Let Sammy in, you bastards!

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Big Cats Love Pumpkins!

I would have never guessed, but...s'true. From Big Cat Rescue:

Not Anymores!

more animals

Fights and Five Mo!

We (Myself, Meg, Minimeg, and a few others in our pokerklatch) had a little fight break out during poker last night, and I finally realised how terribly drunk many of the people there are. And I realised that drunks are, generally, still pretty disgusting to me.

Tonight however, we (a different 'we' -- the cat-catching 'we') rounded up five more kitties at Eviljob, minus the two that were released from the traps 'cos they were already ear-tipped from one of my previous speuterfests.

And now I have to get some sleep; I am exhausted!

LOLCat runned out of LOL. :-(

...did everyone but me know that Frank the first kitteh over at ICHC died?


moar funny pictures


Iz unfairness, and i DO NOT WANT you be dead, frank!11!!! Is teh suk srsly. all teh cheezburger u can eat now. luv u kthxbai.

.

The Coming Tuxedo Cat Uprising

The Lovely-and-Talented Ms. Grammarian always makes me laugh; she has seen signs of the Tuxedo Cat Uprising. This TCU is largely *my* fault -- of all the cats I have been able to trap and speuter at Eviljob, the tuxes (including Mehitabel) rarely get trapped. And because they rarely get trapped, they rarely get speutered. So after two years, I actually *have* seen a decrease in cats at Eviljob...except tuxes.

This is a tuxedo cat:


Now imagine hordes of them.

::shiver::

I have a blue tuxedo (Rhett Butler Kittypants) and two black cats (Squooshable Bobby Vinton Baconface Nguyen Kittypants and Cookie Noel Kittypants) that came from the Eviljob matriarch, Mehitabel Kittypants. Mehitabel hates me and looks a lot like the cat up there, except for the part about the picture up there not hissing at me when I look at it.

I thought that I would have more time to post, but I have to get to work at Eviljob; I had today off from Job 2 (both of them), and now have to catch up some time at Eviljob. Yay.

ok...more later. I will leave you with what is probably my all-time favourite lolcat pic so far; it reminds me of Squoosh and Cookie, and now of the Tuxedo Cat Uprising:

Ancodia Is Evil

It is important to remember one's own email address.

No, really.

I just changed the ad of someone who has posted to the Women Seeking Men category of Craigslist.

I received from Craigslist an email requesting that I confirm this advertisement:

Sweet and fit female seeks good looking, professional jewish male (Manhattan)

---

Reply to: pers-38xxxxx4@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-08-04, 6:41PM EDT


Do you have a chivalrous, romantic side that perhaps coexists nicely with a hidden edgy side?

Tell me about yourself.....send a photo iwth your age, height,
weight, what you do, where you live, interests, and hobbies.

Myself.......slender, feminine, 5'7 117lbs, sweet, sexy, playful,
stylish from head to toe, thoughtful, loving, no children,
no pets, creative artistic type exotic pretty girly (feminine) girl.

I am seeking a male who is mature, down to earth, good-looking, fun, with a sense of humor. I am seeking someone who is between 29 and 35, single, intelligent, educated, and passionate. In fact, I am searching for someone similar or if not, maybe you could "sell" yourself to me.

• Location: Manhattan
• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 389xxxxx4

=============================

Ok? So my first thought is, 'what a fucking idiot'. My second thought is that I am about thirty seconds away from every loser in Manhattan emailing me a picture of his penis.

::Shudder::

In an attempt to thwart such a disaster, I immediately logged in (the link to edit is oh-so-helpfully included in the confirmation email) and re-wrote things a bit:

Semi-sweet female seeks really rich guy who is about to croak

---

Reply to: pers-389xxxxx4@craigslist.org
Date: 2007-08-05, 3:24AM EDT


Do you have a chivalrous, romantic side that perhaps coexists nicely with a hidden edgy side, or are you a repellent asshat? Either way, it doesn't matter a whit if you are loaded, stupid, and near death! :-D

Tell me about yourself, but only the important parts...send a photo with your age (near death only need apply), height (in flats, not heels...duh!), weight (both real and imaginary), what you do (and how much you make doing it, and how often you will be gone once we are married), where you live (I want to scope out the house I'll have once you kick the bucket), interests (snore), and hobbies (double-snore). I will ignore you unless you make over $500,000 (that's USD, retards) per year...AFTER taxes.

Myself? Mind your own fricking business. You shall take what you get, and you will ENJOY it.

I am seeking a male who is wealthy, about to die, generous, lacking friends and/or family members to whom he intends to leave his money, with a sense of humour about being ignored for weeks on end and cheated on. I am seeking someone who is, frankly, as dumb as a box of rocks.

...you know, kind-of like the girl who posted this ad, and can't remember her own email address? Would you trust a girl like that? Would you? Should you, the next thing you know, she'll 'forget' where she lives, and you'll find her a year later in Argentina with Manuel The Shepherd, 'cos she also 'forgot' that you were her boyfriend, or husband, or whatever. She may have already forgotten about her husband...who knows? Whatever, one would definitely not want to cheat *with* this girl, so married men take note: She's likely to 'forget' that she is not supposed to phone your home when the wife's there. But, on the other hand, that might not be all that bad:

Wife: Hello?
Dingbat: Hi!
Wife: ...may I help you? Who is this?
Dingbat: I forgot. Gimme a sec...

Christ on a cracker. If Craigslist had a 'Women Seeking Expatriation, Flogging, and Bites From Rabid Wombats' category, I would re-post this there.

Please...remember your own email address. Sigh.

p.s.: Should perhaps there be any really wealthy men as above-described, I am still totally open to hooking up. Rilly. ;-)

• Location: Manhattan
• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests
• 
  
• License info:

PostingID: 389448564

=================================

I do hope that picture comes through on my post; if not, I will have to add it later, cos I am tired. Butsoanyway. I already (before I could get on and change it) received two loser replies. Sigh. One of them is a black guy, and I resisted the temptation to email him back and tell him that I did not believe that he is really Jewish.

No, not 'cos of his skin colour; on account of Mr Dangly. Well, and he's not wearing a yarmulke, but one cannot always go by that. The disposition of Mr Dangly, however, tends to be non-negotiable, except for those Reform Jews.

:-D

I still have a live link, so I am considering further editing. But then I have the guilts about not posting, so I will instead catch up for a sec:

I am drowning in work, but our semester is almost over, so that is ok. I will be better on Friday. Rhett Butler is doing well, and is Just Fine with cage rest. :-) He seems to be walking a bit better, also. Romeo is actually doing pretty well; his new vet (I am fully aware that I have not explained all this yet) has changed his meds up a bit (to make it less expensive for me), and taught me how to give fluids at home, so I have my ringer & needles, and Rome and I will have a go at it in the morning. Yay. This is supposed to be less expensive, also. Our new vet charges just $25 for fluids and IM Valium, but Old Vet charged almost double that.

Ok...I give up...let me give a brief swipe at an explanation. Dr Vet is actually several different vets, though I usually tried to stick with the same one. They have quite a thing going over there: huge building, indirect lighting, walled-off walk area for the boarders, and so on. I have stuck with Dr Vet even though they do no business with rescue groups -- period. No discounts, no volunteer hours, nothing. I am actually ok with this, because they have the right to make a profit in any way they see fit; they are, after all, a business, and I explained this to the people who have helped me for the past -- what has it been? Two years? -- that I do not want to switch vets (they all suggested that I switch to, in their words, more 'animal-friendly' vets, typically Dr Superhero or the vet I am now with).

So back when Romeo became ill, I had an 'incident' happen at Dr Vet's. I thought so little of it at the time that I did not even think to mention it here; I was given an estimate of around $800 for Romeo's exploratory surgery. We agreed to do it, and I had nothing better to do as I was waiting to hear that he had died, so I paid the estimated bill with the front desk.

Well, as we all know, he did not die. When they came out and told me he had needed a nephrectomy and his colour had improved already, I had to leave to go take care of things at work, and after talking with Dr Vet (as Rome was still open on the table back there), I left with the agreement that I would come back at close and transport Romeo to the Emergency Vet for overnight monitoring.

When I returned, the office manager was waiting for me, telling me to NEVER leave owing them that much and not answer my phone (I had managed to sneak in a nap of about 3 hours, and shut the fucking cell phone off until I *had* to wake up) EVER, EVER AGAIN. All in a nasty-assed Hitler tone.

O-kay, then.

That much? Huh? Well, that is when I found out that Romeo's surgery cost me $1,700.

...in addition to the $800 I had already paid.

And that did not cover the Emergency Vet stay that night, though it did cover some of the next day's expenses at Dr Vet's.

So I said fine. I did not feel like arguing at that point. Had I known how bad she would become, I would have argued, or something. I do not feel that it is okay to run up a bill of $1,700 when the estimate was $800 and then be a rude ass on top of it. I defused the conversation with the office manager, and when I saw Dr Vet, he explained that they had not tried to phone me, it was a judgement call (or several, rather) that we were trying to make Romeo live. It was the office manager who had tried to phone me, and that was about the bill.

Ok, whatever. As long as Romeo had a few more months of happiness, I am not going to fight or gripe. And I did not; not in real life, and not here. Fine. *Fine*.

So then Rhett was injured, and I took him in. And after Dr Vet looked him over, the office manager came in and gave me Rhett's estimate...and told me I had to pay her right then. I told her, point-blank, that I was not going to pay her the day before, that I would pay *when* he had his surgery the next day, and that I was saying so specifically *because* Romeo's surgery was initially $800, and then ballooned so; I wanted a realistic estimate, if not a firm one (I did not feel that I was being unreasonable asking for a semi-firm estimate, because Dr Vet assured me that FHOs are performed all the time), plus the estimate included things like boarding pre-surgery, and I was going to take him home, and it also included things I had already paid for, like x-rays (or was about five minutes away from paying for, on my way out, rather). And I took Rhett and left. Their estimate had been for $952.whatever, and according to *my* calculations, it should have been more like five or six-something after removing the things I was not going to do (pre-surgery boarding), and the things for which I had already paid ( e.g., x-rays, exam, pain pills).

I thought we understood each other. So I took Rhett, paid for what had been done, and left with the instructions to return with him between seven a.m. and nine-thirty the next day for surgery, with no food or water after ten p.m.

I was already getting a Really Weird Feeling.

When I showed up with Rhett the next day, a surgery tech came out to pick him up with the surgery release forms and estimate from the day before. She handed me the estimate and said that Office Manager had said that I must pay for the procedure before they are allowed to take Rhett back, so could I give her a credit card for her to charge $952.whatever to as I am filling out the paperwork?

Ummm...NO.

I showed her my receipt where I had paid for x-rays, office visit, pain pills, office injection, etc., the day before. I explained to her that I understood that she was the middleman here, but I am not going to double-pay. PERIOD. If I do, then I will never see that money again; Dr Vet's puts it on one's account as a credit, they do not refund money (this has happened before, but only by a hundred or so). If the Office Manager is going to be a bitch and insist that I pay beforehand (which I have NEVER been asked to do in the entire history of going to Dr Vet), then I am going to be a bitch as well, and ask for the *correct* amount to be charged, and I am also going to ask for an estimate that is more accurately reflective of what I will be charged in Reality since this is allegedly such a common surgery.

So the tech says that she has to phone the office manager, and goes off. She comes back a few minutes later and says that OM says that I do not have to pay for the x-rays, but I do have to pay for everything else. I ask the tech if she is on drugs; does she not see that this estimate includes pre-surgery boarding? How about *yesterday's* exam? And my receipt shows that I paid for Rhett's exam, x-rays, pain pills, and so on -- yet here they all are on this estimate. No. Bzzt. Try again, and now I have fucking *rabies*. I ask to talk to Dr Vet, and am told that he is already in surgery. So the tech goes to phone OM back, and then comes back with the explanation that I have to pay for pre-surgery boarding because it is actually going to be POST-surgery boarding. After I have been told that I could take Rhett home that evening.

Why? Because, the tech explains, Rhett was cancelled from the surgery list YESTERDAY by OM, after I refused to pay her in advance. Now, OM will let Rhett go in as the last surgery of the day, but that has him ready to go home at around five or six in the evening, and they know that I cannot pick him up then (I have been going there so frequently, for so long that they know that late evenings I am in one job or the other).

WHAT...THE...FUCK???

I asked the tech if this was something coming from any of the Dr Vets, or if this was something going on with the OM, and she told me it was the OM, that she did not know what happened, did not want to know what happened, was only doing what the OM had cornered her the day before and told her to do.

So I told her that I was sorry that she was put in this position, and asked her if I could have a copy of Romeo's last blood tests as well as a copy of Rhett's x-rays. She left, brought them back (one sheet of paper and a cd). I thanked her and told her to tell OM to go fuck herself.

Then I took Rhett Butler and left, and it was especially satisfying to have the girls at the front desk try to ask me if I was going to reschedule.

As if. I have not had a worse feeling about something in a long, long time.

As I drove off, I phoned Dr Superhero's, and his office person said that he was just going to sleep after having been with a horse all night (quit laughing; Dr S does a lot of farm and show animals...although I have to admit, the phrasing *did* make me smile), and would probably not be in or available any time before four p.m. So I phoned the other vet that works with local rescue groups, and explained to his front desk girl what was going on in a nutshell, and she said to come over right away and she would fit Rhett in.

We only had to wait about forty five minutes (and as I was waiting, I ran into Lisa -- the normal, good one, not the nutty con artist one -- dropping off some ferals and rescues; I told her what had happened, and her reaction, besides empathy at my frustration, was to say that she had told me from the beginning that she did not like Dr Vet's in the least, and that is true; she had), and then we were taken in and (sheesh...I have to come up with a good name) the vet checked Rhett out, moving his leg around and holding him and stuff (Rhett did not mind; though he did growl when it hurt, he was quick to snuggle after), and then took the cd into the surgery room where he has the system to read x-rays on cd (where it is important if it comes from the emergency vet, etc...), 'cos he still uses regular film x-rays.

He showed me where Rhett's hip is not dislocated at all, but the leg (the femur, I think) is showing up as separated from the hip a tich whereas the other hip is close together because of a line he saw on the x-ray where the ball of the top is. He said that he thinks Rhett may have fractured it, but that it is still in the socket and that Rhett managed to do this because of Mister Blue Cat's avoirdupois; Mr Rhett is just under fourteen pounds, and Doc (still working on a good name) said Rhett needs to be closer to nine. He said that he was not trying to hurt my feelings, but he was diagnosing this in his records as an 'owner-inflicted injury'...because I let Rhett get so fat, and that almost five pounds is nothing on a human, but it is a BIG difference for a small animal.

Okay, so I let him get a little porky.

Doc said that as young as Rhett is, with the hip being *not* dislocated, and with Rhett being an indoor-only cat, he would like to try cage rest for a month and a half and see if the fracture will heal on its own. This would be better for Rhett, Doc said. He also said that, contrary to what I was told at Dr Vet's, in Rhett's situation this is *not* an emergency surgery, and if Rhett never *ever* has it he would probably be Just Fine, although there is the chance that he might fracture it further, and waiting 1.5 months will *not* result in Rhett being crippled with arthritis forever, and even if he is, there are meds and surgeries for arthritis, and worst possible case scenario as an indoor cat would be that when he hurts I give him some pain meds and set him on a heating pad.

This is in stark contrast to Dr Vet's, where I was told that Rhett is in excruciating pain, if we do not operate immediately he will develop arthritis and may stop using his left leg entirely, and I am being negligent. I forgot to mention the part about OM calling me negligent, and I do not feel like going back up and explaining it all, but yeah -- *I* am a negligent cat mom. Smoke starts rising from my head when I think about that whole part of the conversation.

Butsoanyway.

I was really not feeling like being social, so I told Doc flat-out that I do not know who to believe at this point, that I really thought I was taking Rhett over to him for him to work in an FHO today or on Saturday, and that if I had at any point in time given the impression that I am unwilling to pay for Rhett, that is wholly wrong, that I will pay for him THIS MOMENT...I just want him fixed, out of pain, and not crippled for life. I just had a Very Bad Feeling about what was going on over at Dr Vet's (I am NOT a religious girl, but at one point during the brouhaha, I actually thought to myself, 'how much more of a clue do you need, Bitch? Take the cat and LEAVE!', and actually had carried a Bad Feeling of Foreboding since the day before).

Oh! Oh! I forgot one *really* good part! When I was at Dr Vet's and arguing with the tech, after she got off the phone the first time and took the x-rays off the estimate, there was a $50 'miscellaneous' charge added in, so in actuality I only had $100 of the x-ray charges taken off. I asked what 'Miscellaneous' was, and the tech said that OM was on her way in and would explain it, but that was basically the limit of my credit with them for Rhett's procedure, because I had complained about having unexpected bills from them. So I asked her if that meant that, god forbid, should Rhett start seizing in surgery and it costs $51.00 to stop the seizures, that they are just going to let him die? That they would not even make an effort to save him, or euthanise him...because euthanising at Dr Vet's is more than $50 also? The tech said that OM could explain it to me, she was just telling me what she was told by OM, that she didn't know what OM meant, and that this is not a standard policy (no shit!), so she really is just repeating what OM told her to say.

Oh. Yeah. I am so very *totally* going to let you operate on my fucking cat. Absolutely. Sign me up.

Snort.

Butsoanyway.

So Doc looked at my copy of Rhett's estimate, and told me that for a straight FHO he runs around $800-ish, and he was not exactly sure 'cos he does not handle billing, plus most of his FHOs have other issues, like being hit by a car, or falling out of a tree. Then he took me to meet Ike. :-)

Ike is, as Doc put it, 'another slim, trim member of the feline family, like Rhett'. Ike fell out of a tree a few days ago. :-( Ike is recovering from an FHO and having some other stuff done, 'cos he basically smashed the crap out of his whole back end. Doc showed me Ike's x-rays from when he was brought in, and showed me what a dislocated hip looks like (Ike's left side), and a fractured and dislocated hip looks like (Ike's right side). Yeowtch. And it did look different from Rhett's hip. It's easy to see how Rhett's ball part of the bone is still in his hip, where it should be. So Doc convinced me to cage-rest him for a bit.

Rhett *loves* it; Mom comes and hugs and kisses him, and brings him food, and kisses him some more, and all he has to do is lie there and every once in a while get up and take a crap in the litter box; Rhett is in Heaven.

And I bought a whole bunch of his favourite food, Purina's Sardines and Whatnot in Aspic. He just loves that stuff; he eats a whole small can in like, four bites.

Wellll...Doc said to monitor his eating so that he does not gain, but not put him on a diet as-such until after he is better.

So I figured that since Romeo is dying and will need water until I put him to sleep, I would give Doc Rome's blood work, and make sure that if Rome crashes that I can bring him in to be put down. Doc said absolutely, and when I brought Romeo in the next day for fluids, Doc was surprised that Romeo was alert and stuff; he increased his water to 200cc every other day, and ran more blood work, and can you believe -- Romeo's kidney function has actually gotten *better*! He was at BUN 60, CRE 4.5 and now he is at BUN 41, CRE 3.3. Yay, Measle!

And Doc taught me on Friday how to give fluids myself, 'cos he says that NO ONE with a cat like Romeo brings the animal in three to four times a week. This is another total inconsistency with Dr Vet's, because I was told that No Way could I do this myself. But on Wednesday, Doc made me watch (Dr Vet takes Romeo in back to do it), and on Friday, Doc made me do it. I screwed up because I didn't realise the needle had to be poked all the way in, but I know now. :-)

So I think that this was good, overall. I have not returned any of Dr Vet's phone calls, and have in fact deleted the voice mail messages unheard. I am still a little angry, to be honest. Doc showed me how to make a pill gun out of a syringe (cut the tip off, so that the black plunger is sticking out a bit, and put some Laxastat -- a VERY small amount -- on the black tip, then put the pill on, pull back the plunger and stick it in the cat's mouth all the way in the back, and depress the plunger fast...it works PERFECTLY! And he also told me that it is ok to buy vitamins for Romeo, and if Rome likes the cheap Hartz vitamins at Wal-Mart better than the expensive FeliVites (or whatever they are called; I buy like ten a year at $15 a bottle, and they always go mushy before I can use them all, 'cos the only cats I own that will touch them are Rhett and Squooshable; Romeo refuses to eat them, period. So now I can go back to giving Rome the Cyproheptadine at home, and cut out the IM Valium and vitamin shots; Romeo has been costing me approximately $120 a week (around $90 - $150) at Dr Vet's since March with all the stuff I have to do to him. I don't resent paying it, but I would have appreciated some counselling on how to minimise costs.

I have to take a nap (I am -- again -- fighting to get crap out before Monday morning), but I am glad I posted. And now I *do* feel a bit guilty over messing with that ad, but seriously -- I would rather discourage people in Manhattan from emailing me pictures of their dicks.

Sigh.

.

Traditional Sunday Post

This past week has been *busy*! Yet another week where I was glued to my work computers, and I am too cautious to even log into gmail and post. I started several posts by phone and ended up having to abandon them all; I wish gmail kept WAP drafts.

Butsoanyway.

The Big Deal presentation I had on Tuesday could not have gone better if I had paid someone. I was quite floored at how well it went, but I had That Feeling when I was getting everything called up to start (PowerPoint, etc…) – I used to get That Feeling all the time when I worked in the theatre; I am not an actress (tech all the way, baby!), and whenever I was called upon to be, right before I walked on stage I would have this moment of absolute terror, followed by a total dissociative calm. I was Adel in Self-Torture and Strenuous Exercise in this thingy our theatre troupe did, though (the director begged me to do it 'cos he said that I *am* Adel…augh), and I barely remember a moment of the day (and virtually none of the actual performance, save for one fleeting second when I looked at our Alvin and saw that I was scaring the fuck out of him), I was *that* 'gone'. But I did well then, and I did so again on Tuesday, and that is what is important. Our group is under a lot less pressure now, and that presentation was a huge part of it. Whew.

I actually fucking kicked ASS as Adel, I was told. I do know that I probably gave myself a concussion from slamming my head on the floor, and our Bethany was a charm to be sure, but she was a heavier girl and I am not unhappy that I do not remember her squooshing me when she jumped on me and sat; my friends and family reported hearing quite a ker-THUMP, eclipsed only by the WHAP that heralded my concussing myself.

Seriously. I had a raised bruise on my forehead for a while after. If you want to read any of it, pieces are here. It is a fantastic play, one of my favourites.

Butsoanyway; so far we are up to last Tuesday.

Then on Wednesday, I received a phone call from a lady at Animal Services; they had picked up a cat near Eviljob, and I am (I found out Wednesday) on record as the 'mom' of the feral colony – not only at Eviljob, but in the *entire* corporate park Eviljob is in.

This is a *large* corporate park, with a lot of cats. Sigh.

So they have this cat, and wanted to give me a chance to re-home it before they put it down. I asked if it was friendly, and she told me yes, that she had just been holding it a little bit ago. I made some phone calls and got a place for the cat to stay with the president of the rescue group, who said she would evaluate the cat to see if she is adoptable or needs to be put back out in the corporate park.

Ok, awesome.

Then on Thursday, Harry is coming back from lunch (in Eviljob's cafeteria), and he sees four men and one of the security guards running around in the lobby. He looks out into the lobby, and they are chasing a small black cat! He went out and made them stop chasing it, and managed to catch it himself when it stuck its head into the hollow at the bottom of a sculpture in our lobby and decided that if it can't see anyone, that means no one can see it.

This is a *baby* cat!

Harry picked it up and it immediately hid its head in his neck; Harry tried to get it to calm down, and it started *purring*! He tried to phone me, but I was already upstairs at work, and had to give him the number of the same lady who had taken the cat from Animal Services. She couldn't come out right then, so Harry put the cat in his car and phoned his GF to come get the cat, and he went back to work.

No – not mean; first-off, Harry has a '05 or '06 Grand Am, and the air conditioner turns itself on every so often to keep the cabin at a below-baking temperature, his windows are tinted, and he cracked the windows, plus girl friend was only fifteen minutes away. The position Harry has right now prevents him from just *leaving*, and I was trapped and could not even leave the fifth floor. So GF got the cat and fed it (she ate a HUGE amount of food), and it went to the rescue president Friday morning. Harry and Prez both said the cat is NOT feral at ALL – it is very playful, and probably just got put out at Eviljob and went inside to get food. It is definitely an indoors cat, about six months old; she's a girl, and she is *very* playful, and LOVES attention. :-) Along with the cat from Animal Services, she will be tested for AIDS and leukaemia, spayed, and adopted out.

We have had other cats who were probably former pets look at the glass front of Eviljob longingly (and a couple I have trapped and gotten adopted out if they are friendly), but none have ever come *in* Eviljob! The guard told Harry that the little girl just walked right in with a group of employees!

This kind-of breaks my heart, you know. She was trying to get to some place that had food and water. Poor little baby!

If I ever catch the bastard who puts cats out in our corporate park, I will beat them senseless.

Butsoanyway.

I have been a little sparse in describing all the people I now work with at Job II, and I should mostly keep it that way, but we are having a little drama there; one of the new(er) guys is a Romanian from Canada, and when he first showed up, we had nowhere to put him, so I offered up my office to share (I got my own office a few months ago, when Sophie lost hers), because I am not territorial, and I am usually in the basement listening to creepy beeping anyway. Plus, one of my dearest friends – Dorina – is a Ceausescu refugee in Toronto, I have known a lot of Canadian Romanians throughout my life, and we get along well. This guy is a bit younger than my friend, maybe by five or ten years (I am guessing), and I thought this would work out well. We have an *extremely* multi-cultural group (two Russians, a Greek, a Romanian, two Chinese, four Indian, a few Brits, one Scot, and two French, and I could go on…and that is not even counting the 'American mix' of Spanish, Black, and those who are just mutts like me). Several of them cannot be in certain rooms unaccompanied or work on certain projects because of citizenship issues (which is how *I* come to be translating the directions for something we are working on currently into French, which is funny; I am sure I am telling people to fuck off and take their broccoli with them or something [Merci de votre coopération. Veuillez prendre votre broccoli et aller à l'enfer…Quoi?!?], but our French-speakers are tasked with another completely unrelated project that takes them off-site, and I cannot ask the two other people who speak French to do it, 'cos right now they would be looking at code, and they are not allowed to do that…and I keep forgetting to just write it down and take it out of my basement for review; I'll just change whatever is wrong when I am done), and the restrictions are silly and annoying. They do not factor into my immediate story, though.

So I am sharing an office with this guy; we'll call him Karol. I was going to call him Mircea, but I know a Mircea whom I like greatly, so we're going with Karol. And I am friends with The Wacky Divorcee, whom I am going to have to call something, so let's call her Kate.

Kate is older – in her late 40's – and 200% Lucille Ball; she is American with two kids, and divorcing a Chinese artist at least ten years her senior. She has a HUGE history behind her (we brought her in because of her expertise in a certain area), and when I came on board there was no room (space-wise) for me, so Kate and I roomed together for a few months until I was conscripted into Sophie-saving (but that is another story), similar to what Karol and I are doing.

So Karol has been talking with me when I am up in my office area, and the conversations have been weird. They are not about business; he keeps asking me to check out his body (no, I am NOT kidding; he actually *points*), and so on. To the extent that I actually said 'let's change the subject' at one point, not that he then did. He *made* me put his number into my cell phone – as in stood OVER me as I entered it.

Oh! And! Karol has been calling the woman in the office next to me a 'sex goddess', and lamenting that he has no female companionship (and I am putting that oh so much more tactfully).

I have been doing a lot of hiding in the basement. Karol not only cannot go into the basement unaccompanied, he has no purpose in there at all; he is on a different project.

Kate, however, has to coordinate things with Karol; they *are* working together. And on Friday Kate and I took lunch together, and she told me what has been going on. She even printed out an email from Karol to show me which was *indescribably* rude, as well as having been sent through Job II's email, which is potentially some very, very serious shit, going way, WAY deeper than just basic sexual harassment because of the nature of Job II, and the nature of Karol's current standing (basically, not being an American, Karol has less rights at Job II. That may not sound fair, but that is the way it is; being psycho will land him back Home fast enough to make his head spin).

When Kate left her husband, she took up with a local contractor, and they have been happy (enough). Kate has looked up other old flames, and did manage to pick up TWO admirers when we were at a military technology expo late last year, including one guy who went *way* out of his way to have dinner with her (in the past four years, I have NEVER seen ANYONE make a love connection at those things; Kate may be older, but she is a major cutie patootie), but largely she is committed to Mr Current Muffin. Well, Kate made a comment to Karol about how she feels so tired and has no stamina these past few months (oh, tell me about it!!), and Karol sent an email to her that basically said Kate had no stamina because she needs to get laid, and Karol can tell Mr Current Muffin is bad in bed, if – IF! – they are even sleeping together, and if Kate ever wants to remedy that situation, she may call upon Karol any time.

I swear to you, I damn near fell off my chair right in the restaurant.

Karol sent that to Kate earlier this week, and Kate had done nothing about it. This is somewhat understandable, because Kate and I have similar histories, and do have a habit of just accepting some behaviours as our hardships to bear; I had not told Kate (or anyone else) about the gross conversations Karol and I had been having, and Kate had not told anyone about the conversations (and IMs, email) she had been having with Karol. For some reason, as soon as I saw it in writing I just realised that this whole thing is WRONG. I told Kate that I thought there was something wrong with Karol's mind, and she agreed, and told me about the *other* conversations she has had with Karol, which were as bad as mine, or worse. She had thought this stuff with Karol was a Romanian thing, and I assured her that *nothing* was being messed up in translation, as it were; I knew *no one* so crude, and I know quite a few Eastern Europeans; in addition, none of our other men are behaving this way. I tried to talk Kate into taking the email she had printed out and her IM history (Karol has put nothing into writing with me, so I have nothing as 'proof') and making a formal complaint with it, but Kate did not want to cause problems. I let it drop, 'cos I do understand where she is coming from; if Karol was not made to leave, things could be quite uncomfortable. But I did vow to stay as far away from Karol as possible.

So after lunch I returned to my basement, and checked my work email; during the time Kate and I had been away, a few people had had an email back-and-forth, and Karol had participated; I was on the phone to Kate in two seconds, 'cos Karol had emailed – to the ENTIRE FACILITY – some crap totally unrelated to the discussion about how he wishes he could have a woman living with him at the present time because such an arrangement carries with it its own 'unique benefits' (nudge, nudge), or somesuch. It was a very crude attempt to put feelers out to see if there were any interested females, basically. UGH!! On top of which, this is taking place AT WORK. On a *monitored* email list.

I phoned Kate and told her about the email, and that I think Karol is having a meltdown. Or that he was totally batshit to begin with, and it is about to explode. We both decided that we will talk to our manager on Monday, because this is getting scary. And now I have to go and meet Mummers for dinner; Meg may be joining us, but I am not optimistic because she was at a tournament yesterday, and I am not sure she is back yet. Just me and Mommy...this will be fun. :-)

So how was your week?

.

Look! More Kittens!

This has been a busy week, and I am in pretty constant pain, so I am just going to stop kvetching about that. Everyone else is fine; Romeo is fine, Harry still has his job, and Meg is in a generally pissy mood for some reason, but other than that, she is fine. Mummers is still batshit, however.

Oh, and my brother just had a birfday. Happy birfday, you stuffy bastard.

Butsoanyway.

I have given the task of feeding the Eviljob cats to Harry and Chrissy for the time being; I need a week to a month off to catch up with work and school, and to get used to being in pain all the god damned time.

Was is Camus who said that after a while, one could get used to anything? I sure hope that son of a bitch knows what he is talking about.

Sigh.

So I am putting trapping on hold, at least any that I might have been personally doing, or personally involved in. Anyone who wants to trap on their own at Eviljob has my best wishes. But on Monday evening, I got a call from someone in Security who knows someone who is working Security at this car auction place, and this guard has made friends with a feral cat there that has a litter...and it is the only feral cat on the entire property, which is at least the size of a football field, maybe two; they are the Ancodia Region centre for national and international auto auctions of cars that have been totalled-out by insurance companies, and they have a total turnover of stock -- the entire god-damned football field's worth -- every sixty to ninety days. Who in the fuck is buying all these smooshed cars????

And this guard wants me to find a momcat in this mess. 'Cos no one else will help.

Bwaah.

Fine. So I had a bout of retardation yesterday and forgot that it was Tuesday, and so I skipped a pretty important meeting, but feh. Whatever.

I get down to this place after getting lost at least twelve times in the ginormous industrial park it is in -- you know, the type that are always polluting the crap out of your Sim City? I always get lost in those, 'cos once you see one of those water tower thingies with the conveyor belts running up to it, and the cool-ass piles of rocks beneath, it's all one can do to keep driving and not think about climbing up one and having a cool-ass fist fight, or a shoot out.

So I got there, and the place is HUGE, and we have to take a golf cart halfway across all these lines of smashed cars...it looked like the parking lot at the Superbowl after Godzilla stepped on all the cars, ok? Really cool and freaky-looking, and part of the back lot used to be a car dealership, I think, 'cos a dead car dealership-looking building was still standing there, needing a good paint job way out in the back half of this place. It even had a service garage attached, and everything, though the back entrance from the road (what I am assuming was the back entrance) had been reclaimed by foliage, and now this tall-assed concrete and electric fence (concrete on the outside, electrified on the inside) separated the auto auction lot from the interstate on one end. This guard promised me that I could go check out the old dealership building if we got the cats with enough light left.

Heh. Yeah.

It took over an hour to find the mom cat. The Guard had named her Sweetie, and she was a light-coloured tortoiseshell. This cat, once she came around, walked right up to me and wiped her dirty fur all over my pants, and when I knelt down to pet her, she purred and *kissed* me. Then went over to rub all over the guard. Feral cat my *ass*...this was totally a PET. Though how in the crap she got over the fence, no one knew. The fence is (1) too high to jump, and (2) electrified on the inside, and there is a gap between the concrete wall and the electrified fence that is intentionally made so that even if one *did* make it to the top of the concrete fence, one could not jump over without touching the electrified fence, at which time one would get one's ass zapped. I am half-convinced that she might have been a passenger in one of the wrecked cars, or something. Maybe she was in an accident and got dazed, or was too stunned or scared to run, and she got towed away, hiding in her car? I guess we will never know.

Butsoanyway.

Sweetie had taken the guard to meet her three babies, and so the guard brought me over to where that was...no babies. I decided to sit still and see if they came out, and the guard went to look in nearby cars. After a while, I heard a whistle, and went to look; the guard had found them in a big pick-up truck, like an F150, or 250, whichever, or something. I could see one tiny nose sticking out from under the back bench seat. So I opened the back door, and I got hissed and spat at by a tiny kitten.

To make a VERY long story short, the sun was thinking about setting by then, all the employees had left, and as I wondered what I was going to do if I had to spend the night out here 'cos we'd been locked in, I was trying to lure the kittens out with tuna in a cat carrier. Sweetie was helping me. Then the lot manager (who has a fucking BEAUTIFUL Saleen like you would not believe parked up front...the guard had to walk me away from it before I put my dirty paws all over it) came out to find out why one of his carts was missing 'cos he personally closes up every night. Not that I blame him; if my business kept me in fucking beautiful Saleens, I'd be herding everyone out and locking up my damn self, too.

I thought he was going to be a dick, but he was really, REALLY nice when he found out what we were doing! He said he just wanted the cats out of there, and if I would catch them and take them away, he'd help any way he could. So he opened up the other side of the pick up, and showed me how the back bench seat lifted up...and there were FIVE kittens there! All crouched together. Mr Manager grabbed the tiniest one and handed it to me, saying 'Runt goes first!' :-) I put the runt in the carrier (a big one!) and then scooped up two more and stuck them in, then two more. Then we tried to get one that we saw run under the front seat (that's SIX, mind you), and it darted up into the dashboard on the passenger side. I was afraid that if it got out, I would NEVER find it in this huge lot, and it would get smooshed by a tow truck or fork lift, or shipped off to Pakistan (why are people in Pakistan buying wrecked cars?), or something. Mr Manager took the a/c assembly out in like two *seconds*, and assured me that the kittens could not get out, but the guard went and stood by the front, just in case. We pulled the glove box down, and tried to reach up the vent, but no luck. Then the Manager saw a kitten face behind the a/c big box that is behind the glove box, and he tried to reach it, but he got bitten. So he took this thing that looked like a spatula (all the cars had personal stuff still inside...the pick up truck still had some kind of folding baby carriage in the back) off the floor and tried to poke it out, but it just hunched down and refused to budge.

BWAAH!

We were out of stuff to disassemble on the dash, and Mr Manager suggested that I put Sweetie in the cabin and close the doors to see if they would see Mom and come out. I was not crazy about the idea, but Sweetie was pretty docile, and I did not have any better ideas, so I did it, and held the door closed.

If Sweetie had been feral I would have never tried that, though.

We waited about ten minutes, and then I thought I saw something stirring under the hanging glove box; I opened the door and grabbed Sweetie and the kitten, and as I turned to dump them in the carrier, I saw ANOTHER grey kitten that had come out of the dash!

Ok, that is SEVEN. As in four more than the three I went there to get.

Mr Managerman let me do a once-over to make sure that was all of them, and I really believe that it was. I think they had all been asleep in the back underneath the seat, and the one I saw skedaddling up into the dash was actually two. The guard said he would check over the next few days to see if he saw any signs of kittens that got left, and since the Manager had to go and wanted the day guard and myself to leave, that was ok with me. I really *really* believe that seven was it, though; Sweetie is only about a year old, I would guess, and she is not a big cat.

Butsoanyway; here are the only pictures I was able to take, 'cos I was told that I am completely NOT allowed to take pictures in there, so I had to sneak and take them on my cell phone:

This white truck was Home.
Sorry for the crappy view, but I had to sneak this one.

Sweetie & Co., immediately after being cotched. :-)

After everyone had calmed down a bit.

God is a good driver? Ummm...maybe not so much.
Just god damned funny -- you might not be able to see it in the pic, but the bumper sticker says, 'GOD is STEERING...I'm only in the Driver's Seat'
I damn near wet myself.

And the Manager said that I had to leave with him and the guard, and was not allowed to be walking around the property anyway (the guard asked for me, but Mr Manager explained to me that half his employees are not allowed back in the lot for security and insurance reasons, and *I* was totally NOT allowed to be back there, so once cat-catching was done, I had to vacate ASAP), so I missed out on checking out the dead dealership building. Sigh. No justice...I swear. And if the Manager had not been with us, I think the night security guards would have fricking strip-searched me, or something. I was getting *glared* at. Sheesh. Back off...I'm packing kittens!

But at least we stopped a feral colony before it started. Yay.

I called in my very lastliest favour with this rescue group, and got to bring Sweetie and Company over to the home of one of their past presidents (thank GOD!). She is going to give Sweetie a chance to eat (she is hungry as HELL) and calm down, and then take her to the vet on Friday or Monday to see if she is microchipped. If not, she'll get an FIV/FeLV test, and if that is negative, she'll stay at this lady's house until she stops nursing and her babies are old enough to be speutered, then they will all go to get adopted. Now I have to come up with something really nice to do to have more favours...as run-down as I am, that may be crapping out and just buying a bunch of traps and donating them, or something. Sigh. But at least Sweetie and her babies are safe. I hope she is microchipped, and could maybe go back home; she is a nice cat, and a good mom.

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The Red Paw of Courage

This is Romeo yesterday evening. They sent him home with a 'Red Paw of Courage'. :-) He is hiding in the upper storey of his cat condo, trying to sleep, wishing Mom would go the fuck away.

Mom did -- rilly. Dr Vet said to.

Today I could not stay home and watch him, so I stayed with him typing for as long as I could, then I phoned Meg to stop by on her way out of town (she is going to Vegas) and take Rome to Dr Vet's for water, another shot of antibiotics (he looked at the Baytril in a Pill Pocket and told me to go screw myself, and he is too sick for me to get into trying to force the pill down his throat), more pain meds, and whatever else.

Right after Meg left, Dr Vet phoned & said that he wanted another kidney function test anyway, so Romeo got that. BUN was still around 80-something, and CREA was 3.9 (he phoned a few hours later, 'cos he was leaving and knew I would want to know). Dr Vet said that was ok for now, all things considered, and he has older pets with similar values who are staying stable with fluid therapy. I offered that if it gets worse, I would want to put Romeo down before making him live with feeling like shit all the time. High Creatinine (I am told) is not *painful*, one just feels shitty and run-down all the time, like being permanently sick. That's a suck-ass QoL if you ask me. I may reconsider if I can get him to purr regularly, or if he *seems* happy and ok with feeling shitty...we'll see when it happens. *IF* it happens.

I have a break right now; I also was told to make Rome eat tonight. Something. Anything. :-) Dr Vet said if Romeo wants pizza and beer, he gets pizza and beer. Seriously, though; I will start with a/d, and if that does not work, I will syringe-feed baby food (again, bless Wildrun for educating me about that!!).

I still have to finish typing one paper, then I am (mostly) done. I still have to go to work all day tomorrow (Eviljob), so I have already made plans to drop Romeo off at Dr Vet's and somehow miraculously pick him up before he closes at four. Argh.

Today I started shaking -- my right hand and arm -- and I thought, 'oh, wonderful; I am sure that's MS or Parkinson's'...then I realised that the last actual sleep I had was Monday night, and the last time I actually ate was Wednesday.

That might have something to do with it. Maybe tonight I'll have some a/d with Rome.

Sigh.

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Lady, you're more than sorry, you know? You're *sad*!

I should be working on school crap -- this is yet one more night where I get no sleep -- but I need a break.

I was asked via email why I would put KotPL to sleep and then whine about it; wouldn't it have been less nutty of me to get him placed somewhere? It was phrased more nicely, but I am a brass tacks kind of girl.

Allow me to clarify, since I am sure others are wondering:

I had no say in the matter. Much to my own chagrin, I am not yet rolling in cash -- particularly because I am still subsidising Harry's existence. As a result, there is no way in hell I could have afforded to continue on speutering through Dr Superhero at $40 for a male and $60 for a female (and forget Dr Vet, at $120 for males and $160 for females). The twenty-three I have had done in the past month would have cost me around $1,080 with Dr Superhero, pre-tax.

And that is not counting the extras I also pay for, like antibiotic shots and doses of Frontline or Revolution, like I was going to do for KotPL -- pick him up this afternoon and take him to Dr Superhero for a dose of antibiotics and Revolution ('cos it does ear mites).

Because I do not have limitless disposable income, I am going through Rescue Group (RG) to speuter the parking lot cats. RG will do it for free provided I come on their free days, and the cats are ferals that come from my township. The only catch is that all speuters will be ear-tipped (thereby making them 'unadoptable' in the eyes of many), and Animal Services performs random testing for FIV/FeLV... and any infected cats are destroyed immediately -- no ifs, ands, or buts. We drop the cats off at Animal Services in their traps and cages between six and seven in the morning on the free days (after having made appointments), and retrieve them from two to three in the afternoon. If one comes after seven, one does not get in; if one comes back after three, the animal is gone. No rescuers can stay and wait for their speuters; if your cat is destroyed, they will *try* to give a courtesy phone call to let you know that you will be picking up an empty cage. Sometimes they cannot get around to phoning people, and one has an unpleasant surprise when one returns.

Animal Services does not fuck around.

RG talked them into basically donating time about a year or so ago, and I only found out about RG a handful of months ago. Until today, I had never taken a cat from Eviljob and had it test positive for FIV/FeLV. KotPL was randomly-tested, found to be positive, and destroyed.

I could not have 'saved' KotPL. It would have been nice if I could, though; I do agree. He was a beautiful cat. I honestly have never seen anything like him.

He had a good life though; probably as good as it gets in a parking lot if you are a cat. With those jowls, huge paws, and powerful body, if he was not King he had to have been damn close. He had his pick of food, ladies, and sunny spots. And he was put down before FIV brought him down and made it so that he was beaten, tormented, and starved by the younger, stronger, healthier cats.

It is not always good to be King, especially if you are on your way out. It's that nasty, brutish, and short thing again.

I *am* sad. I *am* depressed. I wish it had not happened like this. I am afraid for all the other parking lot cats now. I have to get the FIV-positive cats out of there to protect the others.

And, for what it is worth, I hear all the time about some Valhalla that takes in FIV- or FeLV-positive cats. I have yet to see one. I think these places are just one more urban legend; can you imagine the expense involved in maintaining everyone on AZT and Interferon? My beautiful Bombay had FIV, and I can assure you -- that shit is EXPENSIVE. Keeping up with meds, vet appointments ('cos with FIV, even a sneeze is potentially serious), expressing his bladder when he had a bout of paralysis...all that COST MONEY. A *lot* of money, and I will not even touch on the amount of *time* one cat cost; I cannot imagine two...or three...or fifty. I have difficulty believing there is some Mother Teresa of cats out there who is footing the bill for all these meds, vet visits, food, cleanings, and so forth. I think this is something guilt-ridden owners have made up in their minds so that they feel better -- they can abandon their sick cats to looneybirds, and not be guilty of putting them down.

I call shenanigans on that lie.

There is one psychotic woman who hangs around RG, trying to take in cats...the two women who are heading up the speuter part of RG tell everyone not to give her any cats; she's a fucking cat hoarder. She has some obsessive-compulsive disorder and went off her meds (I am not kidding), and her husband threw her out because he could not take any more of the nutsy shit. RG cannot keep her from coming around (and in fact encourage her to bring all her new cats for speutering, to avoid another cat explosion like the one that made her husband throw her out and take the kids), but they do discourage anyone from letting her take more cats because she is batshit.

My point in gossipping about her is that she claims to take in 'infected' cats (yet does not know the difference between FIV and FeLV) and care for them. The thought gives me the leaping yellow shivs -- in my mind I am picturing one of these hell holes where cats are crapping everywhere, never fed, wheezing with respiratory infections, and resorting to cannibalism. One huge point of dispute between Chrissy and myself is that I want this woman to die, and Chrissy sees her as a way to get rid of some cats guilt-free.

'Cos, of course, they are being 'cared for' by someone who 'really wants them'.

Snort.

I am not like Chrissy and Bonnie in this one area -- I do not have the tolerance for that crap. I do not want to help people like that. Or, rather, I want to 'help' them by getting them as far away from animals as possible. Unlike Chrissy and Bonnie, I do not see them as being fundamentally well-meaning people who have gotten in 'over their heads'; I see them as mentally ill assholes who are abusing animals because they can get away with that more readily than abusing children, and I see them as richly deserving a boot to the head. Along with some fines, imprisonment, restrictions on pet ownership, enforced medication regimens, and possibly electroshock therapy.

Voluntary or not.

Butsoanyway.

Because B&C 'feel' for these people, they end up with a lot of clean-up jobs, like the couple who just moved out of my state, and were keeping over sixty cats in a 700-square foot condo/apartment dealy-thing.

I never got the full story, 'cos I told Chrissy she should show up to take the cats with Animal Services and law enforcement, so that these fucktards could get what they deserve. If you are housing over sixty cats who are not speutered and have never seen the outdoors in a 700-square foot apartment and they are ALL feral, you aren't rescuing -- you are HOARDING. You are BATSHIT. You have NO intention of adopting these cats out, I do not care how busy you say you are. For years? Years you are busy?

Puh-leez. I am the QUEEN of busy, yet I do not have stacks of cats at my house, and all my cats are speutered, vaccinated, taken to the vet regularly, and *amazingly* friendly and loving (Christ; you should see Squoosh work the room at Dr Vet's! He has this whole 'I Can Make You Fall In Love With Me In Thirty Seconds' schmooze down to a science!) -- with the exception of Weebie (who was traumatised, and hides when new people come to the house), and Cookie, who is just skittish around strangers. But all my cats are friendly and loving to me and people they see often. And I *know* that I am too busy to go collect forty cats from Eviljob and stack them in my garage hoping to have a windfall of money and free time, whereafter I shall Do Right by them... Feh. I do not think anyone realistically takes in sixty cats thinking that Publisher's Clearing House is going to give them $2,400 (assuming they are all male, at $40 per neuter) and they will take that and go get everyone fixed and adopted out.

For what it is worth, B&C disagree with me. Chrissy and I agree on most (most!) other points, but Bonnie and I also disagree on whether aborting kittens is Wrong and Bad. I say no, Bonnie says yes, and I say Bonnie is free at any time to come take ALL my pregnant mothers at Eviljob and tend to all their kittens and get them all adopted out; I will even trap them for her and drop them off at her house. *I* do not have the time for that, and god only knows the world is not experiencing a kitten shortage, unless CNN has just deemed this event un-newsworthy and is refusing to report on it.

Until Bonnie takes me up on my offer, any unpopped mama I pick up is getting aborted (provided she is not too far along that it would be unsafe, or the kittens alive enough to possibly survive -- like being a week or so from being born, provided that I can tell; thankfully, I have not run into that situation yet. The one mother I was not sure about had her kittens the day after I trapped her, and I just posted about that a few days ago; that mother and four kittens are doing just fine). If you want to be a Fundamentalist idiot, you have to do it on your own dime and time, not mine -- period.

I mean seriously; newsflash: Cats are not subject to the same moral rules as humans, even if one *does* believe abortion is morally wrong. And to make a mother cat suffer through yet one more litter, feeding yet more mouths, and feeling frightened about her babies just to have her babies get killed or adopted out to shitheads who will abandon them when they are not 'cute' anymore, well...I think if there were a god, he would have some really choice words for your sorry, selfish ass.

And because my Cliché Closet is getting a bit full, let me drag this gem out: If you are not a part of the solution, you are a part of the problem.

You are welcome to disagree with me on any or all of the above points if you wish; it is a free country, last I checked. And if you want to run a Home For Unwed Mama Cats, I am able to hook you up like you wouldn't believe, provided you are not a psychotic hoarder. Email me.

Butsoanyway.

The short answer is that I could not have done anything to change what happened to KotPL. And even though my heart disagrees, my head says it was for the best. He had a very nice meal of chicken and mackerel Saturday night, and was eating for about ten minutes before Harry closed the trap on him. As important as food is to them, I feel horrible about tricking them with food. Especially really nice food that I know they want, like mackerel and roasted chicken.

I know that sounds stupid, but I really do; thinking about that makes me cry.

But he had a nice meal. And if he had to die, I guess this was faster than many other ways, all of which are more probable in the life of a feral cat. Especially one with FIV. And when I got my phone call, I did ask if he had been already put down 'cos if he had not, I would have gone over , talked my way in, and given him more mackerel.

Don't ask me how, but I would have. I am good at things like that. I did not have a plan and still don't, but a goodly percentage of my plan probably rested on them not turning away a crying Ancodia with an open can of mackerel for a condemned King of the Parking Lot. But by the time they phoned me, he was being cremated.

So that is my explanation. And a little ranting. Sorry. I am sad.


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My Really Busy Saturday

On Saturday I started out at Eviljob, fielding stupid non-urgent training questions, then I had to leave early to go to Job 2, where we were running a linguistics study...then it was back to Eviljob, where Harry was with a manual trap, trying to catch the Little Broken Tiger. We did not catch LBT, but Harry did close the trap on Mr King of The Parking Lot here:



This picture does not do this majesticable baby justice -- he is HUGE. And yes, I know 'majesticable' is not a word, but if it were, KotPL would be it; he is downright *regal*. In the trap, I had to make bird noises to get him to look over at me, 'cos he was giving me the Silent Treatment.

No, seriously; he turned his back to me, and refused to look at me. After smacking his head but good on the manual trap (see pic), he settled down and refused to interact. We are not worthy of his attention. I seriously think that he is Head Kitty In Charge; I have not trapped a cat yet that had such *attitude*!

So on Monday, King of the Parking Lot will have an attitude adjustment; I tried preparing him for it by explaining that Life is not all about who has the most ladyfriends, the most kids, or the biggest balls. He responded by igging me -- turned his back on me, and everything.

Hmmph.

I also want to get him an antibiotic shot and some Revolution for his ear mites; he has a bad case of ear mites, I think.

And these traps are AMAZING! They can be used either manually or automatically, and they are just probably damn close to the best traps I have ever seen! They close in the blink of an eye -- faster, even --and are super-easy to operate. If the cat walks in, the door can be closed before the cat is even to the back where the food is (if it is being manually-operated), and the door is down too fast for the cat to even turn around! If it is being automatically-operated, there is no way in hell the cat can make it to the door from the trip-plate before it closes unless it can teleport, or something. I asked Melissa in this rescue group to get the purchasing info for me, 'cos they are hand-made by Some Guy. I think Melissa said that they are $50 for the manual and $75 for the manual/automatic, but I will have to check. It sounds like a lot, but they really are that awesome -- once that front door is down, it is DOWN, and they have a back door that locks that food/water/litter can be put through, and they are also big enough to use as recovery cages. One of the guys that does rescue showed me how to take sticks and put them through the cage wires to keep the cat at one end so that the food/water/litter can be safely changed, so these things are total one-stop-shopping cages; you can trap, speuter, recover, and release all from the same trap, and they clean up with just a hose.

I finally got home around eleven...after getting up at five; no wonder I am tired all the time. I have finals to finish writing (and take myself...oh, the injustice!), but when I got home, I *had* to watch Charm School. I am hoping Saaphyri wins; she is *so* cute! Seriously--look! It's fiffy-fourf an' Crenshaw:



Butsoanyway.

I have to make up a PowerPoint presentation and work out how I am going to get KotPL down to be speutered since I am going to be at work, so...laterz.

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Bwaah! I am in MA, and am swamped with work.

Here’s the deal:

I phoned around and a lady from the RG came out to Eviljob and helped me try to net the cat for almost two hours. It is not the tuxedo I thought was injured, it is one of the tigers that were not supposed to be let off at Eviljob after the large speuter day we did. We could not net it, and I finally *had* to leave, so the other lady put out a trap.

To make a long story short, she ended up trapping (I think) Blacktoe. That is a sort-of yay.

I had to fly out; with the coming storm I was sweating leaving period, and hanging around pit I was sure for a while that I was not going to get to bos, but I did.

Butsoanyway.

So Chrissy went out on Sunday and then again today; she did not see the cat on Sunday, but managed to trap four more, one of which was already neutered and one of which sme jackass guy accidentally released at RG’s speuter clinic.

Just fucking shoot me.

Chrissy and two other people will be trying again tomorrow to get the tiny tiger with the broken paw; this time they are going to try to gang up on it with nets like Pat and I did Saturday evening. That almost worked – if only I had been able to start sooner, or had not had to leave, or had more day light, or something.

Everything is ok, but I am all hormonal. That is why I am being so fucking psycho. And I am tired. Very, very tired. I spent all morning thinking about the broken tiger, the lost orange cat (of course Chrissy had to phone me and leave that message, so that I could come back from break teary-eyed, like the psychotic batshit girl that I am), and being generally lonely and miserable. It is this weather – this kind of weather is always my Final Straw.

Ok…g’night.

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im in ur pkng lot theftin all ur kitteez

I have been meaning to put this link up for weeks...

The first page is not that great, but the rest is FUNNY! Chatspeak Cats (thank you, You!)

Chrissy trapped at Eviljob last night, and caught four more! This rescue group has clinics every Monday (I cannot do Mondays because my Mondays are full of two jobs and classes, just like damn near every M - F), and she did that last Sunday, too (I did not know in advance about either) -- this brings the speuter total to twenty-three.

Yes. TWENTY-THREE. And we haven't even gotten everyone; not even close.

Chrissy phoned me this morning to tell me that the two intake ladies at Rescue Group (to be referred to as RG from now on in the spirit of brevity) *finally* understood that I need some farking help out here (I have told them before that there may well be fifty to a hundred cats out here, and probably MANY more if the whole technological park Eviljob is in is taken into consideration, but apparently Chrissy telling them carries more weight), and will try to round up volunteers who know what they are doing.


I am fully aware that I *should* do more, but the fact is that I *can't* do more; I would fail out and get fired from all my jobs. This is at the very least the equivalent of a full-time job, if not more, and I have been saying that since (almost) two years ago when I found my little Squooshable and realised that the problem was way bigger than just one or two cats running around. I had NO idea they hid like that, but at dawn and dusk, the parking lot and its bushes are *alive* with kitties, if you stand still and look. The problem is, I never stood still and looked before Squooshable.

I love you, baby Squoosh!

Butsoanyway.

I have to get back to work, but I just wanted to mention quickly that the cat that I thought was hurt, I guess is not, or he/she got better, or something; (s)he is walking normally now, and I have seen her two times since. One of the cats Chrissy caught had an eye infection so bad that his third eyelid was covering his eye, and RG wanted to put him down immediately, but one other rescuing lady there said that she was pretty sure he was (at least at one time) a pet, because he was being sedate and quasi-friendly (Chrissy said that she also agreed that probably this cat was owned, cos he didn't act feral), so this other rescue lady took the cat and said that she would get him medical treatment and let him gain a little weight and get neutered and then adopt him out herself, or maybe keep him.

So yay.

And since I am on a chatspeak kick, I am thefting a fave comic panel... Cited, of course.

Change the way you comb your hair and watch what you walk under...

Today went *wonderfully*. Not simply wonderfully, it went fantabulously well. There is a three-party system that oversees a lot of what we do; they were all there (in a representational sense), and they were muchly pleased.

And there was much rejoicing.

Yay.

Let me take a moment (‘cos I may not have one later!) to explain why Chrissy was trapping cats in a dirndl on Saturday night: Chrissy is German, and there was a Trachtenfest (probably horribly misspelt) at the German-American Club. For me Chrissy did without beer – but she did make with the dirndl-action, not that I can blame her; some dirndls are cute!

Not that I knew what they were called before Saturday, either; before then, I just thought they were a different type of corset. :-) I do not get out much, as one may have already surmised.

And I did get a phone call from the Trap-A-Cat Rescue group lady type person as I was driving home; she said that it was probably just fine to release some of the females last night, that often if the area is safe and the speuterers are pinched for space, they will hold females for only twenty-four hours. So ok. I am just sad a little bit that I did not get to say good-bye to the little black cat that looked so much like Squooshable. It is because I am a sap like that.

Next hurdle is a presentation on Monday, and then a minor undertaking, and then a trip mid-April. And then more crap. And then more.

And I have to take a new hair-style.

No, rilly – I do. If I want to keep it long, that is. My current style does not come off well with my…ummm…current audience at Job II. I have already toned-down the eye makeup, and I was well in-check today, but I perceived a difference in attitude after our mid-morning break, when I came back with my hair pinned up chignon-like. Most of the people there were (and are usually) of a type to (I think) expect my hair to be up or cut short. So I need to come up with something.

I want to go back to dyeing my hair black most all the time, but that does not appear to be an option on the horizon for a little longer…like after I am permanently hired somewhere. Or something.

I am *SO* amazed at having free time this evening; I have so much to say, and cannot remember half of it now!

Let’s see…

Nope, nothing.

Maybe I will remember it all later; I still have to finish my poker post saga, anywayz.

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BWAAH!

I am so sleepy. And in so much pain that I had to take two of Mummers'...what is it called? Tradol, I think. Trader Vic? Tralfamadorian? I don't know. Tra-something. She left the bottle over here because she said they make her too sleepy. I was sleepy before I took them, so I guess we'lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllldddddddddddddddddddddkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk

zzzzz

Ha, ha. Just kidding. I only took them a couple minutes ago.

I am hoping Cookie & Rhett will be ok. I am worried about that. I am also sore and everything from all the moving, running, and lifting shit I had to do today, on top of the fact that afterwards, I was stupid enough to try to do some stretches. Gah. I was doing all the running, jumping, and everything because our offices are moving at the end of the week, and I had to make sure everything was packed, labelled, and all that crap for the movers. And I did it all in ONE DAY. I am the rockingest. ;-)

Owwwwch.

I was trying to keep my whatzit muscle on my right leg right above my kneecap from spasming and hurting in class tonight, and it occurred to me that leg massages are cool, and they probably really work. I just usually don't pay much attention when I am in pain because it usually goes away eventually. Or after I take a couple of Mom's Tradol. I'm probably misspelling it, but whatever. Hopefully it will stop my feet, legs, back hips, and shoulders from hurting. Tomorrow will be fun. Whee.

This semester is practically halfway over, and I'm still not ready for it.

HELP! HELP! HELP!

Rhett & Cookie were so terrified when I dropped them off today (I am boarding them overnight, 'cos the couple of times I have made speuter appointments previously, I have been unable to keep them away from the food and water, and ended up having to cancel the appointment) that I started crying, and the ladies in Boarding (who love Squoosh to death!) let me come back and help put them in the cage, and so I got to hug them and try to calm them down. I just know they think that I have left them forever. I hope they don't die. I am trying to not worry about this. I miss them so much!

I saw Rhett's blue brother on the way home (I go by Eviljob almost every night to feed and water); he looks like a Russian Blue (growing up, I had two Russian Blues that my father bought for reasons that were never apparent to anyone but him, and Rhett sort of looks like a Russian Blue Tux, if there is such a thing), and Rhett's brother is SO BIG, just like Rhett.

And I just pulled up that link and read it, and then went to British Blue, and now am wondering if that may be the blue in Rhett's woodpile. :-) Rhett certainly is 'inclined towards obesity'. Lord, that's one porky cat...but he gives TONS of kitty kisses, and his little white chin goes pink when he is happy. He is so cute! If he is a BB, I will have to keep a close eye on his teeth and gums, in case he inherited that, as well. :-)

I will have to think of something that will get these cats at Eviljob trapped and speutered. Right now, I cannot do it; I have way too much. Maybe next semester will be lighter, but until then, it is all I can do to keep them fed and watered over there. Unless I run across some help, that is.

Okay; now I *am* getting sleepy.

g'night.

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Ancodia's Inbox

I am fine. Things are like, sucky-busy recently. I received a really nice email whose point was essentially that I seem out-of-sorts. I am. I hope to be back in-sorts soon. Basically, I am getting too little rest, and too much work; I am exhausted.

I have a vacation (a real one) coming up in less than a month, and I hope to catch up on sleep then. :-)

I had a pleasant surprise the other night as I left Eviljob; the remaining members of the Kittypants family (Rhett and Cookie’s litter) were at the feeding station. I guess the cold weather drew them out of hiding to get food asap. There was the black one who looks like Cookie, an all blue one that otherwise looks like Rhett, as well as Breakfast and Blacktoe. So the entire litter (except for one who vanished early and I could not find) seems to have made it. I guess that is good. I don’t know what I can do other than feed them; I haven’t had time to trap (there is no way on Earth I could get back within 24 hours to check the traps), I have nowhere to farm them out, and I cannot take them in – I have a full load myself, plus a FeLV-positive cat outside.

I was taken to task by someone else earlier for not bringing Harry indoors. I acknowledge that in some respects it may seem irresponsible. I explained that (1) in all bluntness, Harry is not my farking cat, and I have gone above-and-beyond for him in making a home for him, feeding him, getting him medical treatment, and vaccinating all MY cats for FeLV (well, almost all—Romeo was deemed too sickly to vaccinate), risking my kitties getting fibrosarcomas and such when another owner would have just taken Harry to Animal Services, where he would have been put down; (2) I have FIVE other cats that ARE my cats, and they are INDOOR cats. Bringing Harry in puts *my* cats at-risk; (3) Harry never goes anywhere other than my front door and the courtyard that surrounds my front door/front room area, and the courtyard has a brick wall with a gate around it. Sure, Harry could get out by going in-between the brick and the gate, or by jumping up on the wall and over (the same way he wandered into my courtyard)…BUT HE DOESN’T. Only rarely does he leave the courtyard area to walk down the path to the driveway to meet me at my car, and then he walks right back to the front door area with me. When he suns himself, it’s in the courtyard. When he poops, it’s in the courtyard. Other neighbouring cats and dogs don’t come into my courtyard, which is one big reason that I think Harry stays—he has food and water, and no one messes with him. When the weather is bad, he has protection from the rain and hot sun, and when it gets cold, he stays in this area that is right by my front door where I made a shelter for him complete with clean blankets and stuff, that I can (and have) put a heating lamp by if the weather gets cold enough. That area by my front door is a recessed concrete area (almost as if the architect had once intended there to be a second or different entryway) and the roof extends well beyond the front stoop area, so he has no wind, no rain, no sludge, no snow, no *anything*; the wind cannot blow anything of note into that recessed area, and when Harry is in the shelter, he is *fine*. I could put a folding chair and a card table in that recessed area and not be seen from the front of the house. When it has gotten very VERY bad, I put him in my garage (which he hates, by the way; he loves it in the courtyard. This week it is supposed to get bad enough that at some point he’s probably garage-bound, though).

So don’t worry about Harry. He’s out there as we speak full of Clavamox (yes, he’s back on it) and some other drug (I think it is a steroid, or a decongestant), with his heating lamp on; he has had a good dinner, and he is probably asleep by now. I need to see if I can find a home that takes in FeLV-positive cats, and as long as it passes my inspection (I will not just dump Harry off into some hellish cat nightmare where he gets locked in a cage for all eternity, fed ‘sometimes’, and cuddled NEVER. I’ll be damned if I’m going to see Harry on an episode of Animal Cops; if that’s the alternative, he’s staying right where he is), I will be more than willing to re-locate Harry and pay for his food and vet bills and whatnot. Sure, he’d be best off indoors. It’s just not going to be MY indoors, ‘cos I have *my* babies to worry about. Don’t be angry at me, be angry at Harry’s previous home, the one that let him get infected with FeLV and cast him off. I’m doing the best I can with what I’m dealt over here, and when added on to everything else I have to do, it’s a task to sterilise everything and launder constantly and wash myself and my clothes in-between petting Harry and going in to my cats. Plus, when I have had to totally clean – disassemble his shelter, clean it completely, do Harry’s laundry, clean the front stoop, walkway, and walls, and replace everything (I do this so that my front door/courtyard area isn’t teeming with virus) the past five to ten times over the past few weeks, it has been pretty damn cold. Plus, I am so very NOT brimming over with the time to do all this.

Sigh.

I have to get some sleep, but I will catch up on my stuff and all later. :-) I’ll deal with other emails and crap tomorrow, or something.

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