Winter Is Coming

Or so the voice of Sean Bean as Ned Stark that currently seems to be living inside my head tells me. And surely someday, hopefully?

As imaginary Ned intoning dramatically has got me to finally pick up the needles again I won't look to hard at what having an imaginary Ned might say about my mental health. Yes, take encouragement where I can find it, that's me.

Have finally finished the purple sweater vest. Well, sort of. I'm not too happy with the applied i-cord edging, the bottom still rolls up a little. So, at some point I'll rip that out and go for some ribbing magic. I just couldn't face it straight away, it had already killed any yay finished buzz I might have had and I didn't want to look at it any more.

I would let you look at it, but it looks stupid when it's not on me and on me it shows off my panza. And I'll do many things, but putting my belly on display for all of the internet is just not one of them.

Instead of actually finishing said vest I cast on for my second ever sweat. It'll have sleeves and everything! Very exciting.

Also, it's a pretty warm gray which means that when winter does get here (imaginary Ned would never lie to me, right?) I'll be wearing the hell out of it.



The pattern is Gavotte, the yarn Caron Spa, their bamboo blend. Definitely can't beat it for the price and I wish my lamp light didn't photograph so yellow so you could see this color properly. So in love with it. As for the pattern, I'm pretty in love with that too. To the point where I'm giving serious thought to making it again straight away out of wool for the three days of actual cold weather, not just what central Texas calls cold weather.

I'm also trying to keep a pair of socks on the needle, but it seems the world has other ideas. First, I was all set to cast on right before my trip to Vegas* when it dawned on me that as a person of brownness, taking the sometimes ok sometimes not knitting needles through security would lead to me in Guantanamo. Mostly because I'd be a giant jerk about it.

I packed them with me, but I really don't know when I thought I was going to knit while in Vegas. I'm not entirely sure I actually slept and as someone who would medal if sleeping were an Olympic event that's seriously saying something.

Got home, started making pretty good progress on the first when one of the needles mysteriously snapped. I really don't know what happened. My best theory is that somehow it's structural integrity was weakened after being x-rayed, pawed by the TSA and then subject to rapid air pressure changes. Or it got knocked around a little too much while in the checked luggage. Something.

I do have a spare set but they're just a touch too short for me to use comfortably. The very pokey tips, which I would usually adore, dig quite irritatingly into my palm. Of course, this means a trip to the yarn store tomorrow and that's something I'll never ever complain about.

The current set of fosters (the furry piranhas of the last post, now returned from the babysitter) think they've discovered heaven with all this yarn out and about. But I've discovered that if I put them in the hood of my sweatshirt they'll happily play with my hair/bandana instead.



It gets a little tricky if I try to wedge all three in there.

* Oh yeah, I went to Vegas. It was Vegas-y and I really don't know what else to say about it. Other than my feet are all busted because of an unfortunate shoe choice (ballet flats! I thought I was being sensible!) and while I very much appreciate the bosses putting us up in the Venetian (oh so swank!) if I ever hear another song from Phantom of the Opera, which they had on loop, my head will actually explode. And it's a damn good thing there's not a Sugar Factory here because I could seriously spend all of my money there and never eat another vegetable in my life.

Tiny, Furry Piranhas

Happy news! Fluff (Sally) has at last found herself a real home. She was dropped off with her new owner yesterday and is hopefully well on her way to settling in.

There's a certain point where a kitten absolutely refuses to put on a good face at adoption events - they're no longer a fun place full of excitement. They have a home and they'd like to just stay there rather than be poked and prodded, thank you very much.

Here's Fluff attempting to hide in her crate:




But now she really does have a home and won't be bothered any more. Yay!

We're not kittenless, though. We have three other fosters, probably about five weeks old. And they're certainly making they're presence known, they're definitely a fussy bunch. They've been on a general antibiotic, a parasiticide and currently are on stronger round of antibiotics. I'm not sure why their immune systems refuse to do their, you know, job, but here we are. Sickly kittens.

Sickly kittens that refuse to eat solid foods as they should. They've been a pain to get off the bottle here's the brown tabby today, clearly making great use of his full set of teeth:




Why is he in an overturned laundry basket? Because they are all incredibly food aggressive to the point that we have to keep them separated during feeding time. While not actually eating much in the way of solids, god forbid something approaches their food. I nearly lost a finger today trying to add more canned food to their plate.

As they come around to this whole eating thing it should get better. Once they're truly satisfied they won't be nearly as desperate about what's theirs.

That day really can't come soon enough.

Lucky thing they're incredibly cute.










You wouldn't think that something so tiny and adorable would in fact be a health threat, but sweet baby jeebus.. My legs have become a road map of scratches from where they literally climb up me to get at food, my hands aren't much better. And I have a pretty fetching set of scabs under my chin where the little black one fooled me into thinking he was being sweet, curling up on my chest only to latch onto my face with gusto.

Prying him off was a real treat, let me tell you.

Happily, they seem to be coming around. This last feeding they ate hard and are now sleeping hard. Which bodes well for keeping my skin whole.

Heaps of Kittens

Adoptions have been slow all summer, what with there being more available kittens than available homes. It happens and is something I ought to be used to by now, but damn does it make my life hard sometimes.

Like Sally. She's a very sweet, but very plain jane black cat. Her siblings were adopted soon after they were old enough, benefiting from irresistible kitten cuteness, but poor Sally didn't have the same luck. And now she's getting older and has to compete with other kittens still at the height of adorableness.

Though she has her moments.


But it isn't all bad news on the kitten front. As a group we've had four adoptions since Saturday, getting us closer to a manageable number of cats. Here's hoping we can get a few more so that we might be able to start taking in new ones.

Two of those four adoptions are our fosters Anna and Thomas. I can't say I'm terribly surprised - it's a little disturbing how cute they are.


I know (since I'm the one that took the photo) that she's yawning, but I always think I caught her mid cackle whenever I see it.


Sometimes we get kittens that just pose. Maybe he's part super model. The Monkey was kind enough to lend her bright pink knee as a prop.

Speaking of The Monkey, I let her name these two. Thomas as in Thomas the tank engine, and Anna (maybe it's Annie) is another one of the characters. Unfortunately, maybe because I let her name them, she's become more attached to these two than any of the previous fosters.

I told her today that Anna would be going to her new home on Tuesday and she sighed an announced that she would miss her. I just found out that Thomas is being delivered Wednesday, so there's another little surprise for tomorrow.

Hopefully, learning just what exactly auntie resa's job entails won't traumatize her too much. Though I did find this little scene when I came back from refilling my coffee:


At least it looks like Sally will be hanging around so she won't be immediately kittenless.

Oh, Summer

It's eaten my face right off.

The beginning of kitten season was a rough one this year. I keep hoping that the longer I do this the less time it'll take to get my 'kitten-legs' back. Didn't happen this time, but even the boss lady agreed that our first set of fosters was a hell of an introduction to the season.

Here's Parsnip (now adopted and probably renamed) from this year's first litter:


We currently have three other fosters driving me batty. Here's Sally, whose siblings have already been adopted, cuddling with Junior:


Then there's the other two.

It started with a call from our very awesome vet, asking if we had room for two bottle babies. We did so off we went.

Instead of collecting just the kittens though we ended up with their mom too. The woman whose balcony they were all living on informed us that while she wasn't terribly friendly the mama cat was manageable, even going so far as allowing herself to be picked up.

This was not entirely true. While the mama cat did have a pretty good relationship with that woman that was pretty much the extent of her people friendliness. So, we ended up with a feral cat in our bathroom.

I wasn't aware, but apparently if you put a freaked out feral cat into a bathroom she'll do her very best impersonation of a hissing, spitting tornado. Walls were climbed, great clouds of fur were released, several things were broken... We decided to go ahead and leave them for a while despite the fact that the kittens had a pretty bad upper respiratory infection, complete with eyes so gummy they couldn't open them.

For the first day or so we managed a pretty awesome co-parenting gig with her. She took care of the feeding and regular bathing duties, we stole them when she was at her most settled to clean up their eyes and medicate them.

And then the Boyfriend broke it. You see, kittens don't like it when you mess with their eyes (who can blame them) and protest the cleaning and medicating quite loudly and insistently. And rather than ferry them off out of earshot he attempted to mess with one there in front of feral mama cat.

She was less than impressed.

After that attempting to steal her babies resulted in growls, hisses and quite a few slaps. We managed to get them only through some luck, a handy towel and a brush handle. There was quite a bit of terror involved, especially as the kittens immediately began squawking about it, risking setting off the feral tornado again.

It ended happily enough though, we have the kittens (who seem to just be a sickly sort as they now have tummy troubles) the mama was fixed and released back into her feral colony and no one is peeing all willy nilly in my bathroom anymore.

Now, they just need names but as sickly as they've been it seems like tempting fate to give them real names at this point.

Tiny brown tabby

Tiny lynx point Siamese.

The downstairs redo turned out pretty great, if more involved than we initially though.  It was a little shaming when a team of industious contractors were able to lay a tile floor in three days while it took the Boyfriend and I a month to paint the walls, but hey. That's why they're professionals, right?

Unfortunately, the glass top to our coffee table was an unintended casualty, so a new coffee table was in order. Add to that, the Boyfriend had bought himself an obscenely large television and the ~ten year old Ikea entertainment center just wasn't going to handle it. After eight and a half million trips to various furniture stores, we ended up with a new sofa as well. It actually looks like adults live here now, something that's not so secretly foreign to both of us.


I'm quite pleased with everything even if I did have to break in a new butt dent. Of course, the cats did their part, immediately covering it hair and chewed off burrs. Also, the fosters with tummy troubles? Totally pooped on it. Buying a white sofa was clearly the best of ideas.

And Then the Bats Came Out

Occasionally, my lack of time management skills has consequences that seem obvious after the fact but in the thick of it I am bewildered by things not going right for no discernible reason.

Like last night. I was feeling bad about the bag of holding so decided to pull together another small thing to give my friend.

Busted out the water colors and sat down to make a little piece of Austiniana, since while she no longer lives here the city does still hold a warm place in her heart.

Here's what I came up with:


Congress Avenue bridge with bats. Ish.

I thought I'd waited between layers long enough to keep working, but not so much. As a result I've got some muddiness and streakiness and some bits that are over worked because I could just not for the life of me get the paint to move the way I wanted it to. And clearly the way to deal with that is to just keep moving it around and adding more and lifting some and what not.

Though I did get it pretty much done in enough time to put on pants that don't involve a drawstring and a brassiere before she got here. Go me! Of course, it was still pretty damp when we were supposed to leave for a movie (Cabaret at the Alamo, complete with drag commentary. It was glorious, Fosse is the best) so I handed it to her still taped to the board and asked if she wanted it.

The answer was maybe, because while she thinks she understands the meta commentary on process and what is art etc., she wasn't sure if a DaDa inspired piece was really up her alley. Also, how would she display it? I told her that when we got back from the Drafthouse it'd be dry enough to take off the board because while I liked her interpretation I like the convenience of the board more.

If you're unfamiliar with the Congress bats, they're the largest urban bat colony. Little Mexican Free Tails living under the bridge and coming out at dusk to do their bit to rid my life of mosquitoes. I love you, little bats. Your faces are at one ugly and adorable and you are voracious.

And on an unrelated note, Penny was feeling a little needy while I was writing this, and acting as a lap desk for the iPad wasn't cutting it. So, in a valiant attempt to get me to stop doing unimportant things and pet her she co-opted one of my hands as a pillow:

Catch Up

It seems like lately all of my entries (when there are entries) seem to begin with something along the lines of 'I am for sure this time not dead, blog friends.'. So, yes. For sure this time not dead.

Just incredibly boring! I figure if there's nothing of note in my paper journal since the last time I posted then really. Not exactly a whole lot going on.

I suppose I could keep you posted on all the mini-series I've been watching on Netflix, but that somehow seems even sadder than radio silence.

But some things have happened, or will be happening that I will gladly prattle on about.

First being, I got awesome new toys from Mater and Pater for my birfday. An iPhone 4, with which I've been taking lots and lots of five second videos of the cats being cats. Also, using FaceTime to talk to Pater because I don't think we'll ever get over finally having a tv phone. Now, on to the jetpacks!

And Mater indulged me in my nail art semi obsession by giving me a Konad set. Nail art is one of those things I feel vaguely ashamed about because it is just such a preteen girl thing to do. I rationalize it by telling myself that if people didn't have real jobs where they had to be professional looking it would be more common.

I'm sure that's not true, but please don't burst my bubble of rationalization.

But! If you have been hankering for some DIY nail art I really can't recommend stamping enough. I mean, there's a bit of a learning curve, but nothing compared to sitting down with tiny brushes and free handing it. This is my second go at using it:


Obviously there are still some problems I need to work out (like centering the image) but I mean. Second go and it doesn't look completely stupid.

Assuming you don't think any form of nail art is stupid looking. Which, not exactly unreasonable.

The other thing which is happening hasn't actually started happening yet. It is nerdy and silly but one of those things I'd like to try just to see if my nerdy/silly skills are up to it: the 24 hour Read-A-Thon.

Based on the advice of past participants I figured my best bet is to have a heap of brain candy type books all set to dig through. You'd think with my out of control book collection this wouldn't be too hard, but I'm feeling a distinct lack of inspiration. So, if anyone has recommendations for light and fluffy reads that won't ask me to think too hard I'd appreciate it.

To wrap things up on to kittens. Some how, some how we still have Penny and Bianca, two fosters we've had since August. I just don't get it. And now we're coming up on the beginning of kitten season so it looks like these old ladies will be hanging around for quite a while.

For comparison, Penny is the brown tabby in the middle of this kitten pile:



And here she is now, decidedly less tiny:



The only upside is that for some reason Fat Bill actually likes these two kittens, so there's a little less drama on the cat side of the household. So, I suppose if there were kittens that were ideal for hanging around forever Penny and Bianca are them.

Anyone want a cat?

Klingons and Kittens.

I'll actually brush my hair on the day.

 Finally finished the costume.  I seriously think it was cursed.  I present the evidence bullet point style (never mind that the so called evidence is really just me not being very good at this sewing business):

• Massive failure at reading directions had me not placing a piece on the center fold that really needed to be there.
• Of course the fabric shop had only just enough yardage of the original material for the pattern, so emergency trip back to pick out a new one fabric and buy plenty.
• Actually get to turn on sewing machine go to start and I manage to epically botch up first bust dart.  Stitching refuses to be picked out.  Try for a while, Mater tries for a while then informs me that she's only succeeded in making a hole.
• Mater entirely takes it over at this point and when I came back the next evening she presents me with a mostly constructed dress.
• That, despite my measurements firmly placing me in a size 14, is decidedly sack-like.
• Mater takes it in an ungodly amount.

At that point, while I know more things went wrong-ish someone who actually knew what they were doing was now totally in control.  Which is why I have a costume at all.  I went and bought a huge red t-shirt with the idea that if I couldn't get it together and make the dress I could do a little t-shirt surgery and have a (ridiculously short) back up costume. 

I think when Mater saw what I had in mind she decided that she had to do everything in her power to save my dignity.

She insists that she was enjoying herself and that it really was no problem that, despite how gung ho I was about making the dress myself, she was in fact doing it for me.  No one was exactly shocked that once again Mater came to my rescue when my ineptitude got the better of me but this time I honestly did try.

Here's what I managed to do all by myself:

Oh yeah.

 Yes, I successfully cut out a bit of felt and glued on some glitter.  It's like I'm some sort of wizard, I know.

And now the question is, what shoes do I wear?  I have two options: flat leather boots courtesy of Kate, or traditional go-go boots inherited from a drag queen after her last performance of Proud Mary.  I think the flats look better, but they've not got a lot of traction and what if I have to run away from unfriendly aliens?  Or, more accurately, disgruntled comic shop staff trying to get me to stop drooling on the Absolute Sandman display case.

Oh did I not mention?  The party I'm going to, it's at my local comic shop.  And is a midnight write-in for NaNoWriMo.

Yeah.

At any rate, shoes.  Option one:

After years of wearing heels flats feel unnatural.

Option two:

Go-Go-tastic

And now, kittens.  This is Charlie, the tiniest, loudest, most pathetic of kittens.  I kind of love him, even if he won't shut up ever.  And is in the middle of the gross kitten phase, where he makes an absolute mess of himself eating but doesn't know how to bathe himself yet.

Food-y Face!

He's really needy, so we see this a lot.  He's seriously undersized for his age so he sort of has this little big head thing going on and his face is all ears and eyes.  I think he's the best.

In other kitten news, Penny and Bianca are still hanging around.  Really hope they get adopted soon, because the older they get the less interest they'll have.  Which is sad because they are some of the sweetest, most loving kittens we've had.

Snuggling at the adoption event.

I mean, look at them.  How could someone not want to take one of these ladies home?  Bah.  I'm surprised they're still with us, their brother went the same week he was up for adoption.  Hopefully the adoption event tomorrow will go better than they have been.  Why does no one love kittens this month?

Fauna

Today's been another errand-y day but rather than being the usual 'being a grown up is boring,' it was full of unexpected excitement.

Somehow we ended up entirely out of cat food.  This is situation that Fat Bill will not stand.  I woke up before the Boyfriend so I was the one subjected to her whining about it for a few hours and pawing at me every time I sat down.  So, it was no surprise that when he got up I demanded we go to the pet supply store now.  No, now.  Because Fat Bill's persistent annoyance skills are an art form.  It'd be impressive if it weren't so, well, annoying.

While on the way was the first thrill.  I present a dramatic reenactment:

Boyfriend:  *normal everyday conversation.*
Me:  *normal reply*
Boyfriend:  *normal conversation cont-*
Me:  LLAMAS!! LLAMA LLAMA LLAMA LLAMAS!!
Boyfriend:  Seriously, what is wrong with you?
Me:  I JUST LOVE LLAMAS, OK?

One of the small farms still holding out against the encroaching strip malls had two adorable llamas, just lazing about being all llama-y and I love them.  Seriously, I'm not ruling out the possibility of going back , knocking on the door and asking if I can just hang out with their llamas.  You know, order a pizza, play a little XBOX and then have them kick and spit at me because despite being the best things ever most llamas are kind of assholes.

The rest of the way to the pet store was spent begging the Boyfriend to stop on the way back so I could take pictures of them because yay! llamas.  We did in fact stop on the way back but since I only had my cellphone camera with no zoom function I'm afraid we'll have to make do with these.  I've helpfully labeled them.

I would have actually gotten out of the truck and attempted to get better ones, but two neighbors were chatting at the mail box across the road from us and while I was willing to be that crazy lady taking cellphone pictures from her car, I was not going to be that crazy lady taking cellphone pictures while cajoling the llamas to come closer at the fence.  At least, not in front of witnesses. 

My lobbying for a couple of alpaca for the backyard is going to be stepped up after today, let me tell you.  And I'll have none of the logical reasons why two llamas on a farm are acceptable but two alpaca in my suburban backyard are not.  

While at the pet supply store, after Fat Bill's victuals were safely in the cart, the Boyfriend and I went to pick up some algae eaters for our tank.  We sort of lost our way as fish keepers and our fifty-five gallon tank  has one hell of an algae problem.  It's less a fish tank now than it is a glowing, green and sort of fuzzy installation piece.  There are still fish in there, we can just never really see them unless they come right up to the glass.

But the happy news is that we trying very hard to stop being useless fish owners.  Hence the algae eaters.  Five Otocinclus and a Red Tailed Shark in total.  Fingers crossed they do their job.  We'll continue repopulating the tank as water conditions improve.

But buying algae eaters while useful (and I think the red tails are just too cute) was not what thrilled me.  No, what thrilled me was Bart.

While talking to the fish guy he asked if we had a smaller tank.  Because he had this little Jack Dempsey that was currently living a hard life in the live plant tank, being beaten up by the other inhabitants.  He lures him out and he is just the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen.  Absolutely tiny, but already showing the bright turquoise and emerald green spots and stripes and he has a flash of red along his dorsal fin. 

I was done for.  Beautiful markings + sad story =  we have a new little buddy who has a twenty gallon tank all to himself.  He can grow up to ten inches and will be a territorial bruiser who likes to dig holes into the substrate and eat smaller tank mates but I think it's totally worth it.  We'll have several years until we have to worry about getting him larger digs than what's currently available.

Bart safe in his new home.

Unfortunately, his iridescence is really hard to capture.  And no, we don't use boulders as substrate, that's normal aquarium gravel.  It's just that Bart's about the size of my thumbnail.  The fish guy was really fond of him and made us promise to give him updates whenever we're in there.  Here's hoping we can manage to be good aquarists again and Bart does well.

I Think I Have the Plague

Possibly leprosy.  At this point, I don't even know anymore.

It's been a vicious cycle of allergies - sinusitis - allergies.  Not to put to fine a point on it, my world is full of snot.  I've spent far too long wandering around feeling as though my head were three sizes too big and twenty pounds too heavy and looking like this:

I may be dying.  Get back to you on that one

 

 

 No, I don't know why stuffing tissues up my nose seems like an acceptable way of dealing with post-nasal nastiness.  I'm just as confused by my brain as you are.

As a result I haven't really done anything in remotely art-y or craft-y.  Which, to be honest, is driving me a little bonkers.  Just don't have the attention for it at the moment but I very much want to.  Gift giving is going to sneak up on me again this year and it'll be another awkward mess of placeholder presents.

Also, I have no idea how contagious the ringworm is and I don't want to say Merry Christmas by giving someone a skin fungus.  Yes, it's still kicking about the house, it keeps bouncing from cat to cat to Boyfriend.  I may just give up and burn the whole place down, it seems like it's the only way to be sure.  At least the kittens haven't caught it again, which is a small comfort but I sort of hate their smug, non-itchy faces right now.

While art and craft aren't currently in the cards for me, make up has been.  There's an argument to be made about upholding the kyriarchy in regards to how much I love performing femininity but, frankly, I'm easily sidetracked by all the pretty colors.  Besides, my eyes are about the largest canvas I can deal with right now and did I mention there's glitter?  I love glitter.

Urban Decay's latest eyeshadow palette hit stores and I had to have it.  And then there was a sale on NYX cosmetics, and another eyeshadow palette magically fell into my hands as well.  One of these days I'll say no to the instant gratification of premade make up and save up to invest in my own pigments and binders and a proper set up for making cosmetics, but today is not that day. 

The only thing that could possibly be better than putting on eyeshadow is making my own and then putting it on.  I'm a simple lady, I have simple dreams.

I'm, like, everything that's wrong with society right now.

But hey!  Cool box, right?  It's got little lights!

I've already mentioned that when I get a new toy I have to have a go with it straight from the box.  This was no different.  But what you should also know is that my personal make up aesthetic* is less 'enhanced natural beauty' but more 'drag queen.'  Or possibly a five year old that discovered mom's make up for the first time, but as Mater doesn't share my love for putting all things bright and sparkly on one's face** I'm making a guess that's probably informed by too much television watching.

Thus I've been toodling around the house looking a bit like this:

My drag name would be Snotia de Ragsi.

And now I'm already bored with what's on my face and will probably go take it off and try something new.  Rocking the pjs and the night club eyeshadow, that's me.

*I want the record to show that I tried really hard to come up with a less douche-y sounding way of saying that and have failed.  So, not a douche, just a bad writer.

**But not in my wardrobe.  I know I'm endlessly confusing to you, Mater, I'm sorry.  Someday I'll rock salmon pink and lime green as hard as you do, promise.  Yes, readers who are not my mom, she is that awesome.

I'll be in my fort.

Hyperbole and a Half had one of the best descriptions of what she calls the Sneaky Hate Spiral.  I suggest you read that now if you haven't, I'll wait.

If you decided to come back and not ditch me in favor of power slamming the archives of Hyperbole and a Half (which I would totally not blame you for doing) let's proceed with the day.

Of all the ways to be rudely awakened I've experienced, I had a new one today that I have no desire to ever relive.  Ever.  EVER.

I feel a hair on my face.  Attempt to brush off.  Attempt unsuccessful.  Have two horrible realizations at once: 1) my hair is no longer long enough to touch my mouth and 2) oh god it moved on its own.

Sit up.  Brush 'hair' off as it tries to make its way into my nose.  Identify what has been masquerading as hair.

I have no explanation for the French thing.

Then I set the bed on fire.  I may have also convinced myself that I now have spider eggs in my sinus cavity and spent the rest of the day compulsively blowing my nose.

Despite knowing for a couple of weeks that we'd need signs for the adoption event happening tomorrow I continued my life long habit of being the queen of procrastination.  I made the graphics last night, but didn't bother to get up to measure the foam core board on which the printed posters would be pasted.

And thus I learned the more basic corollary to 'measure twice, cut once':

The Boyfriend wants the rescue to have a plug.

The kittens' sleep in a crate and it was past due for it to be cleaned out.  While cleaning the litter box I unsurprisingly dropped the bag of litter that weights approximately eight and a half million pounds, reaffirming my hatred of clay litter when it blew up in my face.  Now I had another reason for compulsive nose blowing.

 As a hermit* I rarely leave the house.  As a possible vampire it's even more rare for me to do so during the day.  But there were kitten related errands that had to be done so out we went.  Straight onto the surface of the sun.  But then I remembered that August in Texas is just like that.  If I could punch Texas in its non-existent face I would.

We got the posters printed and turns out the scaled up logo image I used (because I was too lazy to make a bigger one) looked like a pixellated mess.  Despite looking fine in GIMP.  So, I guess we're adopting out 8-bit Super Mario kittens.

After finishing up with the poster related stuff we had some time to kill before the kittens' new ringworm meds were ready at the pharmacy.  And the book store was right next door.  And books are the secret to a happy resa.

After picking up what was probably too big a stack already, I decided that I needed something light and fluffy that wouldn't ask me to think.

Then had the following conversation with the Boyfriend:

Me:  I need brain candy.
Him:  I just picked up some Dick Francis.
Me:  No.
Him:  You could read the latest Sue Grafton.
Me:  No.
Him:  There's a new Janet Evanovich out.
Me:  IF I WANTED A MYSTERY I WOULDN'T BE IN THE SCI-FI/FANTASY SECTION!

And now I'm stubbornly not sleeping even though I have to be up relatively early.  And I need to put on some more fungus cream because I too have the ringworm.  Pater has taken to calling me his 'scabrous daughter,' so at least someone's getting a kick out of it.


* The Boyfriend and I have decided that when someone asks what our relationship is we're going to say co-hermitants.  Because I still don't want to get married, but we've been dating for quite a while now.  But that's a story for another day.

Illustration Friday - Star Gazing

Star Gazing

Playing around with watercolors again.  We'll see if the fascination lasts a little longer this time so that I have a chance to see some actual improvement before I go off mucking about with something else.  Did this while at the adoption event for the kittens so my travel watercolor set actually did some traveling.  Good times.

Speaking of kittens, I blame them entirely for me being inblognito.  It's been a tough season so far, adoptions are way down and the mortality and morbidity rate is way up.  As a result, creative (and cleaning) pursuits have been put on the back burner while things are getting sorted. We lost two of our fosters and the ability to muster up the energy for art or craft related pursuits is nearly impossible when you're feeling like a awful kitten killer.  The remaining three seem to be bouncing back and are doing reasonably well though.

Except for the epic case of ringworm.

Oh, ringworm.  How much do I hate you?  So much I can't find adequate words to express it.  The bathing.  The desperate hope that our own cats don't catch it.  The thanking every deity I can think of that I'm seemingly immune.  Our plans for replacing the manky downstairs carpet with wood flooring suddenly being moved up.  Because steam cleaning?  Is a pain.

Here's hoping things continue to improve.  Because at this point the universe is just being mean.

Cleaning FAIL

New toy!

The lovely Kate from Deth Spïralz was kind enough to give me her mother's old art table along with a bag full of crafty goodness.  This is what prompted the desire to clean out the guest bedroom and set up a studio.  It's all very exciting.

I was hoping to take this week and, if not make it entirely presentable, at least lower the slob rating from 'crack den' to 'bachelor pad.'  Unfortunately, I haven't made much of a dent in it yet.  Why?  Well, the same reason it's taking me eight and a half million years to try and write this blog post.

Kitten pile!

These guys are probably about four to four and a half weeks old.  Already eating solid foods, very active and not the least bit coordinated.  No really.  They'll knock themselves over just walking along.  It's a talent.

Along with these guys we also have a little guy, probably about two to two and half weeks old.  Still very much a bottle baby.  Unfortunately, he's pretty dehydrated so we've had to start him on subcutaneous fluids.

So, this means that instead of trash bags, mops and brooms filling my days like I had been planning on it's been bottles, syringes and this:

Little furry epaulets.

I feel like I should have left all the extraneous kitten typing in here so that you'd get some sort of idea of how underfoot these guys can be.  Also overfoot.  And top of head.  And clinging to legs.

Kitten fight!

For example this is what is currently happening beside me.  The Boyfriend is on the phone and has one squeaking in his other ear.  The baby is feeling left out of the running around all crazy pants fun and is sitting in his nest box crying about it.  Seriously, I don't think he's stopped in the last five minutes.

Maybe this weekend.  Once the little guy is hydrated and needs to be fed less frequently.  Or maybe I should just set up my 'studio' where the art table is currently waiting for it's new home.  I'm sure the Boyfriend would love having even more of my crafty clutter in the living room.

And now it's time to feed the little guy.  When did that happen?

Bebeh!

Hoh Hoh Hoh Hoh

Aside from the fosters, I have three cats of my own.  Tigger is the Boyfriend's cat who was here when I moved in.  Junior is the kitten we rescued from 'the wild' when we first started dating and is very much not a kitten anymore.  And then there's Fat Bill.

Nice hat.

Fat Bill (or as she was known at the time, Billie) was born under my bed about fifteen years ago.  In other words, we have history.  As her name implies, Fat Bill is not exactly svelte.  As such, we were rather concerned about her chances for diabetes when we took her in for her annual wellness vet visit.

This was the first time our current vet had ever seen Fat Bill and she created her usual lasting first impression.

The tech while pulling Fat Bill out of the carrier: "She just keeps coming and coming.  A never ending cat."

When I remarked that she was quite the fat ass: "Well, her head and feet aren't that fat."

On reading her name on the chart: "We're rather literal, aren't we?"

Catching up on the records from our last vet: "Looks like she's lost 3/4 of a pound.  Congratulations."

While feeling her temporal muscles: "Well, you see this in older cats, where they lose muscle mass.  They just kind off waste away.  Not that she's exactly wasting away."

Trying to feel for her bladder and kidneys: "If I could just get in there.... It's like trying to palpate through jello."

With a certain note of exasperation: "What do you feed her?"

Because I can't remember when the last time we did any kind of blood work on her and because we were concerned about the diabetes we did a full work up.  The vet called yesterday with the results.

Vet:  Well the good news is that her glucose levels are normal.
Me:  (happy dance!) That is good news!
Vet:  There is an issue with her thyroid.
Me:  (No wonder she's so fat.)  Oh?
Vet:  Now, clinically she presents normally.  But according to her work up she has hyperthyroidism.
Me:  That... is not what I expected.
Vet:  Neither did I.

There is an undeniable resemblance.

The good news is that we have a real shot at treating this medically (as opposed to surgically) and Fat Bill can live for quite a while longer sleeping inconveniently on my knitting and keeping me awake by loudly chewing on her belly.

I just love this yarn so much.

Cat Whisperer

We recently got two new foster kittens, older than the ones we usually get and therefore on the road to being feral.  The first couple of days were filled with hissing, fluffing up into big, terrifying kitties and uncontrollable shaking.  Did I mention the hissing?  Because that was pretty much constant.  Walked into the room.  Hiss.  Looked at them.  Hiss.  Shifted because my butt was asleep.  Hiss.  Came up to me and sniffed me.  Hiss.  They're best trick was a sort of syncopated hissing, one after the other.  And if I laughed at that?  Hiss.

Socializing kittens that have a deep fear of scary-bad people can be a slow and tedious process.  Lots of sitting around, pretending to be an inanimate object until they feel comfortable enough to approach you.  Gentle movements.  Occasionally petting and picking up.  And getting hissed at.  A lot.  And feeling like a monster because they seem to enjoy being scratched behind the ears but they're still shaking hard enough to sometimes knock themselves over.

Now, I can't say that my job is hard.  Sometimes gross, sometimes frustrating and sometimes heartbreaking?  Yes.  But not exactly difficult.  But sitting around doing my best impersonation of furniture is boring. Though being able to watch TV on my laptop has made it bearable.  I love living in the future.  So, one night after the hissing died down and they felt comfortable enough for some exploring I pulled out the sock currently on the needles.  And wouldn't you know, it was like magic.  Apparently I might still be scary-bad if I tried to touch them but I had wooly string and that made me kind of ok.

By the time I was ready to take a break (meaning my legs were totally numb from sitting relatively still on the floor) they were like this:

Yeah, that's the little black one sleeping on me.  The tabby dozed off shortly after the awkward webcam picture.  But not before hissing.

After deciding that maybe I wasn't so bad things have progressed quickly.  Now they're downright snuggly.  Sleeping on my legs under a blanket is way better than the nest box.  Where before we couldn't get them out of the next box.  They're still a little stand-offish with the Boyfriend- if given the choice between laps they'll default to mine.  I think he's considering taking up knitting to win them over.  Or at least holding a WIP in his lap and waggling the needles.

Hiss.