So, back in January, it was cold. Not unusual. One night, it was like 15 degrees out, but I was cozy in my bed so I didn't care. As I was falling asleep, Mr. Man came in and said something that sounded like "words words words thermostat downstairs more words". I muttered something like "that's nice dear" and snuggled under the covers. Sometime later, Mr. Man came back upstairs and said something about "words words dishwasher words water". Again, I said something incredibly witty like "oh, good". (What I really meant was "I am cozy, leave me in peace" but I am trying to be a kinder, gentler person.)
The next morning, when I went downstairs, I could see my breath in the living room. This was unusual, as the living room didn't come with a "meat locker" setting. Mr. Man asked if I had called my plumber, yet. It would seem I missed something. Evidently, there had been a leak under the dishwasher, and coincidently, the thermostat died. So, I called the plumber, who said he'd be right over, despite the ice and snow and cold. I felt bad, but he insisted.
The plumber arrived and got down to look under the dishwasher. "Huh." A half turn with the wrench and he was done. Then he asked why it was so cold inside the house. "Well, that's a weird situation," Mr. Man told him, then they went down to the mechanical room to do...man stuff. (Girl power is great and all that, but I think occasionally men like to think there is "man stuff" to be done, like back in the good old days. The division of labor in our household does not follow stereotypical gender roles. He cooks and I do yard work. I take out the trash and he picks out the pillows and the paint colors for the house. He does yoga and I play death sniper killer video games. We do what we want.)
Anyway, it turns out the water soaked the duct insulation in the floor below the dishwasher and ran over to the downstairs furnace, causing some sort of something that screwed up the thermostat somehow. The plumber said he wasn't going to charge us, but he suggested we let him call the water removal crew and see if the repairs would meet our insurance deductible. Based on what I saw, I doubted it, but I wasn't really sure what our deductible even was. (Mr. Financial Man handles all financial aspects of our lives, so I am blissfully ignorant beyond knowing where the firebox containing all the important documents lives.)
Later that afternoon, Mr. Water Remover Man showed up and said "hmmm" a few times. Then he asked who our insurance company was. Mr. Man told him, and he got this sort of weird smile on his face and said "I think we are looking at a minimum of $12,000 worth of damage, probably more. Let's call the insurance company and get this started!". Um, what? By the time my slow little brain had processed it, Mindy, the insurance lady, had a case file number for us and a list of all the damage that had been uncovered thus far. Our floor is red oak, and the entire main level of the house is contiguous. Water Guy said it was impossible to replace just the 100 square feet of damaged wood and have the stain match, so the whole main level was to be refinished or replaced. Wait, what? "Don't worry, we got a guy that does the restoration." Uh huh.
Water removal guy said he would send a crew out to place fans and dehumidifiers for both the kitchen and the mechanical area. Wait, what? (I find myself saying that a lot lately.) There was no standing water! "But there is wet wood and wet insulation. Can't be too careful." Shortly thereafter, a truck pulled up and started offloading huge fans and things I suspected were Daleks in disguise. They said they need to put 5 fans in the kitchen, plus a Dalek dehumidifier, and the same downstairs. I asked how they thought they could possibly fit all that, and still allow us to move around the kitchen. "Just watch". They put them around, turned everything on, and suddenly there was a sound similar to a jet engine and my cabinet doors were flying open. "You'll get used to it!" Yeah, right. The cats were not impressed. I had the Fan Man show me how to turn them off, "just in case".
The next day we got a call from our insurance adjuster, who was very nice. He said if the fans got to be too much, we should just go to a hotel and they would cover it, even the pet fees. Nice, but not necessary, especially since I could turn them off periodically to get some peace. I didn't mention that. He said he'd be by next week to take a look, but not to worry, we were covered and everything would be handled.That was a load off my mind.
The next week, when Insurance Guy did drop by, he pointed to the house behind us and told us his sister owned that house, but sold it a few years ago. His parents still live a few doors down. We were practically family! Then he did his inspection, showed me photos of his adorable goats (Long story), and again told us not to worry. We'd probably only have to leave for 4 or 5 days while they did the sand and refinish on the wood, but they would cover hotel and food, along with any incidentals that we needed while away from home. (They would either pay pet fees as part of the hotel costs, or kennel costs if we would prefer to go that route. As if! The cats go where we go!) Um, what? Leave...for days? No. Not going to happen. Strangers in my house while we are off at some hotel? I don't think so!
Next, we got a visit from a restoration guy connected to the water removal guy. He looked around and said "hmmm" a lot, which I am coming to believe is code for "how much can I get out of this job?". When his bid came back, it was $18,000...for a floor...that only has 100 square feet of damage. He claimed he needed to take out the built-in bookcases in the living room, replace this kick plate, that toe plate and other random things I am not sure are actually things. So, we called a company we found online that had a good reputation locally, and they sent out a guy who gave us a bid that was much more in line with what Mr. Man had figured. He never mentioned removing bookcases or any of the other obscure obstacles that raised the quote from the other fellow. This guy knew his stuff and wasn't obnoxious. We had our man. Time for the big decisions.
The problem we encountered was that our floors were currently oriented the "wrong way," which bugs Mr. Picky Man, but they could be refinished 3 or 4 more times before they needed to be replaced. That's a lot of "good" wood to throw in a landfill just to get planks that go north-south instead of east-west. However, we knew we really didn't want to deal with this again should something leak, so we agreed to do the "wet" areas in tile or something waterproof/ resistant, and just refinish the rest. This means kitchen, guest bath, laundry room, and while we're at it, we would pay out of pocket to have the sunroom and pantry floors replaced with tile. With those decisions made, we headed off to the flooring store...
And hated everything. It's all so obviously manufactured and ugly and cookie cutter and ugly and had no warmth and was quite honestly quite ugly. We finally decided we liked the slate, but the contractor said it was harder to lay and when chipped could become very sharp, Since we hate shoes, that wasn't an option. Eventually, a tile that looked very much like slate was located, but without the death and foot destruction capabilities.
We looked at every wood color under the sun, and then we looked at them again. We took samples home, only to find out we didn't really like them, so we agreed to get the tile in, and let the wood refinishers sand the remaining stuff and then we could try different stains and see what we liked. It would be up against the tile, and we could see how the light would hit the color, which actually makes a difference.
So, now we meet the tile guy.
To be continued...
6/17/18
3/9/18
Cat Tree
It was the only one I could find in black that would support both of them...as long as it is braced against the corner. He could knock it over otherwise. It's heavy duty, but so is Jem. I am thinking about ordering another one once the sunroom is finished. Oh, yeah, the floor is going down in the sunroom in a week or so. That's a story for another post.Anyway, cats are no longer tree-less, because they get what they want.
Kitchen Rebellion
What?...There are? Oh, you call them recipes? Thought those were like guidelines. No? Very specific...huh. Who knew?
Anyway, back to me, I washed the veggies and reached over to the trusty old knife block and out came the big, Buggidy-Buggidy Knife. I call it that because that's the noise it makes when it slices my skin, unlike the smooth "swip" sound of the un-serrated type of WMD cleaving through my fingers or in one instance, the skin slightly above my knee. Long story, don't ask. The kitchen is full of Weapons of My Destruction, trust me. Everything within 20 feet of the hotbox hates me.
Where was I? Oh, yeah, so instead of putting it back and choosing a smaller and probably more appropriate knife, I went with my bad self and chopped those suckers up. I even made up a song about it, which I will spare you from, but just know that I was feeling pretty full of myself. Then the cat started fussing at me. (No, it had nothing to do with my singing. Jerk.) She started staring at me and yelling all bossy-like. I admit it. I gave the cat an extra can of meat so she wouldn't tell Mr. Fancy Chef what I did.The last time Mr. Fancy Chef was around while I was forced to make my own eggs lest I starve to death, he made some comment about my cooking being similar to when a demon touches a bible: all smoke and sizzle, but no one wants to touch the results. I am sure he meant that with the utmost love and respect. And I'd like to say this is a case of "if you can prove you are all thumbs you don't have to lift a finger", but it's not. I can't cook. (We've covered this.)
I have issues beyond that which modern medical therapies can handle, but I do what I want. (And I want to stay out of the kitchen,)
The Googles vs. an Actual MD.
So, it's been awhile...stuff happens. (Cats are OK. Oh, and so are kids and husband.)
NOTE: this isn't a "poor me" post. I am just babbling about what a weird thing this was and how maybe when the internet tells you something can't possibly be the case, check with a trained professional.
Sometime shortly after my last post, I got "the flu". That's what I call anything that involves body aches. After about a week, I got better. Phew. That sucked. A friend and I had started walking a few days a week, and as time wore on, I noticed I was getting really sore after my walks. I figured I was still getting over "the flu". It finally got to the point that "Killer Hill" was too much for me. One night I got home from our walk and struggled to go up the stairs. My legs burned and I felt like I had done a 40-mile hike through the mountains instead of a couple of miles of gentle walking in the neighborhood. (Not that I would actually know what a 40-mile hike would feel like since I don't even like driving for 40 miles. Someone else can have my spot on the AT.) I was still sore a few days later, which was odd, and it became harder and harder to walk up the stairs or even up the driveway to the mailbox. I also started noticing that I wasn't able to lift as much as I could a month or so before. Crap, I am getting old.
During this time, I was also having what we assumed were side effects from something I had taken unrelated to my "oldness". My hairdresser commented that my hair was thinner and I was finding hair in the shower and in my comb. I had tremors and some funky memory issues. I can't even remember all the weird things that were going on, but they all seemed completely unrelated. So, TO THE GOOGLES! Yes, I know, Google is not my friend, at least when it comes to medical stuff. (My vet loves when I call and say the Googles says the cat either has a hairball or esophageal cancer. ) The Googles is amazing when I can't remember who played Floyd Smoot on Petticoat Junction or what year Roosevelt Brown was inducted into the HOF. How to make a Singapore Sling? How much will the door lock actuator cost for a Ford Fairlane? What was the name of the Egyptian dancer in that Gunnar Berndtson painting? Google's got you covered. Anyway, we came to the conclusion that I had several things all at once, possibly MS, thyroid issues, sleep apnea, and allergic reaction to alien abduction probes. CDC said we don't have deer ticks, so no Lyme disease. Ugh. What the heck was going on?
When we got to the point where I couldn't lift my 22-pound cat (what? he's big boned!), we decided to see what someone who actually went to med school had to say. We told my doctor all the crazy symptoms, and she said: "I am thinking Lyme disease is likely." No MS? "Nope." No aliens? "Probably not." But we don't have deer ticks here! "The CDC keeps telling us that, and I keep finding people with Lyme disease who haven't left the state. 6 so far this year. Let's do some bloodwork." So, we ran every test known to modern science, and everything came back normal...except I tested positive for Lyme. Go figure. I never noticed a tick. "Only 30 % of people actually see a tick". Am I gonna die? "Eventually, but not from this." So what do I do now? "Take antibiotics for a really long time and rest."
So, I spent the next couple of months napping and being a waste of space, but the drugs she gave me made me immune to malaria, and I could snort lines of anthrax with no ill effects. (I didn't test that theory, but the Googles said I could.) Eventually, I started to feel better. My hair stopped falling out, the tremors stopped (mostly), my memory improved, and I could do the stairs without napping afterward.
I am now walking with my husband 6 days a week. I started out struggling to get to the end of the driveway, and I am now up to 3 miles a day at a brisk pace. I have done Killer Hill twice, but neither time was pretty. I can carry a hamper of laundry up the stairs and can tote my cat around like he weighs...less. There are good days and bad days, and I may never get back to full strength, but I am so much better. I thank my lucky stars every day that I had the ability to relax and get better. I didn't have to hold down a job, get the kids to school, cook dinner, or worry about paying my bills. Also, I don't think I got it as bad as some people have. I have heard stories of hearing loss, permanent disabilities, and all sorts of other really unfortunate symptoms. I have no idea how long I had it, but I think that week of "the flu" was somehow related. People go years without a proper diagnosis, especially in states where there aren't suppose to be deer ticks. And honestly, with all the seemingly unrelated symptoms, it kinda feels like you are a hypochondriac nutcase. Who gets all that stuff at once? So, when in doubt, check with a professional who is willing to look outside the textbook. Had she not run the Lyme panel, I would still be sick and freaking out.
Now, about that Singapore Sling...because I do what I want.
NOTE: this isn't a "poor me" post. I am just babbling about what a weird thing this was and how maybe when the internet tells you something can't possibly be the case, check with a trained professional.
Sometime shortly after my last post, I got "the flu". That's what I call anything that involves body aches. After about a week, I got better. Phew. That sucked. A friend and I had started walking a few days a week, and as time wore on, I noticed I was getting really sore after my walks. I figured I was still getting over "the flu". It finally got to the point that "Killer Hill" was too much for me. One night I got home from our walk and struggled to go up the stairs. My legs burned and I felt like I had done a 40-mile hike through the mountains instead of a couple of miles of gentle walking in the neighborhood. (Not that I would actually know what a 40-mile hike would feel like since I don't even like driving for 40 miles. Someone else can have my spot on the AT.) I was still sore a few days later, which was odd, and it became harder and harder to walk up the stairs or even up the driveway to the mailbox. I also started noticing that I wasn't able to lift as much as I could a month or so before. Crap, I am getting old.
During this time, I was also having what we assumed were side effects from something I had taken unrelated to my "oldness". My hairdresser commented that my hair was thinner and I was finding hair in the shower and in my comb. I had tremors and some funky memory issues. I can't even remember all the weird things that were going on, but they all seemed completely unrelated. So, TO THE GOOGLES! Yes, I know, Google is not my friend, at least when it comes to medical stuff. (My vet loves when I call and say the Googles says the cat either has a hairball or esophageal cancer. ) The Googles is amazing when I can't remember who played Floyd Smoot on Petticoat Junction or what year Roosevelt Brown was inducted into the HOF. How to make a Singapore Sling? How much will the door lock actuator cost for a Ford Fairlane? What was the name of the Egyptian dancer in that Gunnar Berndtson painting? Google's got you covered. Anyway, we came to the conclusion that I had several things all at once, possibly MS, thyroid issues, sleep apnea, and allergic reaction to alien abduction probes. CDC said we don't have deer ticks, so no Lyme disease. Ugh. What the heck was going on?
When we got to the point where I couldn't lift my 22-pound cat (what? he's big boned!), we decided to see what someone who actually went to med school had to say. We told my doctor all the crazy symptoms, and she said: "I am thinking Lyme disease is likely." No MS? "Nope." No aliens? "Probably not." But we don't have deer ticks here! "The CDC keeps telling us that, and I keep finding people with Lyme disease who haven't left the state. 6 so far this year. Let's do some bloodwork." So, we ran every test known to modern science, and everything came back normal...except I tested positive for Lyme. Go figure. I never noticed a tick. "Only 30 % of people actually see a tick". Am I gonna die? "Eventually, but not from this." So what do I do now? "Take antibiotics for a really long time and rest."
So, I spent the next couple of months napping and being a waste of space, but the drugs she gave me made me immune to malaria, and I could snort lines of anthrax with no ill effects. (I didn't test that theory, but the Googles said I could.) Eventually, I started to feel better. My hair stopped falling out, the tremors stopped (mostly), my memory improved, and I could do the stairs without napping afterward.
I am now walking with my husband 6 days a week. I started out struggling to get to the end of the driveway, and I am now up to 3 miles a day at a brisk pace. I have done Killer Hill twice, but neither time was pretty. I can carry a hamper of laundry up the stairs and can tote my cat around like he weighs...less. There are good days and bad days, and I may never get back to full strength, but I am so much better. I thank my lucky stars every day that I had the ability to relax and get better. I didn't have to hold down a job, get the kids to school, cook dinner, or worry about paying my bills. Also, I don't think I got it as bad as some people have. I have heard stories of hearing loss, permanent disabilities, and all sorts of other really unfortunate symptoms. I have no idea how long I had it, but I think that week of "the flu" was somehow related. People go years without a proper diagnosis, especially in states where there aren't suppose to be deer ticks. And honestly, with all the seemingly unrelated symptoms, it kinda feels like you are a hypochondriac nutcase. Who gets all that stuff at once? So, when in doubt, check with a professional who is willing to look outside the textbook. Had she not run the Lyme panel, I would still be sick and freaking out.
Now, about that Singapore Sling...because I do what I want.
5/2/17
Customer Service Update!
You may remember a few months back when I was complaining about what a pain it was trying to close all of my Mother's accounts after she died. Remember how they didn't actually cancel that one account, just rolled it over to my even more deceased Father, and sent him a shiny new card with a $19,000 limit, even though I told them everyone was dead? I threatened that if a new card showed up for Mom because Daddy was dead, I was going to go ahead and use it to buy a Mini Cooper?
Well...
Well...
How do we feel about a black one? Are the stripes too much?
Yes, I did indeed get a notification that a new card was on its way to my Mother.(The USPS is good, but I am guessing they aren't going to find her.) I called the card company and eventually got to some inheritance estate department, where Vincent explained that I wasn't actually allowed to buy a Mini with the card, even a slightly used Mini. I called him a meanie and we proceeded to REALLY TRULY HONESTLY close the account. Again. Some more. Probably for sure this time.
I probably would just get a speeding ticket if I drove a Mini, anyway. I've never gotten a ticket, but something about those stripes makes me think anything is possible, and I tend to do what I want.
3/29/17
Bear
I may have mentioned that I am not a people person. I am, however, an animal person. Miss Bella is still my favorite neighbor. (She says "hi".)
We have been blessed with some pretty interesting neighbors over the years. One of my favorites was from 2 houses ago. We lived in a house that backed up to some state owned forest and part of a horse pasture. Naturally, we adopted the horses and disregarded the 'trespassing on state land punishable by death' signs. I do what I want.
One day, we walked out to the area between the pasture fence and the woods. The horses spotted us and started heading up the hill. As they got closer, they slowed down, and finally stopped walking. We could tell they wanted to come over, but something was definitely making them nervous. I noticed a huge hole under the fence a couple of feet down from us. Horses aren't known to be great diggers, and our resident gopher tortoise's holes aren't usually large enough to accommodate a human, so I decided it was either loose dogs or possibly a yeti. Since it was 89 degrees out, the yeti was unlikely, and I hadn't heard any dogs, so I decided to look around. After giving the kids the "sit, stay" command, I headed into the woods. (Yes, it has been brought to my attention that I am that dumb white girl in the horror movie who gets killed in the first 5 minutes because she has to go investigating the weird noise.)
I got a about a dozen feet inside the tree line when I heard a noise above me. I looked up and saw a big dark thing. I wandered around the tree and finally discovered the big dark thing had a face. It was a very handsome bear! (A mostly harmless black bear, not a human eating death machine bear.)
Already well on my way to Mother of the Year, I did what any good parent would do. I sent the kids back to the house...for my camera! They returned with it, and I instructed them to go back inside and hide under the bed, mostly because I thought it would be funny. They went in and made cookies, completely disregarding my orders. Hard to get mad when there are cookies, though.
So, Little Bear and I spent quite a bit of time together. He didn't seem to care too much about me, but I opted to keep my distance. After all, I was in his house and didn't want to be rude.
A couple of my neighbors thought shooting it was the thing to do, so I called the state biologist and told on them. She said there were in fact 5 bears in our vicinity, and the wooded areas surrounding our little community were perfect for them. I asked if I could shoot anyone who threatened a bear. She said that technically she couldn't stop me (and would actually applaud), but killing someone for threatening a 300 lb bear probably wasn't going to go over well with a jury. I suggested a little kneecapping. (Found out later that a little kneecapping was like being a little pregnant. Do or do not, there is no "little".)
Anyway, apart from the being the occasional litter bug, the bear mostly just hung out in the woods. He used our side yard as his point of entry, so whenever he took a full trash bag, he usually emptied it out on our lawn. Based on my experiences cleaning up after him, our bear loved grapes and nuts, but hated onions, garlic, and anything with golden arches. We were advised to put our trash out the morning of trash day, but some of my neighbors insisted on doing it the night before. One chap decided to thwart the bear's attempt by wedging his trash between the garage door and the car. He ended up with a dent in his hood shaped like a bear's bottom and trash everywhere. Some people just don't get it.
At the end of the day, the horses stopped freaking out and ate the apple slices I had, the bear sort of snored/ snorted, and I went back inside, ate cookies, and texted Mr. Pet Police about getting a real life teddy bear. (He said no. Meanie!)
This little guy stopped by our yard a couple of weeks before we left the bear house. He was actually adorable. I escorted him (at a safe distance) across the golf course until we met up with a firefighter who offered to walk our friend the rest of the way. He was headed to a pond on the other side of the 7th hole. You know, because gators also do what they want, even when they aren't real big.
One day, we walked out to the area between the pasture fence and the woods. The horses spotted us and started heading up the hill. As they got closer, they slowed down, and finally stopped walking. We could tell they wanted to come over, but something was definitely making them nervous. I noticed a huge hole under the fence a couple of feet down from us. Horses aren't known to be great diggers, and our resident gopher tortoise's holes aren't usually large enough to accommodate a human, so I decided it was either loose dogs or possibly a yeti. Since it was 89 degrees out, the yeti was unlikely, and I hadn't heard any dogs, so I decided to look around. After giving the kids the "sit, stay" command, I headed into the woods. (Yes, it has been brought to my attention that I am that dumb white girl in the horror movie who gets killed in the first 5 minutes because she has to go investigating the weird noise.) I got a about a dozen feet inside the tree line when I heard a noise above me. I looked up and saw a big dark thing. I wandered around the tree and finally discovered the big dark thing had a face. It was a very handsome bear! (A mostly harmless black bear, not a human eating death machine bear.)
Already well on my way to Mother of the Year, I did what any good parent would do. I sent the kids back to the house...for my camera! They returned with it, and I instructed them to go back inside and hide under the bed, mostly because I thought it would be funny. They went in and made cookies, completely disregarding my orders. Hard to get mad when there are cookies, though.
So, Little Bear and I spent quite a bit of time together. He didn't seem to care too much about me, but I opted to keep my distance. After all, I was in his house and didn't want to be rude.
A couple of my neighbors thought shooting it was the thing to do, so I called the state biologist and told on them. She said there were in fact 5 bears in our vicinity, and the wooded areas surrounding our little community were perfect for them. I asked if I could shoot anyone who threatened a bear. She said that technically she couldn't stop me (and would actually applaud), but killing someone for threatening a 300 lb bear probably wasn't going to go over well with a jury. I suggested a little kneecapping. (Found out later that a little kneecapping was like being a little pregnant. Do or do not, there is no "little".)
Anyway, apart from the being the occasional litter bug, the bear mostly just hung out in the woods. He used our side yard as his point of entry, so whenever he took a full trash bag, he usually emptied it out on our lawn. Based on my experiences cleaning up after him, our bear loved grapes and nuts, but hated onions, garlic, and anything with golden arches. We were advised to put our trash out the morning of trash day, but some of my neighbors insisted on doing it the night before. One chap decided to thwart the bear's attempt by wedging his trash between the garage door and the car. He ended up with a dent in his hood shaped like a bear's bottom and trash everywhere. Some people just don't get it. At the end of the day, the horses stopped freaking out and ate the apple slices I had, the bear sort of snored/ snorted, and I went back inside, ate cookies, and texted Mr. Pet Police about getting a real life teddy bear. (He said no. Meanie!)
3/25/17
Scout Update
In case you were keeping track, Scout weighed in at a solid 15 lbs this morning. I was putting in my contacts and she hopped on the scale. Convenient.
Still smaller than Brother, but the biggest she has ever been. They have gone through several cat gym/climber/tree things, but Mr. Ugly Cat Tree Hater tends to get a little twitchy when cat toys get scraggly, especially when they are the last things he sees as he goes to sleep at night. Anyway, the kids are currently between models, and now get no exercise. (Other than playing with the eleventy-seven toys and running up and down the stairs like maniacs.) Guess I need to get a new climbing gym...
Mr. Ugly Cat Tree Hater likes one that reminds me of an IKEA highchair, has no scratchy bits at all, and is roughly 3 feet tall. At $695 it must be the greatest cat thing of all time. I am pretty sure Jem enjoys the empty La Croix box more than he would that thing.
I am looking at one that is 8 feet tall, 6 feet wide, has eleventy-one ledges and a hammock, all for $119. The description says "Top Quality". Maybe I will keep looking....
We moved an armoire, so it now sits in front and below the landing on the back stairs. I thought that would be the coolest cat spot ever. The front even has an arch that they can hide behind. I kid you not, the only time they use it is when Scout wants to take a shortcut. If Mr. Cat Perch is nearby, she will hop down on it, and wait for him. Then she hops down onto his shoulder and goes on patrol. It is like one of my favorite things
Still smaller than Brother, but the biggest she has ever been. They have gone through several cat gym/climber/tree things, but Mr. Ugly Cat Tree Hater tends to get a little twitchy when cat toys get scraggly, especially when they are the last things he sees as he goes to sleep at night. Anyway, the kids are currently between models, and now get no exercise. (Other than playing with the eleventy-seven toys and running up and down the stairs like maniacs.) Guess I need to get a new climbing gym...
Mr. Ugly Cat Tree Hater likes one that reminds me of an IKEA highchair, has no scratchy bits at all, and is roughly 3 feet tall. At $695 it must be the greatest cat thing of all time. I am pretty sure Jem enjoys the empty La Croix box more than he would that thing.
I am looking at one that is 8 feet tall, 6 feet wide, has eleventy-one ledges and a hammock, all for $119. The description says "Top Quality". Maybe I will keep looking....
 |
| Scout on Patrol |
We moved an armoire, so it now sits in front and below the landing on the back stairs. I thought that would be the coolest cat spot ever. The front even has an arch that they can hide behind. I kid you not, the only time they use it is when Scout wants to take a shortcut. If Mr. Cat Perch is nearby, she will hop down on it, and wait for him. Then she hops down onto his shoulder and goes on patrol. It is like one of my favorite things
Scout's Personal Person hates "stuff". He might be allergic if not for his vastly superior genes that prevent such atrocities. (A family joke because Mr. Husband is practically perfect and it sometimes can be a bit annoying.) So, while I was attempting to get out Easter decorations, he was threatening to light them on fire. "Seriously, I can't look at this stuff all day! Can't you put out a few nice things in a little grouping somewhere clear of my field of vision?" This was followed up by "and no dumb baskets!" because I found the bin of Easter baskets. What? Every year the girls need new ones and I usually keep them. It is completely normal. Anyway, I set one of the baskets on the ground and Scout immediately jumped in it. Shocking behavior by a cat, I know. Mr. Fussy had stomped off to his office just as she did it, so I grabbed my phone and took a photo to send to him. His response? "We obviously need to acquire an appropriately sized basket for The Girl. Add it to your list."
Scout gets what she wants.
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