OH MY GOD!

HOT OFF THE PRESS!

Our darling Spencer could not contain himself when I told him he was chosen to be one of the stars of the soon-to-be-available book: I Can Has Cheezburger!

Spencer_Robin.Olson.jpg

His star power was so great, you'll find his photo on page 2! Talk about EXCITING! We're all a-tingle! Yay! Yay! Yay!

Thank you to Patrick, from Gotham Books, for including our boy in this adventure. Be sure to pick up your copy, available here, among other places, in early October.

Spencer's not sure he'll be available for autographs since he's busy napping right now.

Cute Break

Poppy and Daisy.jpg

Daisy (left) and Poppy (right). Seven weeks old today!

The 2008 Cat Barf Blow-lympics

bl logo.jpg

Welcome fellow sports enthusiasts and cat lovers (not LOVERS) to the 2008 Cat Barf Blow-lympics! This year, the Blow-lympics (e.g. BL) is being hosted by none other than, our own Covered in Cat Hair, Queen of Black Stretchy Pants! After years of competing against those wily ferals in New York City, the contest has relocated (err...been moved under duress) to the woods of Connecticut and our modest Queen's modest home.

And of course, this year the coveted locale provides awesome sponsorship opportunities in a wide range of horizontal surfaces…dull hard wood floors, precious family heirloom rugs and yet we forget, the expansive, dirty and somewhat fractured white tile flooring! Imagine "Your Name Here" with placement within viewing range of the latest cat created spew. Not only that, but there will be hundreds of Press from around the globe, ready to capture the big moment, all while YOUR Brand is being featured prominently!

cat barf copy.jpg

We expectorate this year to have an even bigger audience than ever before—predicted to reach at least 15 to 20 people, some of whom will actually watch and/or clean up and/or have a sympathy wretch after each event.

Act NOW so you won't miss out on any of the events! Imagine the spectacle of seeing:

— Name that post-spewed object. Ew. Is it...oh no..it's not!!!

— Beat the World Record: Re-eating Dry Food Barfs in under10 seconds

— Longest hairball

— Heaviest hairball

— The sublime elegance of freestyle barfing

— Hairball Luge

— Co-ed Team barfing

— The barfcathalon. The non-stop barf-fest. Who will survive? Who will get dehydrated and need IV fluids? Who will CLEAN THIS MESS UP?

Trypbarf copy.jpg

Of course, it wouldn't be a Blow-lympics without a mascot, so this year, our mascot, named by day care children in South Platte, North Dakota, is called: Hugh (pronounced: huuuuuuuuuuuuueeeeew!!!!). To order, your very own Hugh doll, mug, hat, t-shirt, rain gear, thermal mug, sticker, barfy wipes, or barf bag, just send us a roll of paper towels and some bleach wipes and we'll trade you. Kids just LOVE Hugh!

It wouldn't BE a Blow-lympics without the talented and selfless athletes who've spent years carelessly blowing chunks wherever they see fit, regardless of the time of day, and certainly without any regard to who might accidentally step in it barefoot this morning just after they woke up.

These sleek felines train by eating any plant with some sort of frond, any bug, gnat, moth, mouse, flying squirrel, snake, bird or electrical cord, then blowing it back out as soon as possible, and hopefully with some decorative semi-digested food bits in it just to add some sparkle! They also practice speed-gulping dry food, to give them a powerful, rejective purge from their shocked and super-sated system. Their motto: "It should look as good going in as it does coming out"

So act now! Buy your tickets today and you'll have a front row seat to witness the rapture of each rupture, smell the aroma of freshly "minted" mounds, play leap-barf as you try to outstep your opponent and not get a shoe-full of cack! Great for the whole family!


Note: The 2008 Cat Barf Blow-lympics is not responsible for lost or ruined articles or anything else, for that matter.

17 September 2008

I've had Mama-Rose, Daisy and Poppy for six weeks now. They're the first fosters I've had since April. It was a long, lonely summer, but I had to stop fostering, partially because my dear cat, Bob got sick and since he's FIV+ and a geriatric kitty, it was too risky to have unvaccinated or tested animals in the house—even if they're kept in a separate room. I also stopped because I was tired of butting heads with one of the folks where I volunteer. Dealing with someone who's not really good with people in the first place, who I find to be passive-aggressive, just makes what I do more difficult. No, I'm no angel, but I also don't care for being second-guessed, then given lots of phony praise. Please, just let me help the cats and not also do design work.

So I cut back. I'm mostly focusing on cat care and that's it. I'd love to do more, but communication is too difficult and I need to focus on my own projects. I've been putting that off for too long. If they need me, they know where to find me. Blah blah blah.

Now that I've worked with a few litters of kittens, I'm handling things a lot better. I still get stressed out that the kittens aren't eating enough on their own and that I keep finding them going after Mom for their meals. They're almost seven weeks old and I need to be sure they can fend for themselves. It'll be all too soon before they will be separated from their Mother, never to see her again.

I'll always hate breaking up another kitty-family, but there is little I can do aside from adopting them all and that's not going to fly, especially since Mama-Rose got out of her room and viciously attacked poor Bob. She left him stunned and bloody. I broke up the fight within seconds, but it was too late. I had to take Bob to the Vet. He was basically fine, just a few scratches, but it put the fear into me...what if she had Feline Leukemia? She basically just gave it to Bob right before my eyes. The Mom-cats don't get tested for anything when I get them, other than they make sure they are flea-free and have clean ears and no obvious signs of health issues.

One Booboo.jpg

To read more, click the link below....

109 Pounds of Cat Food in the Hall

I'm glad I can't do math because I would run screaming in circles, pull out my long, luxurious locks, add callouses to my calloused feet; if I knew how much money I spend on cat food each month.

I know that for $268.00 (which included shipping and some discounts), I now have enough cat food to feed the little blankety-blanks for about two days. Okay, maybe three days. Okay, I'm exaggerating.

A little.

109 Pounds of Cat Food

That's $2.46 a pound. What else could I get for $2.46/lb? Not shoes, that's for sure. How about steak? No. That's about $12/lb. Hmmm...

I just Googled $2.46/lb and I see I could have bought scrap ammunition brass, 4 cartons of USS flat washers, organic garbanzo beans or 6 1/2 pounds of Kosher Peanut Butter Chips for the same per pound price. Now I feel cheated. I like peanut butter chips as much as the next person, but although garbanzo beans is fun to say, they're not so much fun to eat.

Not sure what I'd do with scrap ammunition brass, but it sounds exotic. Maybe I should just order some to see what it's like? Is it scrap ammunition brass from BEFORE or AFTER the ammunition is fired? That could be even MORE exciting! What if there's someone that goes around crime scenes and picks up the bits of leftover brass for recycling? Now that's a job I'd apply for right away!

So I'm broke. So what? I'm always broke. My only remaining hope is that one day I'll have enough empty cardboard cat food boxes to build myself a lovely home...because I certainly won't be able to pay my mortgage much longer at $2.46/lb for friggen cat food!

Suicidal Sweetness

When I was a little girl, I always felt an underlying sense of sadness. I had anxiety problems, labeled "nervous stomach" and could rarely go for a long drive in the car without becoming sick. Maybe it was the one pound bag of M&M's that my parents gave to us when we started a road trip? Was it the sugar that made me so ill? Perhaps something else was going on, too?

By the time I was in my early teens, my Mother had labeled me "crabby" and "a bitch." I was asked over and over; "Why can't you be cheerful, like your brother? Nothing will ever make you happy! You're sullen, that's what you are."

Deep down, I felt no one knew me—who I really am. I didn't feel crabby, but I did feel sad. I often imagined running away, but we lived well out into the suburbs, where would I run without a car? I couldn't even drive. I didn't have any money. I felt trapped.

I was lucky enough to live near a wooded area. I could spend hours alone, walking along the dirt paths, examining plants and flowers, listening to the birds sing. I often brought my sketch pad to a secret place I found. There were four or five large boulders surrounding an old tree. I could easily climb the rocks or the tree and just be away from the world—the world that labeled me freak, fat, crabby, weird, nasty, bossy.

As I grew older, the sadness deepened and the tension I felt in my home grew worse. My Mother and I battled. My Father came after me with a shotgun when I got fed up and spoke my mind. I cried a lot. I wanted to die. I felt so alone and helpless.

I would try to cut my wrists, but I was too cowardly. I never made more than a light scratch on myself, but the seed of self-hatred grew inside me. The only thing that saved me was feeling connected to my cats. They loved me and didn't judge, but they also needed me to care for them and look out for them. It gave me a purpose and a reason to take another breath, wake up another morning.

Eventually, I went away to college and thought I broke free of those labels, but the sadness was there and growing worse. The complications of having relationships with boys my age, drove me into yet more suicidal rages. The stresses of taking a full course load, working part time, and being very involved in school events was driving me over the edge. I did not know how to work with my own mind, my own feelings.

As an adult, I began to understand it was not that I was just sad, but that I did suffer from depression. It was only really starting to come out that depression had serious effects that are lifelong and debilitating. I saw the same thing in my Father's eyes. The anger, pushing us all away, the inability to have fun without feeling guilty, the self-hate—my poor Father.

I was lucky that I went into therapy for awhile. I was lucky, too, that I met a man who helped me learn to work with my mind. I became a Buddhist. I found support systems in my close friends. After many years of not having cats, I began doing animal rescue. It opened a door for me. One where I could just stop thinking about myself and think about these poor creatures who so desperately needed a safe place to land until they were adopted. It became a refuge for me.

Sadly, my Father didn't have the same opportunities or understanding I did. Though I tried to help him, the day came when his own demons reared up, one last time, and the temptation to silence them was too great. That hideous voice that whispers; "I hate myself. I hate my life. I don't deserve to live." The one that can't remember he had a family who loved him and would be devastated by his actions. That he had friends who considered him a warm and caring person. That he loved his children more than anything. That voice is so loud, it drowns out even a grain of joy.

I have a legacy now, from my Father. Will it be passed down to me? It is my lifelong fear and my lifelong challenge. I'll die some day, but will I die at my own hand or nature's? What keeps me here weighs a pound. To many people, it's completely insignificant and not worthy of any effort, yet...

...when I'm at my lowest point, I may have to force myself to open the door. The door to the foster room, where tiny hearts beat and little paws investigate everything they touch. With wide awestruck eyes, they look up at me. If I've done a good job, they'll race over to me for some cuddling or play. Lifting one up, I feel her squirming, then settle. She'll peer over my arm and revel in the view from being at such a great height. She's scared, but she knows she's safe with me.

Sleeping on my shoulder

If I'm really lucky I'll hear my favorite sound; purring. The bubbly, curious rumble that comes from such a tiny chest. The little sound that saves my life for one more day. The tiny face that looks up at me with a silly smile. The world is a happy, exciting, wondrous place. Through her eyes I am reminded, this is the world I want to live in. This is the world I hope to find myself in one day, too. Perhaps they show me how to live, more than I show them?

For now, I'm simply grateful.

Poppy's Poop

Kittens and kids. They grow up so fast, don't they? Here we were just two weeks ago and Poppy was too small to even crawl around, let alone do big, grown up kitty things like use the litter pan!

With the kittens at 3 1/2 weeks old, I thought I'd better make up a tiny litter pan, so Mama wouldn't have to keep, ewww, licking them clean. I used the cardboard tray from a case of cat food because it has low sides and is small. I covered the bottom of the tray with aluminum foil to keep the moisture from softening the cardboard and made sure it was taped down to prevent the kittens from chewing on it. After that, I sprinkled some clay (You know never to use clumping litter around kittens, right? You KNOW they eat it and get can blocked up from it, right???!) litter inside the pan and voila, a fancy kitten-sized litter pan is born.

Poppy was squirming around last night and I found her IN the pooper scooper. The smell must have stimulated her because she looked like she might need to go to the bathroom. I rushed over, grabbed her and placed her into the litter pan. Within a flash, she was dropping a looping poop! Yes, I took a photo of her pooping because it was her first time and I am proud of her! Also, it seems to be the only proof that she used the pan because in another flash, her Mother nudged her out of the way and ATE the poop right up!

Poppy's First Poop.jpg

What the...???!!! No, I'm not upset because Mama was snacking between meals!

In my scant few years fostering kittens I have never known of this happening! I've heard of dogs using litter pans as appetizer trays, but not this! Of course I immediately flashed back into my half-assed memory to see if I could find one that included Mama-cat licking me! You know, those cute little licks we occasionally get from our dear cats?

Nope. No licking. Good. This is good. I still think I'm going to throw up. Of course, even though I'd just fed Mama, I got up and opened up another can of food for her. I figured if she ate shit and she can't run out and brush her teeth, maybe she'd want more nasty smelling canned food to cover the taste of turd?

Go figure. Cats ARE weird.

When cuteness hurts (Doesn't it hurt to look at them? They are SO CUTE! Oooo!)

Sorry I woke you up!

Poppy (left) and Daisy (right) sit on their stuffed tabby cat faux-mom while their real mom is lapping up lunch in quick mouthfuls. Shot with my handy-dandy iPhone 3G, which I LOVE, but not in a sick, perverse way.

Oh, and the kittens are 24 days old today!

Pages

Subscribe to Covered in Cat Hair RSS