bad idea if my own sanity was of any importance to me whatsoever.
Those who know me best will tell you I've never taken very good care of my sanity.
Lee had to work Saturday, so he went to bed after the football game. The girls and I made some popcorn and watched a relatively tame creepy movie. The overnight friend even called her mom and got permission to watch this particular movie, just to be sure it wasn't one her mom wouldn't want her to see.
That right there got me thinking Mom and Sis had totally exaggerated on just how bad the girls were when they got together. I didn't MAKE the kid ask permission to watch the movie - she just did. Since I'm not a mom myself, and my 11-year-old niece was allowed, the thought that she should get permission didn't cross my mind. I'm kinda spacey like that. But the kid took it upon herself, and got "perfect little angel" points from me.
So we watched the movie, and then I read a book for awhile and left the girls to some more Playstation fun, then sent them off into Niece's room for chatter and games until they got tired enough to sleep. It was about 2 when I stopped reading and went to bed, and I could still hear their giggles in the bedroom. But I was 11 once too, and remember the pure giddy joy that is a sleepover, full of fridge raids and gossip about other kids from school. So I figured they could giggle all night.
I went into the bedroom and curled up beside Lee, prepared to drift off into blissful slumber. But you know how it is when you sleep in a strange place - someplace other than home? The noises that are part of that home and just fade into the background for those who live there jolt you awake just as you're drifting off to Dreamland.
My parents don't have an old house with creaky floorboards or anything like that. What they have is this:
That's Jazz. She's a sweet old bird who's been with them since I was about 22. Since I moved out at 19, we never actually lived together, Jazz and I. Jazz likes to talk to herself in some strange language that is a birdy imitation of the barks of the 3 houseold dogs, Otis Ugly, Fluke and Bailey, with a darn good mimic of my niece's chatter thrown in for good measure. Jazz, it seems, especially enjoys doing this at 3 am, and it echoes through the whole house. At least it does to someone who isn't used to hearing it. My own house is not far from a railroad track, and when I first moved in back in 1997 the sounds of the trains rolling by at night used to keep me awake. Now, they actually help lull me to sleep sometimes. I imagine Jazz is much like that for my family.
She's also the bird who got startled and pecked my cheek back when I was 23 and just finished college and going on my first "real job" interview the next day, giving me a nice big purple welt that made me look like a battered wife or girlfriend the day I met the man who would be my first "real boss." He hired me anyway. The mark on my face was obvious enough that it had to be explained, even WITH makeup, and I think he thought my "I got bit by a bird" story was so good that he had to have me around to see what else I'd come up with.
So, Jazz kept me up until about 3:30. Then Lee got up at 4:30 to get ready to go to work, and his stumbly rustling around for coffee in a strange house woke me up again. I came out to the kitchen all bleary-eyed to make sure everything was OK, and still heard the twitter of the girls giggling in Niece's bedroom.
After Lee left, I went back to bed and actually got about two hours of sleep before I felt something wet and drooly on my arm. It was Fluke, the chocolate lab, nudging me rather insistently. The clock told me it was 6:30 a.m. I know my family well enough to know there's no way in hell ANY of them get up to let the dogs out that early. Sis isn't working right now, and Dad and Mom run a bar. They're all night owls. So I told Fluke he wasn't fooling me, I'd get up and let him out in a little while, and rolled over to go back to sleep.
That's when he started barking at me, and nudging at me and drooling on me some more, until finally I hauled my exhausted butt up out of bed and stumbled towards the kitchen to let him out. Bailey and Otis stepped in line behind me, and we all headed out to the screened-in-porch together. I unlatched the porch door and the dogs stepped out. Bailey and Otis ran off into the yard, but Fluke just stood there looking up at me and wagging his tail.
"Seriously, Flukers, I expect you to go take a massive dump if you had to wake me up this early to go out. Now go!" I told him. He looked at me like I was a moron, and trotted across the yard, to this:
That's where my parents keep the wood for their fireplace and the chiminea. And Fluke wanted me to see it. Because there were two little blanketed lumps on the roof of it. Each blanketed lump had a pillow with a little girl's head on it.
Sometime between the time Lee left for work at about 5 and 6:30 in the morning when Fluke got my butt out of bed, my niece and her friend decided they were going to go outside and sleep on the roof of this little structure.
"How did you know what we did?" My niece asked when I'd made them get down and had them curled up on opposite ends of the couch and had told them about 10 times what brats they were.
"Fluke told me," I explained.
So, what did I learn from this weekend?
1. Always listen to your mother, even if you're 38 and think you know better.
2. If in spite of knowing #1 you don't listen to your mother and are conned by a couple kids, make sure you have a tattle-tale dog to assist with your babysitting.
3. As envious as I may sometimes be of stay-at-home moms come Monday morning, on the Monday that falls tomorrow I'll be thinking I'm heading to the office to get some rest. The whole parenthood thing is one heck of a job, ya'll!
OK, people, I know the girl-person in my household is having a tough time at work, and wrote about it here.
And yes, I know I can't relate to the work woes of the two-leggers who go and make-da-money. I'm a cat. My days are spent spinning around the house like a whirling dervish in search of the bestest dustbunny, or snoozing in the window during the time of day that the sun hits it just right. The hardest part of my day is figuring out just the right tone of "meow" to tell the peeps that I don't want that can of chicken cat food, I want the tuna and salmon one instead.
So no, when the girl-human comes home all frazzled and stressed and talking about people making crazy decisions and too much bad data and meeting overload and wondering how they expect her to do ALL this, I just don't get it. Alarm clocks and business buzzwords mean nuttin' to me.
But still, I think she's got SOME NERVE. She writes a post all whining about work being so hard it makes her cry sometimes. Meanwhile, I'm stuffed in a tiny box they call a carrier and taken to this place called a vet, where there are lots of other scared kitties and it smells like medicine. They give me shots and poke things up my butt and then they knock me out cold and when I wake up, my balls are gone! Or not gone, exactly ... just sort of different.
I'm sorry, but you can't tell me that too many meetings and dumbassery at work even compares to waking up in a strange place without your balls. I'm the one who had the bad day yesterday!
I'm still just as cute as I was in this picture taken before this little incident, by the way. I am King of the Cute. But seriously, something feels ... missing ...
People have no clue what a bad day means. Now where's my comfy window?
Last night, I dropped the cap to my bottle of iced tea and before I could pick it up, Sylvester pounced it. He found this thing more entertaining than any cat toy we've ever gotten him. Guess I figured out one more way to cut corners with the rising costs of groceries and gas, huh?
Anyway, he was having so much fun whapping this thing around the house that I let him keep it. But later, when Lee had gone to bed and I was still reading, I realized he'd gotten pretty darn loud with it - scooting it across the floor and clanging it into walls. Lee's a light sleeper, so the next time Sly got near me with his bottle-cap toy I swooped it up and put it in the pocket of my jammies. Yeah, I know, how lazy can you get? But I was in the middle of a really good chapter.
Anyway, I forgot all about it and went to bed. And then, I kept "dreaming" all night that something was poking me in the hip. I pulled a muscle a while back that still aggravates me now and then, so I just assumed it was acting up again. I woke up this morning with a little round bruise on my hip, and a bottle cap in my pocket.
Why yes, I AM a dumbass.
It was a miserably hot day here today, so I found all sorts of indoor chores to avoid going out in the heat, even though the fridge is empty and was practically crying for me to take a trip to the grocery store. Lee was braver and did a boatload of yard work.
And now, I'm freshly showered and contemplating making a pot of coffee. The boys in my house are all snoozing. Vin is curled in his hammock, Lee is crashed out in bed for a nap after a swamp-ass hot day of yardwork
The Vinster's under his blankie, and you can't see much more than a covered lump. No real photo op there. I'd take a picture of Lee, but he'd get me back. No one likes to have their picture taken when they're sleeping. He did that to me once, when I was in one of those deep, dreamy sleeps that just might involve drooling a little. I'm a little gunshy with the camera after that, knowing that revenge is sweet
But Sylvester, on the other hand, is fair game:
He's crashed out on a tiger blanket in our old recliner. I guess he's showing the Big Cats who the real king of this jungle is, huh?
Heading out to the pub a bit later (its one of those days where I won't brave the swamp-ass weather in the daytime, but will venture out at night - I sometimes feel like a vampire in the summer) to hang out with my mom and perhaps my friend Sully. Tomorrow we plan to tackle the grocery store (or so we say anyway) and then hit the pool, which is the only place I AM guaranteed to go when the Swampass Season arrives.
Wouldn't it be awesome to just be a cat, snoozing away the hottest days in air conditioning and nary an errand to run, and finding yourself amazed for hours by a bottle cap?
Like people, most animals have annoying traits that drive you a bit bonkers sometimes. The Vinster has a habit of scratching at the floor of his cage if he thinks I should have already let him out for the day. And at some point, I’ve said the following to every single cat I’ve ever shared my home with:
“I love you, kitty, but would you PLEASE get your ass out of my face?”
Cats, at least cuddly ones, have no shame when it comes to this. One minute they’re nestled on your chest, head-butting you with their own cute little face. The next they’ve flipped around and you’ve suddenly got a butthole just inches from your nose. It really is quite gross.
Yes, there is a point to all this.
Last night, Lee and I were curled up on the couch relaxing. No wild Friday night for us, since this is the week he has to work on Saturday. That was fine with me, since my own workweek had left me feeling a bit like I’d been beaten with a baseball bat.
Anyway, the kitten curled up on the shoulder I wasn’t already using as a headrest. Lee was surrounded by the women in his life. Or so we thought. After a while, the kitty got restless, got up, and used Lee as a jungle gym for a bit. Then she paused to nuzzle me, and of course turned around and stuck her butt right in my face.
My normal reaction to this behavior is to squeal “ewwww” and quickly move my face. This time was no different in terms of how quickly I jerked myself away, but Lee noticed I was acting a bit strange.
“Sweetie, why are you staring at the cat’s ass?” He asked.
“Ummm … I’m not, actually. I’m staring at something else.”
“What?”
“Hold the cat up for a minute, OK?”
“Why?”
“Just do it, and you’ll see.”
He obliged me, and with the cat suspended in midair I showed him what I’d been staring at.
“Aren’t those … balls?” I asked.
He got a good look. “Oh. My. God. Our girl is a boy.”
Yep. It appears I did it again. I assumed a kitten was a girl, and then he went and proved me wrong by sprouting (well, dropping, actually) testicles.
We’ve gotten so used to the notion of “Sylvie” being a girl that it took us a moment to really believe what we were seeing. In fact, Lee said we should call Tom and Caroline, the neighbors who gave us the kitten, and have them take a look just to be sure.
“What are we going to do?” I asked. “Call them up and say ‘could you meet us at the fence to take a look at the cat’s balls?’ That’s not how most people want to spend a Friday night.”
But Lee was determined, since we’d all been sure our he was a she. Luckily for Caroline, she was at work, but Tom came out, took a look and said “I’ll be damned. You’ve got yourself a little boy.”
So I guess I need to reintroduce our cat.
Meet Sylvester.
Much of my journaling over the last 3 years has been about growth and major life changes. Changes in my circumstance, attitude, plans, reality and career came fast and furious for a while there.
These days, with the exception of the ever-changing landscape at work, things have mellowed out quite a bit. But change is still everywhere, all the time, and you notice it even more when you have a chance to catch your breath and observe it.
Like this:
Lee took this picture of the tree in our front yard just a few weeks ago. It was much thicker and fuller and grown last summer, but we cut it back because a large portion of the leaves had grown in brown and sickly-looking. Cutting it back was our attempt at saving it. And so far, that attempt seems to be working:
A few weeks of springlike weather, including lots of rain, makes a big difference!
And then, of course, there are changes in the animal life around here. Remember this, from sometime in April?
That little ball of fur now looks like this:
Sometimes, change is overwhelming and scary. But sometimes, it is just plain beautiful.
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