Reserve your kitten now!

I’m not, like, a qualified candidate for Animal Hoarders or anything but aside from the giant 150 pound mastiff, the neurotic shepherd/spaniel mutt, the obese/overly affectionate creeper of a house cat and the tiny brown flighty feline who spends the majority of her time outdoors we at any given point may have a stray or injured something-or-another living temporarily in our very modest-sized house with us.  Lost or wounded animals of all kind just end up here.  It’s kind of not normal.

The last few days I’ve had people ask me how Seth takes to this, and to those people I say Do not be fooled.  That guy is almost as bad as I am.  He came into the living room this morning holding this bloated, miserable momma cat like a baby with a big grin on his face.  Last Thanksgiving he was the one wearing gloves and patiently bathing the wild, razor-blades-for-claws, flea infested kitten in the bathroom sink before the holiday meal.  Friday night as we pulled out of the driveway for a date, he stopped and quickly pulled the car back into the driveway in a huff.  I thought he was going to gripe because I’d left the hose out (but seriously you guys, putting up the hose is a pain in the ass, am I right?) but instead he got out of the car, scooped a tiny green praying mantis off the windshield and deposited it carefully into the flowerbed.  I watched and melted, because duh.

…You know what?  He’d probably rather me not tell you that last one.  Pretend you don’t know.

Anyway, right now I’ve got a pregnant cat hanging out here whom we have named Jolene (because obviously she’s a hussy).  I couldn’t let her go to the pound, so here she is.

This tendency of mine is kind of a problem, for reasons that include but are not limited to:

1.  The girls get attached.  I rationalize this process by telling myself that this teaches them that life is full of little losses and that it’s good not to shelter them from it.  I’m either teaching them to do good works even if you have to let go and let your heart hurt a little in the end…or I’m beating all of the feeling out of them with every kitten, leaving them bitter and emotionally dead inside.  I guess we’ll see how that plays out.

2.  The previously aforementioned modest-sized house is at times overcrowded and requires constant vacuuming of animal fur.  I’ve considered having every animal we own shaved down to their spoiled pink skin on occasion and at one desperate point I stood in the aisle of CVS eyeballing their largest bottle of Nair.  Don’t worry, PETA weirdos, I didn’t do it, gosh.

3.  People know my weakness and they bring me their unwanted or found animals.  I’MTALKINGTOYOURAYWOMACK.  It’s ok.  I don’t blame you.  I’m currently wracking my brain for anyone who is a bigger sucker than I am so I can do the same to them.  I’m, uh…coming up blank.

4.  A pregnant cat, y’all.   Do you know how hard it is to give away a cat?  Now I have to find a half dozen people to take a half dozen cats.  This particular problematic point is compounded by the fact that I’ve already supplied all of the willing cat-takers I know with cats over the last couple of years.  I’ve run out of cat-takers, people!  Gah!

5.  People who don’t really like animals that  much look at me like I’m the stupidest person on the planet.  This one isn’t really that big of a deal to me, though, because who cares what people who don’t really like animals that much think anyway?  They’re obviously dumb and can suck it.

Anyway, I figure we probably have another couple of weeks until we have a littler of kittens keeping the girls busy. Eight weeks or so after that I’ll be looking for people to take them (and that hussy Jolene) and give them good homes.

So, I’ll be in touch.

And for God’s sake, go ahead and start saving up to get them fixed.  I can only do so much, people.

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I owe someone an apology.

More than just one someone, actually.

I want to send my most heartfelt and sincere apologies to…

Don’t hate me ’cause I’m juicy.

anyone who has ever gotten stuck behind me as I’m towing around my slobber monster.

I swear he isn’t normally so…drippy…but something about being in the car with the windows down gets his juices flowin’ and before I know it the people behind me are thinking, “Huh, I didn’t know it was supposed to rain today…”  Check out those gross dog slobber streaks all down my windows.  I wonder if I could teach him to Windex…

Last night the fam and I went out to eat and as we sat down I noticed something about the people at the table next to us, because I’m a creepy people watcher type person.  Don’t judge me.  It was a mother and son, and no kidding, for the entire time we were there the mom was reading her Kindle and the son was playing with his phone.  They ate their entire meal that way then got up and left without more than three words passing between them the entire time.  I remembered reading an article about how few families sit down for meals together…so I guess at least they were doing that much.  But does it count if you don’t speak?  I think it probably has less to do with some lack of desire to speak to each other as it does with our obsession with our gadgets.  Sometimes I find myself antsy if I have a moment of inactivity where I can’t access my Facebook, text, or something internet-y.  That cannot be healthy, right?  We’ve become a nation full of people who don’t know how to act unless we’re within two feet of some sort of touch screen.  Anyway, I’m toying with the idea of having a couple of hours every evening where nobody is allowed to touch a computer, iPod, television or smart phone.  Am I crazy?  Can it be done?  Will my family mutiny?  Stay tuned to find out! Is your family addicted to gadgets?  Have you ever tried to create a gadget-free zone?

Not the Camelback!

Leo rides with me every morning to drop the kids off and we always have to make sure there’s nothing lying around in the back seats or it may just get tossed out the window.  It began with tennis balls:

“This is gonna’ be awesome.”

and bottles of water,

Oh hi. No, I wasn’t gonna’ toss it…promise!

 and once there was a close call with a can of Campbell’s cream of chicken soup.

This morning, Anna left her nice Camelback that she uses for tennis practice in the back floorboard.

What. I’m bringin’ Camelback.

Sigh.