Category: Crankypantsing

Crankypantsing, Pets, Photography

Instant Review: Harriet Brown Goes a-Visiting

Shelly

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Harriet likes to sit on the corner of the deck and look out over the neighboring fields. She’ll spend hours like that, sitting and watching. I think she may be channeling her namesake, Greta Garbo (Garbo used the name Harriet Brown as a pseudonym). Like Garbo, Harriet often wishes to be left alone.

Harriet had an exciting weekend. We went to visit my family, who live a couple of hours north of me. Harriet is a wonderful travelling companion, so I enjoy taking her places with me. She’s always eager to get into her car harness and settles down quickly in the car. While we’re in stop-and-go traffic, she stands up and presses her nose to the window, so that she can watch what’s going on. Once we’re on the highway, though, she curls up and goes to sleep. I mention this, because I think it’s interesting that the only thing I specifically wanted when I got her was a dog who enjoyed car rides. It’s funny how those sorts of things work out. Her previous owners never took her anywhere in the car, but as long as I’ve had her, she’s been a fabulous travelling companion.

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Gabe playing with Harriet’s ears

She had a great time at my mom’s house. She always enjoys going there, and is nearly as relaxed there as she is at home. She even managed to do some kidney beaning and sassy woo-wooing, which she never does in front of anyone but me. She got to play with my brother’s kids, and got all sorts of attention from my brothers. She also got to eat all sorts of stuff she wouldn’t normally get to eat, and was entertaining in the process–there’s nothing quite like a kitchen full of people feeding green beans to a dog, who thinks they’re some sort of canine crack. I guess they’d never seen a dog eat green beans before. Harriet loves them, though.

This was the first time I’d taken the new car on a road trip. I was well pleased with it! As we reached Indy, the wind picked up, which was, um, exciting. It handled pretty well, though. Even though it’s much bigger and taller than my last car, it’s also much heavier, so it sticks to the road better. There were times in the Festiva when I’d crest a hill, and a strong gust of wind would nearly lift me off the ground. Talk about unsettling! That doesn’t happen in the Tracker. It’s just too damned large and heavy to go kiting. I did get pushed around quite a bit by the gusting wind, but it wasn’t all that bad.

Gas mileage was good, too. Even with all the wind, and running the AC because the windows kept fogging up, I only used a little over half a tank. I forgot to set the tripometer, but I’m guestimating that I used about 8 gallons over 250 miles, which would be around 31mpg–not bad at all for an SUV. Have I mentioned lately that I lovelovelove my Tracker?

Now, for the obligatory randomness:

  • I belong to umpty mail lists, most of them art-related. Artists don’t tend to be the most computer savvy folks on Urth, so I ought to cut them some slack. I draw the line at reading badly formatted messages, though. If there’s HTML coding, or if I have to hunt around to figure out which is new and which is quoted text, or if there is nothing but quoted text, I skip the message. I would think artists, being aesthetically sensitive, would take the time to make their messages look presentable, but apparently that’s not the case.
  • I’ve temporarily put my Netflix subscription on hold. Waaah! I’ll miss having good teevee to watch, but I just can’t justify spending money on it right now.
  • It snowed today. We were supposed to get two inches worth, then sleet and freezing rain, AKA Icy Death from Above[tm]. Welcome to winter in Indiana!
  • Christ died on a spruce tree for your sins. Wait, he didn’t? The use of evergreen trees during the winter holiday season dates back to at least Roman Saturnalia festival. Yeah, the Christians appropriated it, but the tree itself, along with its symbolism, is strictly pagan. So to complain about calling it a “holiday tree” instead of a “Christmas tree” is, I think, a little funny. But then, Mr. Falwell is a funny, funny man. And I don’t mean in the funny-ha-ha sense, either.
  • I don’t know why this should be surprising, but it was. It’s sad but true that all news really is just propaganda. From the administrator who was paid to promote No Child Left Behind, to “astroturf” (the opposite of grass roots) form letters sent to US newspapers, supposedly by local soldiers who supported the war, I think it’s a bad idea to believe anything that comes from or lends support to the current administration.
  • Firefox v.1.5 is out. If you’re using IE, I really recommend downloading Firefox and giving it a whirl. The tabbed browsing (ctrl-T) alone makes it worthwhile, but the lack of pop-ups and the ability to truly control text size (ctrl-mouse wheel up/down) are quite nice, too.
  • The Ebola virus has been traced to bats.

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Sunset Another Day

Clouds were just beginning to creep in from the southwest. They must have thickened overnight, because this morning, it started to spit freezing rain. We were supposed to get two inches of snow, then more freezing rain and sleet, but it was too warm for it to actually stick. It’s still gross and disgusting, though, in a way that only Winter in Indiana can be.

Crankypantsing, Meta

Turkey Week (US) Randomness

Shelly

First, I did some redecorating over the weekend. For those of you who stopped by while things were in a state of flux, my apologies on the intermittent ugliness. There is a law of coding that states that, when you fix a problem that occurs in one browser, it breaks something of equal importance in another. Ye, verily, it is true, and I proved it over and over and over again. I don’t have Netscape (nor a connection hearty enough to download it), so I can’t check for problems there. When I get a chance, I’ll make sure things look okay in Opera. For now, though, everything seems to be working properly in Firefox and IE. According to Sitemeter, those are the two browsers most visitors are using, so that takes care of the majority of y’all. If anyone is having problems, just let me know. Problems with the new blog template, that is. For everything else, you’re on your own.

In driving news, it’s official: I am an asswagon magnet. I feel like I spend an inordinate amount of time complaining about shithead drivers. Surely, there can’t be that many of them on the road? I’ve been doing a lot of carpooling lately with my neighbor, though, so I’ve got an independent a witness. And, it’s true! I am an asswagon magnet. Yesterday, she even commented on it, though she thought that, perhaps, she might be the magnet. I assured her that it was not her fault. I just have a knack for getting behind and/or in front of some spectacularly awful people.

It happened again. I was driving through Ellettsville, when I saw a bunch of emergency lights in the distance. I pulled over and stopped, right before an intersection with a stop light. As the emergency vehicles approached, a car stopped at the crossroad decided it would be a good time to make a left-hand turn, right into the path of what turned out to be three ambulances and a state trooper. WTF?! And, the jerk didn’t even have a green light–I did! I really wonder what the hell is wrong with some people.

I saw Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire over the weekend (fear not, I won’t spoil it for you). It was good, but very different in feel than the previous films. Visually, it was much cleaner and streamlined, I think, but the contrast was not so great that it was distracting. For example, the architecture was more Neogothic than moldering Romanesque, and so the old moving staircases were replaced by spiral stone and wrought iron stairs. Hogwarts seems to have grown considerably in size, as well.

I was worried about how the story would be adapted. The book is long, with a lot of detail that does not lend itself readily to being translated to a visual medium. A good deal of the story–especially toward the beginning–was cut out. Other parts were changed. On the whole, I think those decisions were good. I’ve read some criticism of the romantic content of the movie. I don’t think it was at all out of place, though. First, the kids are growing up, so this is a natural progression. Second, the story is becoming darker, so I think the romantic sub-plot provides a necessary contrast. This is true in the books, but I especially noticed it in the new film. A story that continues to build and build and build in intensity will not be as enjoyable as one that builds, then releases, then builds.

Lastly, I was kind of “meh” about the idea of Ralph Fiennes playing Voldemort. He was great in Spider, but then there’s the inexplicable Maid in Manhattan. But, oh my! He was, I think, a most excellent Voldemort. I was impressed with his makeup, as well. His skin had the sort of translucent cream cheese quality I’d imagined, and the reptilian nose was spot-on. The proto-Voldemort was pretty damned cool, too, though his resemblance to Aylmer made me laugh.

I’ve got more thinking to do on some of the changes, and I’ll have to see it again to be absolutely sure, but my first impression is that the new one is the best of the lot. Well done!

Next, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. I have high hopes for it. Hopefully the Christian themes won’t be handled with fists-of-ham. Obviously, they’re present in the story, and they shouldn’t be omitted (not that I think they could be), but I think subtleness is called for. We’ll find out in three weeks!

Crankypantsing, Photography

Random Friday

Shelly

But first, the obligatory cat update.

Rory had his week+ check-up last night (surgery was 10 days ago). I spent all day yesterday panicking, because that morning, he peed on the floor. He’s been been very good about using the litter box since he began recovering from the surgery. It was a relatively small amount of urine, and dark, too, so I was worried about him having another infection. In retrospect, that was silly, as he’s on antibiotics, so an infection was very unlikely. That’s the nature of panic, though–t’ain’t rational.

He also has managed to irritate the surgery site. It was inflamed and a little swollen. The vet thinks he may have used the cone to scratch it. I imagine it’s been itching like mad, so I can’t blame him for trying to find some relief. I was sent home with a few extra antibiotic pills and some topical antibiotic salve to put on his incisions, and instructions to take his e-collar off on Saturday. She warned me that he’ll lick himself like crazy when the collar comes off, but that I shouldn’t worry if his bottom gets sore and even bloody. Now, how I’m supposed to keep from worrying is beyond me, but I’ll try.

She also sent us home with a 4lb bag of Hill’s W/D. I’m not happy about having to support the Hill’s company. For one thing, I think the behavior of some of their employees sucks ass[1]. And, though I’m thankful that there are prescription foods available that will–hopefully–allow my cat to live a relatively long and healthy life, my cat isn’t much impressed by the palatability of either of the other Hill’s prescription diets he’s been fed. We’ll see what he thinks of W/D.

I’m also trying to figure out how to feed two different diets to my two cats, while allowing them both the run of the house. I was hopeful that Rory would eat canned food, but he’s not interested in it. I suspect that he associated wet food with being sick. Cats can be weird, that way. I could still do set feeding times, instead of a kibble buffet, but with cats, I find that they’re a pain in the arse. What I’ll probably do is let both cats have the run of the house during the day–sans food–then confine Rory to the bathroom at night. That way, I’ll be able to feed the cats at night and know that they aren’t getting into each other’s food. Water is going to be another headache, as Rory is supposed to have distilled water. At US$1/gallon, it’s too pricey to give to the dog and the cats.

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On a tangential note, the Cat Care Clinic is way out in the country (the vet and her husband also run a horse rescue farm). As I was leaving, the sun was setting. Their farm is up on a hill, and the ridge to the west was like something out of Arizona Highways magazine. I’ve never seen such a perfectly beautiful sunset in my life. And, wouldn’t you know it, I didn’t have my camera with me. That’s okay, though. I think I enjoyed it even more, as I got to just stop and take it in.

Since I didn’t get a picture of the lovely sunset, I’ll post this photo that I took Tuesday. The sunset that day wasn’t much to speak of, because the clouds thickened back up when the next line of storms moved in. We got a brief break, though, which was quite nice.

Here’s a photo taken the same day, by someone in the Evansville area. If I’d seen that, I think I would’ve peed my pants. It was plenty scary enough here, but, thankfully, it was raining so hard that I was unable to see anything until after the worst had passed.

Did Someone Say Random?

  • It is notnotnot okay to drive around in the pitch black without your headlights on. It’s doubly notnotnot okay to do so, then turn them on suddenly when you see someone coming. It’s likely to scare the Jeebus right out of them.
  • I want one of these
  • Still no window scraper, despite the fact that it’s been around 20F the past two mornings, and there has been a thick coating of frost on my car. Perhaps, this weekend, I’ll get around to it.
  • I love that my remote “key” does not make my car beep its horn or flash its headlights or call attention to itself in some other way. I know which car I’m heading to; there’s no need to announce to the entire world which one it is, though. Stealthy is better.
  • I’m not amused that random bits of my mail have been mysteriously returned to sender (including one credit card statement and my car loan statement), nor that three Netflix I returned on Monday ended up back in my mailbox yesterday. Perhaps I should burn hecatombs to the Mail Gods? If so, what would constitute an appropriate sacrifice?
  • Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire comes out today. I am beyond excited. I probably won’t get to see it for a few days, which might kill me.
  • Something smells like fried bread.
  • I have a scar in the middle of my forehead[2], just above the hair line. No matter what I do, I cannot get the hair there to lay properly. It wants to go in the opposite direction. I only mention it, because it’s being particularly annoying today.
  • I hate it when people use my name when talking to me. Yes, I know who I am, you needn’t remind me. I’m distrustful of anyone who does so, because I feel like I’m dealing with a pushy used car salesman.
  • Speaking of dead things. See, that’s what’s wrong with frat boys. And, at my alma mater, no less.
  • I’m craving Babbs’ no bake cookies. Not any old chocolate can substitute, either. It has to be Babbs’ no bake cookies, or nothing at all.
  • Skipping breakfast is a Very Bad Idea.
  • I’d say they’ve got this one the wrong way ’round. If there’s an insult there, it’s to Pit Bulls, in likening them to lawyers.
  • I’ve been watching All Creatures Great and Small. I loved it when it was on PBS in the ’80s, and it’s held up well over time. One thing I didn’t realize, and that surprised the hell out of me, is that in the first three series, many of the medical procedures were done in real time in front of the camera. There were vets on-set who supervised the less complicated parts (e.g. the classic “arm up the cow’s jacksie”). Things like actual surgery were done by the supervising vets. They would hunt around locally for animals suffering from the appropriate conditions, then they’d operate on them. The owners received free medical care for their pets in exchange for letting the procedure be filmed. The BBC picked up the tab for everything. That would never happen nowadays, or even in the ’80s, when series 4-7 were filmed. All of those later episodes contained faked surgeries.
  • I’m searching for the perfect CD wrangling solution for my car. I suspect that piling them on the passenger seat really is not a very good long-term plan.
  • I love grilled tomatoes on top of pizza. I love them, I do, to a degree that is nearly unnatural. I also love fried green tomatoes. And tomato sandwiches. And tomatoes with cottage cheese. Basically, I love tomatoes.
  • Also, I love dill pickles. Not sweet pickles, though. Those are ptoui.

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[1] In particular, two Hill’s employees have made a practice of participating in various pet-oriented Usenet groups, where they have repeatedly shilled for the company without disclosing their employer’s identity. Further, both the people in question have been unspeakably rude while doing so, going so far as to liken those who questioned their motivation or the information they provided to suicide bombers and members of the Taliban. I’m sorry, but that sort of behavior is not what I want to support with my money.

[2] When I was four or five years old, I was scratched by what I insisted was a fox. Looking back, I’m sure it was just a neighborhood cat, and that it had good cause to scratch me. Kids can be, um, inventive, especially when they know they aren’t supposed to be playing dress-up with the neighbor’s cat. I think that probably cured me of trying to put baby clothes on animals, though, so at least I learned something from the experience.

[3] If you haven’t seen Cannibal the Musical, hie thee to your nearest video store.

Crankypantsing

Flashers

Shelly

No, not those sorts of flashers. I’m talking about flashing traffic lights. I usually get to work early enough that most of the traffic lights along 17th street are set to flashing mode–usually red one way and yellow the other. The problem is that those lights are set to switch to regular mode at about the time I’m driving through town. This morning, I pulled up to one light that was flashing red, stopped, and proceeded to enter the intersection. Half-way through making a left-hand turn, I looked up and saw that the light had changed to solid red. Oops! There was no one coming, obviously, because I’d been careful about looking for oncoming traffic, but still, it was unnerving to be in the middle of an intersection when I wouldn’t normally be there.

Another thing that bugs me about flashers–again, not the nudie type–is that some people seem to believe, even though they’re stopped on the red side of a red-yellow flashing intersection, that they should treat it as a four-way stop. I Don’t Think So. Flashing red means you stop until the intersection is clear in the other direction. We have a yellow flasher, which means, “You have the right-of-way, but proceed with caution because there might be some asshat who thinks it’s a four-way stop, waiting for a chance to T-bone you.

Crankypantsing

Oops

Shelly

We’ve had a few hard frosts so far, but nothing too bad. However, I somehow managed to leave all three of my windshield scrapers in my old car, which means I can’t scrape my car windows until I buy a replacement. Of course, as I was trying to remove some dead leaves from the center of my windshield yesterday, it occurred to me that it may be a moot point, because it’s not like I could actually reach the center of my windshield, even if I wanted to scrape it. That, and the fact that I can no longer set my pop on top of my car while I’m getting my bag/lunch out of it, should have been a clue that maybe, perhaps, just possibly, I have bought a car that is too big for me.

Oh well.

Crankypantsing, Meta

Stop! Thief!

Shelly

While perusing my website stats, I found that someone was using one of my photographs as the background image for their blog. It was a large image, too, and because they had linked directly to my file instead of placing it on their own server, they were sucking my bandwidth. Bastards! I renamed the file and replaced it with another containing “image used without permission” text.

What is wrong with people? Do they think that, just because they found it on Teh Internets, they have a right to steal it? Or, do they just not care? I don’t get it. It’s not even like this girl was being half-way smart about it, either. If she’d copied it to her own server, I would have been less likely to have noticed (or cared!) that she’d taken it.

And, damn! I made brownies yesterday and forgot to put one in my lunch this morning. I also made some kick-ass vegetable soup, which I did remember to bring. It’s got all sorts of good stuff in it: garlic, green onions, tomatoes, potatoes, broccoli, carrots, celery, and brussels sprouts (I didn’t have cabbage, which is just as well, because I think the brussels sprouts were even better). It’s rich and thick and just what I needed, bein’ deathly ill an’ all.

I received my copy of The Diary of Anne Frank:  the revised critical edition–just in time, too, because I needed something to entertain me while I battled the plague. The book is a bit overwhelming, and, at 800+ pages is too large and heavy to be a comfortable read-in-bed book, but I couldn’t wait to get started on it. I haven’t gotten to the actual diaries yet–yes, diaries, plural. While in hiding, Anne wrote, then rewrote her diary with an eye toward publication. Then, her father expurgated much from the version that was originally published, so there are three versions of the diary–because I’m working my way through the documentation at the beginning of the book. There’s quite a lot of it, so it’s no small feat. Not that it’s not fascinating–it is!–but I can’t wait to get to the diaries themselves. Obviously, I’m reading them because I’m interested in the subject matter. I’m also interested in them as a journaler, though, so that gives me another perspective to consider as I’m reading them.

Crankypantsing, Pets, Photography

Random Dog-related Ranting

Shelly
  • Pitties. They’re Pit Bulls, or Pit Bull Terriers, not Pitties. It’s bad enough when people baby talk to small children, but doing it to other adults is inexcusable.
  • Pitt Bulls. No, they are not related to Brad.
  • Dalmation. It’s Dalmatian, like, from Dalmatia.
  • German Sheppard. They’re German Shepherd Dogs, because they, well, herd, whereas a Sheppard is a wingnut FOX “news” personality.
  • Shepherd. Is that German Shepherd Dog, Australian Shepherd, Belgian Shepherd Dog, Anatolian Shepherd Dog, Central Asian Shepherd Dog, or Pyrenean Shepherd
  • Spade/Spaded. It’s spayed, please. Unless, of course, you’ve whacked your dog over the head with a damned shovel, then you can call it a spade.
  • Furkids. O ick.
  • Skinkids. O ickier.
  • My dogs are like my children. Do yourself and your dogs a favor, and treat them like dogs. Children, hopefully, will one day grow up, leave home, and become useful members of human society. Dogs, not so much. (Yes, I know that many dogs are far more useful than certain humans could ever hope to be, but I think you understand my meaning.) By all means, enjoy them and spoil them rotten–the dogs, not the children–but do not forget that they are an alien species, and that they don’t necessarily understand or abide by our rules and customs.
  • Doodles. Please don’t get suckered into buying a high-priced mixed breed dog that you can get from the shelter for a paltry adoption fee. I have yet to see evidence that anyone breeding any sort of Poodle mixes are doing so responsibly, so why reward their irresponsible behavior with your hard-earned money? It is far better to obtain your next dog from a shelter or rescue group. You’ll be giving a dog a much needed home without giving crappy breeders incentive to continue churning out more pups for bucks.
  • Non-shedding. There is no such thing. If it has hair, it sheds. Furthermore, don’t assume that because it’s low-shedding, that you will not be allergic to it. People are commonly allergic to dog dander, which exists independent of how much the dog sheds.
  • Short-hair = Less shedding. True, many short haired dogs have single coats, which means they are easier to groom, but that does not mean they will not drop hair all over your furniture, clothes, carpet, car, etc. Worse, those short hairs that have glued themselves to every surface in your home are likely barbed, so that they work their way into fabric like a hook into a fish’s mouth. In other words, you cannot brush them off your furniture or clothes–they’re stuck there, like cockle burrs.
  • Getting rid of your dog because you’re moving. If you can have a dog where you currently live, then surely you can find similar accommodation in your new location.
  • My dog bit someone, so I need to find a new home for it. Who in their right minds thinks that’s a good idea? If the dog’s current owner cannot house it safely, then what makes them think that someone else can?
  • Free to good home, needs room to run in the country. That’s a spectacularly bad idea. Aside from the risk of being stolen or hit by cars, loose dogs are at risk of being shot or poisoned when they, inevitably, stray onto neighboring property. They are also at risk of being attacked by other dogs or wildlife. It’s never, ever a good idea to allow dogs to run loose. Never mind that “home with room to run in the country” is a myth made up to placate small children by parents who want to dump the family dog at the nearest shelter.
  • My lab is 100 lbs of pure muscle. If your Lab truly weighs that much, he’s either a draft horse or he’s morbidly obese.
  • My dog is overweight, even though I don’t over-feed him and he gets plenty of exercise. I’m sorry, but barring a medical condition, if your dog is overweight, it is either because he is not receiving enough exercise or because you are feeding him too much. It’s a simple math equation. One thing to keep in mind is that most dog food labels over state the amount of food you should give your dog. If your dog is overweight, try increasing exercise, decreasing the amount of food, and adding low calorie items for bulk (e.g. plain, canned pumpkin, frozen green beans, etc.).
  • My dog’s not fat, he’s just big boned. My ass. I’ve seen a lot of overweight dogs whose owners swear they are “just right.” And, how do they know their dogs aren’t overweight? Their vets have said they’re “okay” or they haven’t told them to put the dog on a diet. I’m sorry, but my experience is that many vets either don’t know what a fit dog looks like (they get used to seeing so many overweight dogs that they become acclimated to it) or they are afraid to tell their clients that their dog is a butterball. For example, when compared to the Purina weight chart that hangs in many vet offices, my dog would be underweight, verging on thin (she’s somewhere between 3 and 4). She’s in very good shape, though. If she weighed enough to look like the “ideal” dog, she’d be unhealthily overweight.100_1120
  • My dog is in heat and I want to breed her to your dog. Um, that’s not possible. And, if it were, I wouldn’t allow it. Besides, if you can’t tell the sex of a docked, short-haired dog, do you really think you have any business breeding?
  • My dog is friendly, so it’s okay if he says “Hi” to your dog. No, it’s not okay. My dog is not dog-friendly, and she does not appreciate strange dogs approaching her. Please keep your dog under control and out of my dog’s space.
  • My dog is clueless, so it’s okay if your dog kicks his butt. No, that’s not okay, either. It’s not my dog’s job to train your dog not to be a jerk. Please put your dog on a lead, and do whatever you have to to keep him from invading my dog’s space.
  • It’s okay if your dog jumps on me, I like it. No, that’s not okay, either. My dog is a Boxer, and the breed is notoriously difficult to train not to jump on people. Every time you allow or encourage her to put her feet on you, you undermine the training I’ve done to stop her from jumping on people. Please, knock it off.
  • If you didn’t want me to pet your dog, you shouldn’t have left your car window rolled down. Dude, if you don’t get your arm out of my car, I’m going to call the police. Lowered window or not, you’ve got no right to help yourself to my private property. And that goes double for my dog. Besides, what kind of a jackass sticks his arm into a car to pet a strange dog?
  • One little bite won’t hurt anything. Wanna bet? Unless you’re going to be the one stuck in a confined space with my dog, please, for the love of all that’s good in this world, do not give her a bite of your sauerkraut.
Crankypantsing, Pets

The Afflicted

Shelly

Did I mention that I’m fed up with being sick? Well, it’s true, I am. Yesterday morning I ate an entire 9ct package of Halls cough drops–the extra disgusting ones in the blue wrapper–and still couldn’t stop coughing. Not only was there no residual benefit, but they didn’t even stop me from coughing while I was sucking on them. Damn! Today, I can finally breathe for short periods of time without coughing. Or, I would be able to, if I could to breathe at all. And then there’s the fact that I feel like my head has been stuffed with a wool blanket, then shoved into a fish bowl. I can’t hear a thing, and every time I blow my nose, it gets worse. Living in a hilly area doesn’t help, either, because every time I drive up or down a hill, the pressure in my ears increases. Ow!

In convalescing cat news, Rory is doing swell. He woke me up in the middle of the night (or, he would’ve, if I hadn’t felt too crappy to sleep), digging furiously in his litter box. I got up to check on him, and found a nice little present waiting for me. Yay! He’s eating and drinking on his own, now, too, so I’m quite pleased with his progress.

I’ve had a difficult time, feeling like I have to justify to others why I would be “foolish” enough to spend a big chunk of money and lots of time and effort to save a feral (former) barn cat. When I called in to work one day last week to say that I wouldn’t be in because I had to take Rory in for surgery, the coworker who answered the phone told me “You need to put him to sleep.” Um, no, I need to do no such thing. It’s not like I was asking for sympathy or advice or any sort of input whatsoever. At no time have I invited her, or anyone else, to comment on whether or not I was making the right decision in pursuing treatment instead of putting him down. Hrmph. I wish some folks would learn to mind their own business. So, if any of y’all have ever felt the urge to say something similar, please do everyone a favor and reconsider. You likely have no idea what factors are involved, or how complex the issue is. Everything from the bond felt by the owner, to the chances for a good outcome, to the pre- and post-procedure quality of life, to monetary resources, are part of the equation. What seems like an obvious conclusion to one person may not be acceptable to another. My coworker felt that I was packing money down the proverbial rat hole. Monetary concerns are apparently at the top of her list of things to consider, which is perfectly valid. Cost was at the bottom of my list, though, so my “obvious conclusion” was the opposite of her “obvious conclusion.”

And, for what it’s worth, it’s not like I hadn’t considered all the options and weighed them carefully. I did. After talking to the vet, I decided that Rory’s chances of having an acceptable quality and length of life were reasonably good. Another thing I considered was Rory’s temperament. He’s been withdrawn and freaked out at the vet’s office, but at home, he’s been in good spirits. He’s always been relaxed and gregarious with me and the other animals, and that hasn’t changed with his illness. Even now, he clearly enjoys the life he has, and it’s important, I think, that he be able to enjoy more of it.

Crankypantsing, Pets, Photography

All About Asses

Shelly

First, the Crankypantsing and Nitpicking:

  • It’s crapS shoot, not crap shoot. Shooting crap is what Kenny did, and if that’s what you’re suffering from, I suggest seeking medical attention ASAP.
  • I hope that whoever went a-Googling for “ejaculating your cat” found, um, help. Ew.
  • It’s not a good idea to drive down the highway in the pitch dark without headlights. I’m just sayin’. Even if it weren’t a safety issue, it tends to creep out people like me when you sneak up behind us. Asswagon.
  • I hope that whoever gave me the plague (respiratory, not crap-shooting) is enjoying my misery, because I’m sure as hell not. I’m tired of blowing my nose and sucking on cough drops. Enough, already!

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This is the view from my front door, looking to the southeast. I got only a few photos of the foliage after it (finally!) turned color, but before it got blown to smithereens by last weekend’s storm. This was taken on the one nice, clear day we had during that interval.

Rory Update:

Rory had PU (Perineal Urethrostomy) surgery on Tuesday. Basically, it involves amputation of the penis and widening of the urethra. This was the last resort for him, as his urethra and bladder were in terrible shape from years of crystals and, we found, stones. He was a mass of inflamed scar tissue. Once we’re able to get the uroliths properly diagnosed, he can be put on a food that will inhibit their growth. The surgery will hopefully allow him to pass any stones or crystals that do develop.

The surgery went well, but he was stressed by being at the vet, so she recommended that I take him home ASAP. I picked him up Wednesday after work. He looked good, and seemed relatively comfortable and relaxed during the drive home. He stretched out in his carrier and chatted with me. I think he now understands that when I pick him up at the vet, it means he’s going home, home, home.

Physically and mentally, I think he’s doing well. His stitches look good, though he’s got the funniest baboon ass in captivity. It’s shaved and still dyed red from the antiseptic. I’ll try to get a photo of it (it’s truly special), if I can. He’s all about the sweet, sweet lovin’, though, so getting a photo of his back end will be difficult. He’s too busy having me scratch and rub his head and neck to turn around.

He’s not into the prescription food, unfortunately. I think part of the problem is that it’s canned, and he’s not a big fan of canned food. He usually takes a couple of bites and leaves the rest. The vet said that, since we’re waiting for urolith analysis, I can go ahead and feed him his old food for the time being. It took him awhile to get the knack of eating with the satellite dish around his head, but by late yesterday afternoon, he was getting pretty good at it. He’s still not drinking on his own, though, so I’m having to force water down him with a syringe. He’s not happy about it, but he’s got the attention span of a gnat, so as soon as I’m finished, he forgets that he hates me. It’s nice to have a cat who is incapable of holding a grudge.

He’s peeing like a champ, which is a huge relief–nice, big pools of it, too, instead of the little spots that were common when he’d start blocking or would get a UTI. I’m concerned that he’s not had a bowel movement, but I think the fact that he fasted for a few days accounts for that. He didn’t start eating well until later in the day yesterday, so it may take awhile for things to start, um, moving through him properly.

Crankypantsing

Freeman Farr Wants to Turbocharge My, Ahem, Portfolio

Shelly

Freeman Farr wants to turbocharge my portfolio. I’m pretty sure that’s not legal in Indiana. Clearly, I don’t have enough spam in my life. You would think that, having been born in the Spam epicenter of the world, that wouldn’t be the case, but You Would Be Wrong. Just ask Freeman Farr, if you don’t believe me.

The Eyes Have It
I went to the eye doctor last week. I figured that, after four years, it was probably time for new glasses. I also wanted to get a new prescription for contacts. I haven’t worn them in ages, and probably won’t wear them very often now, but it would be nice to have them as an option. My eyes are continuing to improve, for some weird reason. I also found out that my left and right contact prescription are the same. Yay! That means I can buy just one box at a time, instead of two, which will make playing around with colored lenses more economical. I was torn between hazel and grey, but this means I can get a box of each. I win!

Eroticon
Eroticon was last weekend. That is legal in Indiana. I worked the door, taking tickets/money, which was pretty entertaining. I like working the door because I get to see what everyone is wearing. The downside is that I have to touch either tickets or money from everyone who walks through the door, so if anyone is sick, I’m likely to catch it. It also lasts until well after my bedtime. I got to leave an hour early, at 2am, but by the time I drove by the bank*, then drove home, it was nearly 3am. For those playing along at home, that’s an hour before my usual wake-up time. Egad.

So, I got home at 3am, had a bedtime snack, because I hadn’t eaten since 4pm the previous day, and watched some food porn from a big box of taped teevee I borrowed from friends. Then, I went to bed and slept for nearly 36 hours. Partly, that was due to being exhausted. Mostly, though, I think I was fighting off some sort of plague. I woke up a few times and felt congested and feverish, so sleeping it off was probably a good idea. I also had a killer headache, which I think resulted from switching back and forth between my old, too-strong glasses and my new, just-right contacts.

I have to say that I appreciate having a dog who understands the importance of a good nap. Aside from meals and potty breaks, she was perfectly happy to curl up and sleep. And sleep. And sleep. Of course, that also meant that when I did wake up, she was bouncing off the walls–very cutely, I might add.

A Few Things I Have Recently Learned
1. Do not attempt humor when your audience has no sense of same.
2. Always carry protein bars, or some sort of non-perishable snack food, in the glove compartment of your car.
3. The fewer channels of teevee you receive, the higher the percentage of revolting sports programming.
4. Drunken frat boys are pretty much the same, through time and space.
5. Alan Alda keeps getting more and more amazing.
6. No matter how early I leave for work, I will get stuck behind some asswagon going 10mph under the speed limit.
7. No matter how fast I am driving, I will have some asswagon tailgating me.
8. Never try to make a bank deposit at 2:30am.*
9. I love love love having a CD player in my car. I am no longer a slave to Quality Rock (Real, um, Variety). Jeebus be praised! It’s nice to be able to listen to Southern Culture on the Skids or Nick Cave or Rasputina, instead of frat rock.
10. I think I’m enjoying having a single-dog household.

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* My bank has closed all but, I think, three of it’s local branches. It has also stopped allowing deposits at any but the branch ATMs. Bastards. So, I had to haul my ass all the way to the south side of town to make a deposit. Everything went well until I realized, as the machine was sucking in the envelope, that I hadn’t included a deposit slip. Oops!