WTF?!

Abby is the victim of cruelty. Her ear was sliced off by a heartless beast. Although she's suffered a great unkindness, she's still a sweet and loving girl in need a forever home.

Abby's been spayed and has all her shots. Her coat is sleek, black and plush. She asks us if we would please overlook her ears and see her good heart.

I don't have Abby's age. I'll post that info as soon as I get it.

Abby is located in GREENVILLE, SOUTH CAROLINA, where our Will and new friend, Grayson was from. Transportation FROM Greenville, to your state CAN easily be arranged. Contact Carole at (864) 630-2872 or email at carole9281@gmail.com if you'd like to know more about Abby or are interested in giving her a forever home.

As always, please spread the word. Let's get this girl a home, quick!

Photo courtesy Isilwath and used with permission.

Our super good friend, Izzy fell fast asleep, comforted by her furry companions...ALL TEN OF THEM!

For those of you who don't know Izzy and her husband, Mark, they have the biggest hearts and have the most cats of anyone I know. They put ME to shame! Yes, they have 17, going on 18 cats! These 10, shown above, are their seniors. If you look in the back, right, you can see Mercedes, who they rescued last year from a Kill Shelter. She is 20 years old and was abandoned by her family. Thank goodness for people like Izzy & Mark who drove all the way down to Georgia to pick her up and personally transport her to their home in PA!

Next month, they are going BACK to Georgia to rescue another kitty! I think we need to put together a donation to buy these guys a super HUGE bed! It's the least we can do! Poor Mark. Where is HE going to sleep?

I'm guessing on the floor!

PHOTOS BY TOMOKAZU KOSUGA

I LOVE the Japanese culture and I really LOVE how much they LOVE their cats. I have a small stash of books I've bought from amazon.co.jp (yes, JAPAN). I have NO IDEA what they say because I can't read Japanese, but there are so many great photos, it doesn't matter! Maybe some day I'll go to Japan, but with my fear of flying and lack of funds, that doesn't seem like something that will happen any time soon.

Apparently, Japanese landlords are douches. Most don't allow pets, so Norimmasa Hanada decided to change things. She opened Neko no mise (Shop of Cats) and the rest is history. Anyone lonely for the company of a cat or who is shy about meeting people, heads to Ms Hanada's shop. For a small fee, about $9/hr, her patrons PAY to sit in the cafe and pet and play with the cats. They can even buy food and treats for the cats for an extra charge!

You got that, right? They PAY to sit in the cafe with the cats. The "cover charge" pays for the cats Vet visits, food, litter, etc. and keeps out the folks from staying all DAY. Okay, we have shelters in this country that need people to come visit the cats-if not adopt them. Why not combine these two things together?

TOMOKAZU KOSUGA covered the story and it was picked up by Viceland.com (oo!) and translated into English-whew! To read the entire article, click HERE but keep in mind that this web site is more “adult” in nature, but not really bad at all. I'd rate it at a PG level if that's of concern.

Now, I just LOVE this idea, but am wondering if it could be done in the USA? What are the regulations regarding having cats in a shop that might serve coffee and tea? I'm thinking Covered in Cat Hair Cafe, coming to your town, soon! Who wants to bankroll me?

I was just informed today that PetAg, the makers of KMR had been supplying tainted product through 2009 and that it had caused the deaths of many infant animals. I was shocked to hear this, since I use KMR for most of my foster kittens. I wondered if my cats were sickened by this, too? To say the least, I was FURIOUS!

Thing is...could it be a that PetAg was the victim of an over zealous activist group? How EASY is it to start a rumor via social networking sites and let it spread like wildfire?

I checked Snopes right away and didn't find anything-yet. I also looked around the FDA's web site and found NOTHING. I have to ask-is KMR safe or not? Should I throw my container out or keep it in the fridge?

This is what PetAg had to say about it:

“PetAg announced today that in a February 4 discussion with Food and Drug Administration officials, the company was notified that a complaint received about one of its dry formula products was "spurious." The FDA official notified the company that it was not conducting an investigation.

I find it HIGHLY suspicious that I can't find ACTUAL information regarding this "tainted" product on FDA's site or via Snopes. I expect we'll see info on one of these web sites soon-hopefully to help clear matters up.

Until then, I STRONGLY suggest everyone to keep an open mind. PetAg may be a victim here OR countless newborn animals are the victims. Until I know for certain, I'm not going to have knee-jerk reaction this. We all need to dig deeper to discover the truth.

If you've had ANY problems or suspicions about KMR or if you have accurate information from a trusted source about KMR or PetAg please let us know ASAP!

I know. It's so close you can almost smell it, right?

This is what I get for letting the kittens run around in my bedroom without giving them access to a litter pan. I also should not have shown Dancer and Donner that it's fun to drink out of the faucet. Now they're obsessed with playing in both of the “jack and jill” sinks. One of the kittens got the great idea to “drop off a few friends at the pool” when I left them unattended for a few minutes! I left them alone too long, so it was my fault.

I got everything cleaned up and bleached and the kittens back to their room. Later last night, I let them back into the bedroom for some play time. They weren't even in the room for 10 minutes before I got a death-whiff of something NASTY. I hoped one of the kittens ripped a “toot,” but as I made my way to the bathroom (MY sink, by the way), it was clear that Dancer was just finishing up taking (really it would be LEAVING) a dump.

Great. Now I need to keep them locked up in their room for a day or two. I don't want this to become a habit. Also, I better get a litter pan in my bedroom when I let them play in there.

I know it could be worse. As Sam said; "At least it wasn't on the bed."

My answer was: “As far as we know.”

I let the kittens out of their room to have a break while I built the cat tree. They saw the parts and got all excited! Each kitten had to sniff-test everything before they got bored and ran into the bathroom to rip the towels off the holders ('cause it's FUN).

I read the directions. I only needed ONE tool. How hard is this gonna be to build? Piece of cake! I just needed to find a 7/16" wrench (though I had to look up WHAT a wrench looked like online, first!).

This is not bad at all. I just have to screw THREE legs into the platform that has FIVE holes in it. Okay there's a clue here. Not all the holes look the same. Two do not have threads in the hole, so they must not be for the legs?!

I screwed down the legs, but they didn't fit tight to the base and I was worried I'd strip the screws, so I did the best I could. I know I'm going to use bolts on the opposite end of each cedar post, to connect it to another platform. I'm thinking this will give the cat tree the rigidity it needs. I thought it was weird that the bolts were driven into the bottom of each post, along with a tag, reminding whatever fool was building this thing that yes, THIS is the bolt you need.

Why isn't the bolt in a NICE PLASTIC BAG? Why is the FOUR HUNDRED MILE LONG BOLT in the end of the post? I use the wrench, not sure which end of it, to get the first of THREE bolts out. I turn it. The post turns, but the bolt does not. The post is ROUGH cedar, so my hands are going to get full of splinters if I hold it tightly.

I get a wash cloth to protect my hands, grab the post and give the bolt a turn. FINALLY it budges a QUARTER of a TURN. WHAT LUNATIC PUT THE BOLT INTO THIS POST? Was it a sister with PMS, too? I hope a woman would have more sense. This f-ker was in there so TIGHT that the best I could do was do quarter turns, even stopping every so often to MEASURE how much of the damn bolt had come out of the damn post, to see if I was ALMOST DONE. It got to 1 3/4" and I took a break. I read my book for awhile. I played with the kittens. My hands hurt and I was already getting a knot in my neck. I was not going to give up. I would just go slow.

I had no choice in the matter. My only speed was SLOW. I got up and went back and tried again. This time I discovered that being fat is an advantage. I could hold the post with my left hand, press the post against my stomach to keep the bloody thing from turning, then use my right to unscrew the damn bolt.

It worked.

It took an hour to get the three legs put on the cat tree. Just about that time, Sam came home. He must have either remembered I was having PMS or took drugs, because he came into the bedroom, saw what I was doing and offered to help get it finished up. He was nice. Something was wrong. Maybe he knocked off a piece with a Mistress! Of course! That was it! Instead of going to the Store, he shagged a cheap floozy! I'd have to check the fridge and pantry to make sure he really went to the store! I didn't say anything, but I simmered, waiting for further clues.

The rest of the assembly was very easy-of course, because Sam showed up. So no one will believe what a beyatch it was to get those bolts off! My biceps knew better, plus I swore I had a splinter just over my belly button.

The kittens gathered around to inspect the new cat tree before it was delivered to their very lonely and bored Mama.

Sam moved the cat tree for me while I stood in the bathtub, holding Cupid in my arms, waiting for the next fight to begin. We were both being very careful to use as few words as possible and to just get the job done so we could separate again until the next mating season would draw us back together.

I placed Cupid on her new cat tree. She gave it a sniff and jumped off it. Great. Another wise expenditure of funds I don't have.

She came right back, jumped up and begin to investigate. I scratched my fingers against the nice, tall sisal post to get her attention. Right away she grabbed it, dug her claws in deep and stretched out her back. It must have felt good to her since there is nothing soft in the bathroom she can scratch.

She posed pretty for a few photos. At first, not sure what to think about this thing.

I hoped she would warm up to it and in a few minutes of me petting her, she began to relax and enjoy her new hangout spot.

It made me forget I was hormonal to see Cupid enjoying herself. Although there's little room for me to sit down with her, at least during the many hours she's alone, she can get up high enough to see out the window and scratch and nap on a number of different platforms.

I counted my blessings that I got that cat tree built without killing anyone and that Sam and I had an unspoken truce. I would go back to the bedroom and read while the kittens played. Sam would play his guitar in the basement. Cupid would enjoy her cat tree. All of us alone, but somehow still together, under the same roof. Now we just had to wait for all this nonsense to pass and for life to settle back down again.

Update: Groceries WERE purchased. No floozies were had. Cupid enjoys the out-of-bounds, brand new, cat bed that's on the top of the dryer. So far she doesn't hang out on the cat tree unless I'm in the room. Hmpf.

It's not my fault I get PMS. I didn't go online and order a 12-pack of the “Super-Beyatch 2010 Kit.” You know, the one with “extra Rage flavored” tablets?

I get PMS. Some times it's REALLY bad. I think it's PMDD, but since I'm going insane at the time, it's tough to do any research when all I want to do is slit my wrists, cry, get mad about things that only usually annoy me, watch chick flicks, overeat carbs, or do all of those things at the same time.

As a Public Service, I notify Sam a few days ahead to watch out. I do this every single month. Every single month he seems to FORGET to steer clear of me during this malström and gets pissed at me when I start to get pissy.

Yesterday we had to run some errands. Before we even left the house, Sam noticed we'd gotten a big shipment by the front door. I was delighted to see that Cupid's new Cat Tree had arrived! The box was too huge to schlep into the house so I suggested we cut it open and take the parts into the house and leave the box in the garage to take to out to be recycled later. So Sam stepped up and started ripping the box apart. Intent on being helpful, he grabbed at the contents of the box as I had already started to do. I hit some of his fingers and he recoiled back, shouted, then gave me a REALLY nasty look. Well my friends, that was it.

There goes the switch. KAH-CHONG! (Yes, that's the sound it makes. Trust me.) The PMS I had been trying so hard to avoid went from a simmer to a boil. I thought; “If he hadn't been trying so hard to be a Boy Scout (push me out of the way), we could have just gotten this done without the drama!” Now I was mad. He was mad. The tension only got worse as I drove (safely and not insanely) to the Bakery.

In trying to avoid things going more postal, I said that I didn't feel like we were getting along very well and that I thought we should forget doing the other errands and just go back home. Well, that just pissed Sam off even more, but what was I to do? I knew that at any moment I was going to lose control, drive into a tree, screaming all the while; “I TOLD YOU I WAS GOING TO HAVE PMS. I TOLD YOU. DID YOU LISTEN TO ME, EVER?!!!!SEE? THIS IS WHAT YOU GET FOR NOT PAYING ATTENTION! WHY DIDN'T YOU STAND NEAR ME IN THE BAKERY? DO I SMELL BAD? YOU HATE ME, DON'T YOU!”

So we got home. I took off my coat, trying to be calm. Sam walked in the door, got his car keys and turned around and curtly said; “I'm going to the store.”

You have GOT to be kidding me! We didn't even HAVE to go to the store. So I offer up the shopping list and manage not to rip his head off. All I could do was think what a jerk he was for putting a bigger rift between us while I'm really trying NOT to do or say a thing. It's the only way to prevent Armageddon. 100% avoidance of each other until it passes!

I decided I was going to build the stupid cat tree for Cupid. I told myself I would go slow and if I got upset, that I would stop. I saw the video about how to build the cat tree on Drs. Foster Smith's web site. It looked super easy. I can do this. I do not need help!

RIGHT???!!!

Cupid does not care for me to read while I'm having one of my visits with her. She also likes to make sure she rubs her ringowrmy foot all over my book, my pants and anywhere else her rear left leg can reach.

In a way, I was grateful to her for interrupting my reading. I took it as a cosmic approval that the book sucked as much as I feared and I really shouldn't bother with it. I'd forced myself to read up to page 100 because the author is a famous, fancy-pants, but I just didn't get it. The story had too many back stories and not enough “forward” story. It just annoyed me. It annoys me to even write about it. I wanted to slap him and declare; “GET ON WITH THE F-ING STORY, will ya?!”

Who is the author, you ask? I can't say. It would be unprofessional of me to reveal HIS name because HE wrote something that was made into a crappy mini-series AND he won a Pulitzer for one of his novels. And he lives in Maine. And his latest book is about Cape Cod. That's all I'm sayin' and NO, I do not think the book was “FUNNY” as I've seen others declare.

He wrote about getting crapped on by a seagull. That is NOT funny. It's especially not funny if you're traveling in Scotland, with a family you just met, and a giant flying rat craps down your arm, in front of two young children, who are suddenly shocked into silence because they have good manners, but whose eyes are about to pop out of their heads because they want to laugh so badly. They wait for a nod of the pooped-upon to let them know it's all right to laugh their asses off, while you try to swab away the shit storm on your sleeve.

See? It's funny when I tell about MY experience of being pooped on, but in this book eh, not so much. Plus, being pooped on is just a few lines of a bigger story. It's not going to win anyone a SECOND Pulitzer, 'cause if there was a Poop Pulitzer, well, stand back because I would surely win it!

I really hope I don't have to change the name of my web site to: Covered in Ringworm. I really don't. I'm not a big fan of change, in the first place, and it would be an understatement to say this was an unwelcome surprise.

Ahhh...life is good for Cupid. If we only knew then...

I've gotten a lot of emails from other folks that do rescue. I feel like I've been sitting in a bar, shootin' the shit with my war Veteran buds. We're kickin' back some brewskis, bitchin' about our wives (well, more likely, cats, in this case). Their reaction to the state-of-the-worm is always the same: [cue inhalation of cigarette smoke and exhale while speaking] “Yeah, I had ringworm go through about ____ cats. I was real lucky because my own cats must have built up an immunity to it since they'd had it before (BEFORE??!!). That is just one thing you don't want to have to deal with. It's just a nightmare.”

[cue additional smoking] “Yeah, I knew a rescue group that had to shut it's doors for ___ months when one of their kittens broke through enemy lines with it. Oh man, it was bad! There were medics scrambling everywhere, trying to get a handle on the situation, but it was dire. No one got much sleep for weeks, that's for sure.”

[order another round of beers] “In '67...I'll never forget it. The look in their eyes when I told them it was Ringworm. Those damn swamps-all that wet, leads to no good. No good. And all that ointment. The smell. I'll never forget that smell 'til the day I die.”

We all nod silently. Everyone knows about the Ringworm epidemic of '67 and still brings a chill down to our toes.

This is the foreign lesion!

One of the guys pats my hand in solidarity. She's fought that battle before and wants me to know she's right there with me...

...Until she realizes that I might be carrying Ringworm, too. At which point, she quickly smashes out her ciggy and makes a mad dash for the door and the waiting bottle of hand sanitizer in her car.

Blitzen, the Zombie-Kitten, called a Press Conference today to discuss the recent attacks on his helpless human foster parents. Sadly, no one showed up to the conference, save for me, so I'll do my best to report this exciting news bulletin.

Blitzen, who suspiciously enough, was born on Halloween of 2009, indicates that he is not the living-dead, Zombie-kitten we insist he has become, but rather a simple kitten, going through a hair-chewing-fetish phase.

“I can't help myself," said Blitzen. “There are far worse things on heaven and earth that a cat could get caught up in, like peeing on the sofa or clawing the curtains. I have no interest in eating brains, that I know of. So far I've been eating turkey, chicken, sometimes a little salmon, but NO BRAINS! I'm being framed, I tell ya. Eating hair does NOT make me a ZOMBIE!”

Sources close to Blitzen are spreading rumors that the little fella is headed off to Rehab, somewhere in Arizona, near where Tiger Woods is suspected to be seeking treatment for sexual addiction. Of course, Blitz won't be at the SAME facility since his foster kitten salary only provides for “just the basics” sort of place.

As I watched Blitzen's passionate plea for understanding, a tear rolled down my cheek (I had something in my eye). That poor little kitten. So innocent and fresh, already being cruelly blamed for actions that were not his doing...but then something occurred to me. We use brain flavored shampoo!!!!

Oh my GOD! He's just waiting until he grows larger, into a full-fledged Zombie-CAT, when his true nature will come forth and he'll have the strength to open our skulls! By then our defenses will be down! It will be too late!

I mustn't let on that I know. I know the truth about Blitzen. He wasn't framed! He IS a ZOMBIE-KITTEN! I must come up with a plan to rescue us from his powerful cuteness! I must get him adopted out to another family! I must not adopt him!

Either that or we have to change shampoo! It's for his own good!