Any Similarities to My Life are Just Coincidence!

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Someone else has their very own Izzy and Max!

Only He Knows For Sure

Izzy had himself a little adventure yesterday. And he totally freaked us both out in the process.

I walked in the front door yesterday afternoon, expecting to see my little man waiting for me as he usually does (he and Jake get to split a can of cat food as soon as I get home, so they're always anxiously waiting!). But Izzy wasn't at the door. I greeted Jake, called for Izzy, and got Sam. Fed Jake, thinking Izzy would pop out of his hiding spot and come racing into the kitchen, but it didn't happen.

OK. I was trying not to panic. I mean, just because he wasn't waiting for me like he does every day, doesn't mean anything's really wrong, right? But then I remembered how Tommy disappeared so quickly a few months ago and I fell over the edge.

I checked the back yard, the front yard, scanned the street looking for him. Called his name, kept checking the roof of the patio (a favorite place to hang out), but nothing. I walked around the block looking for him, all the while trying to convince myself that he was all right and he'd be chowing down in the kitchen when I got back home.

Nope. He wasn't there when I got back. Okay, time to pull myself together. He'll show up in a little while, right? Cats always pull this junk on their owners. Right?

So I spent some time just trying to wait him out. Watched some TV, tried not to panic. Did a little housework, tried not to panic. Convinced myself to wait until the next morning to call the pound and the vet's offices. Tried not to panic.

Around 6:30, I went out to the rabbit pen and was working on filling in Sophie's latest hole to China when I heard the faint sound of a cat's rather panicked cry. I stopped to listen, to make sure of what I was hearing, and trying to pinpoint where it was coming from. It was Izzy! I knew that cry! I called his name, hoping he would hear me. The sound was coming from the other side of the fence, but still pretty far away.

I ran back into the house to change my shoes so I could head around the other side of the block. Just as I got my shoes on, here comes Izzy, racing across the patio, into the house through the cat door, and down the hall to the bedroom. I have never seen him so freaked out!

I followed him and managed to grab him to check him out for bodily harm. No wounds, but his hair was all messed up. And he smelled of... cigarette smoke?!? What?!?

Where the hell had that cat been?

This is the point where I really wish cats could talk.

Did some kid scoop him up, take him home to a houseful of smokers, and he managed to escape? Did he fall in with a bad crowd of delinquent kittens? Where the hell had he been??

Other than a few more panicked meows, he wasn't talking.

Poor thing. Whatever happened to him really freaked him out. Once he calmed down, he found a hidey hole and crashed hard for a while. When I got back from bowling, we snuggled on the couch, him sleeping against my leg with my hand curled around his chubby belly.

When I went to bed, he was right there with me. And he was still asleep beside me when I woke up this morning. I'd like to think he won't go wandering again anytime soon.

But we'll see. Who knows what goes on in those little cat brains. And he sure ain't talking.

Misadventures in Ornithology

So Bec and I are headed for lunch today, driving down Morse, discussing the possibilities of what species a certain flower could be when all of a sudden I see something on the other side of the street.

"Look! It's a turkey!"

Um, no.

It was a buzzard. I could argue that technically it was a turkey buzzard, but that won't fly (neither will turkeys--LOL!)

From my perspective, it looked like a female turkey, much more slender than that steroided hulk tom turkey. They're the same color and that damned red wattle turkeys have come close to that nasty red head buzzards have. But I guess as a country girl who once had a pet turkey, I probably should have known better. Fine.

This did, of course, lead our discussion to one of TV's greatest moments: "WKRP in Cincinnati's" infamous turkey promotion. Which I was able to quote far too many lines from....

WKRP in Cincinnati: Thanksgiving Turkey Bomb! @ Yahoo! Video

If You Don't Have Anything Nice to Say...

Yes, I know it's been over a month since I posted anything. I've been too pissed off.

What? Yes.

I've been too pissed off by tea baggers, birthers, and deathers to even begin to want to write about it. Or to even calm down and find light and fluffy things to post. Maybe I've read too many articles over on HuffPo, read too many idiotic comments on stories. I've de-friended former classmates on Facebook because of their idiotic, racist comments about our president. (Hey, now I remember why I haven't spoken to those people in almost twenty years!)

Maybe it's Jon Stewart's fault--he's been on vacation for three weeks and hasn't been around to help defuse my anger at my fellow countrypeople.

I won't get started on how work's sawing through my last nerve. Stress is keeping me from sleeping well at night.

I've taken vacation days, shut down the computer, and searched for peace and quiet. Tried to find some zen. But that's almost impossible when Big Sam's running around panicked and meowing for reasons he will not share with me, Baby J's chewing on my toe, and Little Man is finding new ways to scale the bookcases while meowing at the top of his lungs (dude is suffering an overabundance of testosterone). I've shouted "No!" "What!?!" "Get Down!" and "Stop It!!" far too many times lately. I've rescued falling vases and sacrificed a leather purse for Izzy to use as a chew toy. Not like I had a choice in that matter after I caught him wrapped around it doing his best kung-foo fighting impression.

The only moments of peace I get are when I'm watching the bunnies chase each other around the yard. But then that reminds me that they dug their way out of their pen and it ticks me off all over again because I get stressed that they'll find their way under the fence.

But the coup de grace of everything has been the crazy cat lady comments from supposed "friends." Cat lady, maybe. But crazy? Not because of the cats, buddy! Usually I'm able to shrug that stupid stuff off. But I guess my nerves are just rubbed too raw by everything else right now.

I have three cats. So what? It's not like I have 20 and am on the lookout for more! I'm not running around wearing caftans, draped in cat jewelry, roaming the streets looking for strays to take in. And I do not want any more of them. As a matter of fact, I'm chasing off neighborhood cats on a daily basis!

How can it be crazy to keep pets? If they were dogs, would I be considered a crazy dog lady? I can afford to take care of them. I love them (some days more than others--I admit it!) and adore their individual personalities (if they'd just rein them in!) They are companions who help keep my house from feeling quite so empty. But to use my ownership of them as a taunt? How stupidly childish of supposedly grown adults!

I admit it. That shit's gotten to me. So much so that I considered just shutting down this blog. Why continue something that gives the taunters more fodder? I feel like the eccentric nerdy kid back in junior high again and I don't like it. I'm really disgusted with this "cat lady" discrimination. Would it be different if I were married? Could I then own cats without being called "crazy"?

If even one person out there really wants to continue reading about my boys, or anything I might have to say, leave a comment. I need to hear from you. This blog's future is in your hands.

In the meantime, I'm going to go unbunch my panties.