Category Archives: Humor

Mar29

Socks has a rutabaga!

Posted on March 29, 2012 by heretherebespiders

Let me just say it here and now: I suck. I was meant to update weekly on my best friend’s journey through pregnancy – but I’ve slipped, and slid, and now I’m the farthest behind I’ve ever, ever been. I apologised to her, and I know she forgives me as she’s seen the changes this silly space has gone through since I started in October, and knows how good it has been for me… But one of my first intentions here was to chronicle how it feels to be so far away from someone I love dearly, and how her life is changing so fast.

I told Socks that it’s hard to talk about her pregnancy right now, as there just isn’t a whole lot going on in the baby-growing end of things. This is true – but also, she is currently having to concentrate on another aspect of her life that is changing that doesn’t directly relate to Button. We talk a lot about that during our weekly phone call. However, my efforts to blog about Socks aren’t to gossip about her life – it is supposedta be my take on hearing her talk about becoming a mom. Also, my stupid job is sucking up my time and energy, and I’m so tired I rarely feel like writing. Bad!!! So yeah, I bitch to her about the job for extended lengths of time, too.

Anyhoo, I’ve got to go back to the dark ages of March 8 to play catch up. My notes are sparse, shit. Socks was just starting to walk with a waddle, which I find funny as hell trying to picture. I’m sure by now she’s old pro at waddling! Socks is a petite gal, and hasn’t gotten fat – just baby-belly-big – so when Button moves around you can practically see which of her body parts is front and center. Back on the 8th, Button liked to present her arse to the world quite a lot. Her whole size was that of an iceberg lettuce – big, but just wait until I get up to date! I have a quote: ‘I’ll probably give birth spontaneously in the kitchen!’ I’m pretty sure this is wishful thinking on Bear’s part…

On the 15th, Socks started getting allergies. Yuck. She’s not good at taking antihistamine even when not preggo, so I hope that shit eases off. She also has given up being freaked out about the impending baby shower on May 5 in favour of worrying over buying a house. I totally suck here, as I didn’t note the fruit and/or veg of the week, but I have some fabulous quotes. Socks to Bear, after watching The Walking Dead: ‘I’m the least productive member of this group, you better take me out and shoot me before the zombies arrive!’

Socks to Bear: ‘Guess what is in just three months?’
Bear: ‘Our first BBQ?’
Socks points to enormous belly.
Bear: ‘Oh.’

Bear, on putting his hand on her belly and feeling Button do a barrel-roll in there: ‘Oh my god, what the fuck was that? I thought she was in there further?!?’

Also, Button has become interactive: Socks says she can poke her in the butt and Button reacts. Cool!

Not so cool: Socks is getting a revisit of her old nemesis, sciatica. An ice pack and stopping what she is doing does the trick – unlike in the past, she says, there is no working through this pain. You just have to stop and rest.

Okay up to the 22nd now – god I’m a jerk – and the sciatic pain is much less. Yay! This week was a cauliflower: one of my least favourite veggies, glad that’s past! Socks did say her hands and feet were having a bit of swelling, so more rest is required. Oh darn, what a hardship when she’s so tired all of the time! A direct quote: ‘Button is supposed to be about 15inches long and weighing in at a little over 2lbs at this point. I’m not sure about you but I’ve never seen a Cauliflower that big. Another interesting fact about Button at this stage is that any day now she’ll begin to open her eyes. Kinda cool and creepy all at the same time.’

And we have a belly-photo update!

Wait, this says week 27! I’m all messed up. Sorry…

Okay! We are up to yesterday, which is when Oirish Tirsday had to be scheduled due to house-signing business. Week 29 – I’m trusting that number as I wrote it down, how silly am I? – is either a rutabaga or acorn squash. Again, Socks says she’s not seen either of those that is 2.5 to 3.5 lbs and 15 to 16.5 inches long. I’ve not seen an acorn squash in years, but our rutabagas here are huge, and called a swede.

Acorn squashies. I forgot they are green. How do you know when they are ripe? Good thing Button is a singleton, I think Socks would explode if she had this many.

I got to hear a weird story about someone who felt it necessary to question whether Button was a girl or boy, and how everyone seems to think it is perfectly okay to make extremely personal comments and observations about Socks and Button. Socks doesn’t mind – she’s not easily offended and the way humans act and interact is a never-ending source of entertainment for both of us.

I’ll end with another quote from Bear. They were talking about how Socks is a bit upset that she can’t do all of the packing and moving that needs to be done (a very hard thing to admit, for a person used to doing it all, always). Bear told her that what he wants, needs, and expects from her is to point at things that need to be done and let him know when it is time for lunch. Aww.

Mar25

Sunshine, music, and kitties

Posted on March 25, 2012 by heretherebespiders

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I have had a lovely, sunny, summery day today. And I did next to nothing. I enjoyed the sunshine; I ate the huge breakfast my hubby cooked; and eventually I did some of the dishes. I’d intended to paint my scavenged trellises a bit more – but only if the hubby could help me remember what odd place I’d left the paint tin. Instead we ended up with a huge crisis in which a tin of clear varnish was not only upside down and opened up and spilled everywhere, but did so inside The Closet Of Doom. Hence things like toolboxes, old paint tins, step stools, work gloves, ironing boards – and our Dyson – were coated liberally with acrylic varnish. Yay! After cleaning that enormous mess up, I no longer had any desire to paint, so I sat and read in the sun for several more hours.

The hardship, the horror. I know, I know.

I had to move out front as there was no more sunshine in the back garden. Now, I grew up in the American south, and it just isn’t done to sit out front of your house and drink a beer unless you qualify as po’ white trash (I am white, what other color trash could I be?), but I get sunshine so rarely that I just had to. My concession to being sort-of-in-public was to take a shower first. Good thing I did, because I just wouldn’t have been respectable enough to listen to my neighbour’s teenage son and his friend – who were conversing a few yards away in his driveway – fart loudly and giggle softly if my hair wasn’t clean.

Eventually, the sun gave up on me and I relocated to the back garden again where iDJ was preparing to have a BBQ and, of course, had the tunes a-goin. I stopped trying to read about serial killers and took pictures of Spot trying to open the sliding glass door with one pathetic kitty-arm:

You can’t blame him, really. Both of his people and his dog were outside (see Neko in the reflection?). And because iDJ has to have music allllll the time, the door was open a crack to allow for the speaker-wires. I understand, being a sun-worshiper myself. But I’ll stay in my yard, and he won’t, the bad boy.

Evening ended up with lovely sausages and burgers and me being dead tired but having to get up extra-early for some physiotherapy on my back. Somehow I think a few more hours in the sun would do me a better turn…

Mar19

Paddy’s Photos continued

Posted on March 19, 2012 by heretherebespiders

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Okay, here’s a few shots that say it all about why I love our parade, and why nothing in Dublin or New York City can ever compare to the amount of joy I get out of what happens in my small town.

Zombie babies.

I’m not even into kids or cuteness, but these wee ones were hilarious.

Mini-Jedward. Okay, only my Irish and UK readers are going to even have a clue who these adorable boys are meant to be. But: awwwwwwww! Way more cute than the real thing.

I have no idea. But someone took the time to make a float with nothing but a toilet on it and drive it down the main street behind a tractor.

…?

…!!!!!
I know this man pretty well, and the question every year is what dress will he wear in the parade? He’s well over 6ft, and a well-respected businessman… who is acting out Rhianna being told to not be such a hussy while shooting a video in an Irish farmer’s field last year. I’ve never seen a man in a woman’s bikini smile so much! This was the highlight of the parade for me, and his shenanigans usually are the funniest part every year. I didn’t spill my drink, but nearly wet my pants laughing.

Samba band! For Minlit 🙂

Seeing close friends in the parade is great fun, too! Nurse Bella didn’t really enjoy the noise and activity, but it seems ‘flooding’ worked for her and she’s less of a scaredey-dog than she used to be.

I’ll leave you with not the one, but two pictures stolen from hubby. I realised there was a third shot of his that I really loved. First, another action shot.

We think this was meant to be about some celebrity fat-fighting, boot-camp style reality show. No matter – I love the energy these young lads still have after running and jumping and dragging bloody great tires up at least a mile of the town before they got to iDJ and his camera. I also love that iDJ had the guts to stand right there and let them leap around him!

I’ll finish where I began – with the pipers. Another iDJ shot, and wow! Again he was right out in the road in the way, but our man never blinked an eye. He must know he looks that dammed impressive!

Mar19

Paddy’s photos

Posted on March 19, 2012 by heretherebespiders

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Right! Hubby uploaded 118 pictures today to Facebook from his iPhone and our ‘real’ camera, which now has issues of keeping battery contact and dies constantly and is super annoying.

I forgot I even had a camera until the parade was at least half over. So, these are my pics, except for the two I’ll give him credit for – I only really loved two of his 118 enough to steal them, and I think you’ll see why. My pics are mostly rubbish, but I think they give an idea of what it felt like to be in my town on Saturday afternoon.

First – this is from the night before. The pipe band went all around the town playing in each pub (a shorter journey with fewer stops than it was even six years ago, alas). We were at one end of the town – in a pub, of course – and when the band moved on they lined up smartly in the street, be dammed to traffic coming either way, and marched right down the entire town. I don’t know if any photo can convey how surreal and exciting this was for me. ‘Scotland the Brave’ at full volume at ten o o’clock at night is…amazing. From the other gawkers, I wasn’t alone in appreciating their miniature solitary parade.

Parade day! What’s a parade in the whest of Ireland without a big, feic-off-tractor or three? This was the first one, and the reason I remembered I had a camera in my possession. Can you tell we’re standing outside of the same pub as the night before? Oh yeah.

Bet you didn’t expect a helicopter, though! I think – but I’m not sure – that this is the one I’ve been up in. If you’re afraid of flying, or of being on a motorcycle, don’t go up in a wee two-seater whirlybird like this one. I adored my all-too-brief time in (this?) one.

Classic car 1.

Classic car 2.

Classic car 3.

Classic car 4 – and I’m back to black and white as this just was meant to be in B&W.

Now we’ll have a compare and contrast. This is my best shot of The Rocky Horror Picture Show cast tribute.

This is the one iDJ took. Damn him!!!

I think I should break here and do another post for the rest…

Mar9

The trouble with never

Posted on March 9, 2012 by heretherebespiders

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I’ve an almost-earworm tonight, but it’s not the music that is in my head. It’s thinking about a line of the lyrics:

‘When is the last time you did something for the first time?’

This is a line from the song ‘The Trouble with Never’ from the recently released Van Halen album, A Different Kind of Truth. I have it burned onto a CD in the car and I’ve played it over and over – not because I adore it, but because I need several repetitive exposures to new music before I can decide if I like it or not. I know Van Halen isn’t everyone’s cup o’ tea, especially the fabulous Sled, but I love hard rock and VH were sooo good back in 1984 when they released an album by the same name. Eddie Van Halen is a master guitarist, and ‘Diamond Dave’ (David Lee Roth) was so big, blonde, and obnoxious that even despite his mysogynistic tendencies, I just had to like VH. Especially the song ‘Jump’ which I got so excited about one MTV-watching afternoon in ’84 that I danced down the hallway and leapt into my darkened bedroom, where I smashed right through an empty aquarium I’d left in the middle of the floor. I will forever have a long scar on my foot and the memory of sitting down on my bed and watching the white me-meat that used to be covered in my skin well up and begin to drip with blood, and I will forever hear my own worried, wavery voice call, ‘mommmmmm?’ because I knew it wasn’t going to turn out well.

But, I don’t love Van Halen. That was reserved for bands that were much less mainstream back in 1984, like my forever favorites Metallica – they are still around, and still jammin’ – but their current music is nothing like the amazing new sound and sheer powerful energy they had in the early 80’s. And I really miss their instrumentals – Sled, if you’ve never heard it, take a moment to search youtube for Metallica’s ‘Orion’. (I got no clue how to embed a link) Wow. And still my favourite of theirs, after all these years.

Back to the topic at hand.

I’m not a terribly positive person. I know this, and I don’t like knowing this about myself very much, but all the not-liking does for me is make me feel even more negative. So, I attempt to surround myself with people who aren’t irritated by my negativity; like Socks, or my hubby who can usually be broken out of his occasional bad mood by something as simple and as silly as a fart-joke; or even other bloggers, who might have a down day but usually use the medium to spread happy thoughts like Disney fairy-dust.

So, when I found myself really thinking about the line, ‘When is the last time you did something for the first time?’ I was a little surprised to realise that I do just about everything for the first time, every day. And I usually know it. For example, I’m well aware that I’ve never written these words in this order, and I know that I’ve never hoped that people I’ve never met might respond and feel something – anything – due to what I’m saying about this topic. I’ve never sat here and written a blog post while listening to iDJ work up a dance set in the hopes that he gets a spot on an Irish broadcast radio station instead of the (two!) international Internet stations he is played on.

I’ve never asked someone who loves Wagner to listen to Metallica. I’m a bit afraid with that one! I have so much respect for Sled – someone I’ve never met – that I’d be sad and a bit ashamed if she hated one of my favourite songs! How odd! How NEW!

Perhaps I’m a ‘change’ addict, like my cat Spot. If he is, it’s my fault. I’ve never lived in one house as long as this since I was a child. I’ve never held any job longer than five years. I’ve never kept a partner longer than four years, until I met iDJ. (yep, he’s that special. I need to tell him so more often! I’m glad that I’ve reminded myself of this.)

In any case I’m taking it as a positive thing that I know when I’m doing something new, and that I am continuously appreciating the new and that I’m noticing, and savouring, the moment. Even when it is something as simple as hearing a song I’ve heard several times before, but this time I actually hear the words and realise I’m a better person than I expected.

“The Trouble With Never” (abbreviated version, chopped by moi)

You often wonder, you want to know.
How deep does the rabbit hole go?

I know you never thought about it
but ask yourself later:
When you turn on your stereo
does it return the favor?

That’s the trouble with never,
(It) sure seems like a mighty long time.
That’s the trouble with never.
When was the last time
you did something for the first time?

Mar7

Socks has an Eggplant!

Posted on March 7, 2012 by heretherebespiders

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Holy big belly, Batman! An eggplant, already? Wasn’t it just a few weeks ago that Button was as small as a blueberry? This is getting out of hand.

Apparently Socks is starting to realise herself just how out of hand this big baby belly is going to get. She already has to sit down to put on her socks, and can’t wait for summer when she no longer has to bother. Self-pedicures are nearly out of the question, too. And she still has months to go! Ouch. She says she’s loving being pregnant – something I just cannot imagine.

Another thing I just cannot imagine dealing with is a phenomenon she’s calling baby brain. She’s put on her underwear backwards. She’s put the old newspaper away in the cupboard and the fresh rolls in the recycle bin. I’m sure there’s loads of other examples that she hasn’t told me! I thought ‘baby-brain’ was a myth, and actually I never heard the idea that pregnant women get scatterbrained until I moved to Ireland. I just assumed it was a symptom of not using contraception: after a half-dozen kids or so, who wouldn’t get a bit loopy? But no, apparently it can happen to a gal who is preggers for the first time and usually has everything under control. I would have trouble dealing with that myself; but as usual Socks deals with the new haphazardness of her thoughts with a laugh and a shrug. It won’t last forever, after all – why not laugh?

So, let’s see: last week Button was the size of a papaya. Or an ear of corn. Quote of the week: “if they can’t get their shit together…” I’m pretty fond of ‘eggplant.’ For one, it starts with an E, my favourite letter, and for two, I guessed it right all by myself!

On the physical growth front, I only have an update from two weeks ago. We didn’t have an Oirish Tirsday last week as MommaSocks was in town. But last week was kinda cool – Button is starting to create fat reserves, beginning what for most of us is a lifetime of wishing they would go away. She also has eyebrows and lashes now, but still has no pigment in her hair or skin. For another quote, “She looks like a little ghostie, or a white asparagus!”

The biggest news was that while MommaSocks was in town, she was able to attend an ultrasound scan and see Button herself. While I’m sure that was amazing for MommaSocks, the best part came when the technician snuck in a free 3-D scan as a surprise (they weren’t meant to do one so early, nor for free). Apparently there was loads of weepy happiness, but I won’t get the full story until tomorrow night…

Feb17

Socks has a… Pomegranate. Because she says so.

Posted on February 17, 2012 by heretherebespiders

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Yet again I’m doing two weeks of news in one post, sorry. My brain insists I only did a Socks + Button a few days ago. I guess this is what happens when I don’t blog daily…

Last week, Button was the size of a spaghetti squash. This week was such a let-down on the fruit-simile front that Socks got annoyed and decided Button is a pomegranate. Much better than the ‘large mango’ they were trying to foist upon her. I mean really, we already HAD a mango! Also, in her own written words: “Another source says a Doll. What? You can’t just throw Doll in there in the middle of fruit!”

I totally think ‘doll’ is a cop-out. Dolls come in all damn sizes. I’m pretty sure Button isn’t a Barbie or a Cabbage Patch Kid.

Last week, Socks told me that from here on out there is the possibility of her belly-button turning into a outie. Fingers crossed for Bear’s nervous stomach that it doesn’t!

She says that her belly has ‘magical powers.’ The full laundry basket whisks itself upstairs when she isn’t looking. The kitchen cleans itself when her back is turned. And strangest of all, the trash takes itself out. We are investigating the phenomena and will get back to you with the results.

Socks also told me that her belly is contagious. She has a local friend who suddenly is taking steps toward creating a Button of her own, after never really considering it seriously. This lady sounds really cool – I’d like her, I know it! – and I’m happy that Socks gets to use her hard-earned knowledge to help someone else through such a huge life-step: she enjoys helping others and is damn good at it. It even turns out they will have the same OB.

Things weren’t all rosy last week, though. There was The Babies R Us incident. We won’t go into detail because she reads the blog, of course, and I don’t want to give her flashbacks. Suffice to say that Internet shopping is a helluvalot easier on a woman who was just staring to feel pregnant, and swears that she is waddling already. But it did give me the quote for last week:
Bear – ‘Thank you for having a baby!’
Socks – ‘That’s the easy part! Shopping is hard!’

On to this week! First, the photographic evidence:

What was the first thing I noticed? That she had to buy a bigger top! I knew the other one wasn’t gonna last much longer. She had a general check-up Dr appointment and The Bellah is 25cm. Now, notice that I’m not using Imperial measurements…because apparently, the medical profession the the US uses metric. Even when no one else over there does. Sigh. Since I moved here, I’ve been trying to train my brain to think in both measurements, and in both Fahrenheit and Celsius – so my guess without Google is 17 inches. Let’s see if I’m right… Hell, no. It says 10 inches. Wait, that Bellah looks bigger than that!!!

Oh well, I have to work harder in training the brain, it seems. Socks did get her first comment on being obviously pregnant from a stranger this week, too – the FedEx delivery lady. First of many, Socks: people are damned nosy!

I’m going to let her speak for herself again, because I think this is funny…

“Well this week marks the beginning of my 6th month of pregnancy. Do not get me started on how 23 weeks equals the 6th month. That is an argument no one is going to win. They say “if you go by calendar weeks, well then your pregnancy would be 10 months”. So what? If it’s ten months then it’s 10 months. Doing some Crazy Voodoo OB Math and changing the numbers around on paper isn’t going to change the fact that this baby is in there for 40 weeks. Okay, pet peeve aired and over with. Thank you for listening!”

The last news is that Button is very, very, active – already. Her cartwheels can be seen from across the room, and even made the doctor laugh. It was interesting to hear that Button’s heart rate increased when she was cavorting, too. Pre-natal calisthenics! Bear has only managed to feel her moving once, so I think we’ve got a momma’s girl on the way.

So, Button will double on weight in the next four weeks – ow, poor Socks – and the waddling will only get more pronounced. Quote of this week, regarding the size of The Bellah: “I have a definite hitch in my giddyup.”

Feb6

Socks has a small melon! Ok, had. Now baby is a banana…

Posted on February 6, 2012 by heretherebespiders

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Wow, I’m a crappy chronicler and tipping into being a crappy friend, too! I haven’t updated my Socks+Button posts in two weeks. I know she doesn’t hold it against me, but I’m disappointed in myself for not being on the ball.

So, I have two weeks to talk about here, and I’m going to make a hames of it (I have no idea how to spell that bit of slang, it’s an Irish expression for ‘a mess’. Phonetically will have to do).

I was giddy about last week’s fruit because Button finally tipped into melon-size territory. I’ve been waiting for this, although now it is here and somewhat gone, I feel as though it wasn’t as funny as the anticipation. I guess it’s hard to tease someone about carrying a small cantaloupe in their belly when they are so happy about it, and totally comfortable with the expanding waistline.

That’s a cantaloupe. Smiling face by moi.

Last week, Button was 6.5 inches and 11oz. That’s 8.89 cm and 311.84 grams. Really growing fast now – and at 20 weeks, she was half-way done cooking! The banana (this week) is for length only, and that measurement is from ‘crown to rump’ only. Head to toe is probably more like 10 inches. Socks says she’s gained ten pounds (4.55kilos). Of course she has no issues about her weight, that would be silly and while Socks is great fun, she isn’t a self-absorbed narcissist who is worried that she is ‘fat.’

I’ve a few stories this time: one is about…drum roll please…CAKE. Socks had a craving for CAKE, and went a bit overboard… I’ll probably have to explain some of this in advance. See, there’s cake, and there’s crappy grocery-store-made sheet CAKES that you only ever have at a party. Cake is homemade and lovely. Grocery-store CAKE can be tasty but is nothing like real cake. It comes a in huge, one layer, 16×12 (bigger than 30x40cm) shape, and the icing is always way too sweet and way too greasy and there is always way too much of it. But, when a pregnant woman craves crappy grocery-store CAKE, there is no other solution than to go buy a slice.

Unless, of course, they don’t have just a slice for sale when you are in mid-craving. Then the only option is to buy a whole damn CAKE and take it home. Here’s the visual (wish I had a photo): a visibly pregnant woman with an entire huge CAKE in her arms, and nothing else…except for a big ol ‘mine-all-mine!’ smile on her face. With her happily indulgent hubby right behind, because he just knows she’s never going to eat it all herself. Quote of last week: ‘OMG I’m breaking all the rules! Wait, I’m an adult, why can’t I buy a whole damn CAKE when there isn’t a party if I want to?’

Socks’ mom is coming to visit in March, and the visit coincides with the next scan appointment. MommaSocks is, of course, super excited at the prospect. Oh, Socks can be cruel: she said she gave a big X-Factor Results type of pause before telling her mom whether Button was a girl or boy. “It’s….a…. …. …. (tension building music)… … Girl!!!!”

I’ll end on a sort-of-gross note, because I wouldn’t be me if I wasn’t fascinated with the parts of living beings that are usually hidden. Button now has taste buds: which is a bit disturbing because she now can, and does, swallow the amniotic fluid she is swimming in (the fluid itself changes daily, dependent on what mom eats: Socks says Button is going to love Wint-o-green flavour Lifesavers and citrus). This might not seem too strange until you consider that what goes in, must come out. Where does the urine go? Back into the amniotic fluid!

So, yes; we all drank our own pee before we were ever born. Tasty!

Jan29

Let’s Meet…Lokii’s Dark Side!

Posted on January 29, 2012 by heretherebespiders

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Part two of getting to know my Lokii-monster. I still love the wee sleekit beastie, no fear – but he does do some difficult-to-bear things.

He eats things that bear no resemblance to food. The prime treats for him are our fuzzy elastic hair ties. We protect these, but he still manages to find them. He’s even taken the lid off of a heavy ceramic bowl to get to them. When he does find one, he thinks it is the best toy ever- until he swallows it whole. I always see them again, from one end or the other.

The other things we have to keep a constant eye on are plush fibre-filled toys. He chews holes in them, then swallows the filling. He even attacked a four-foot long stuffed alligator of mine. I was not amused. He’s done more damage to the dog’s toys than the dog ever has.

He’s also attracted to anything with ball-shaped filling. We had – had! two neck-pillows that we bought for travel. They were soft and scrunchy. I put them in the empty suitcases under the bed in the spare room, a logical place, yes? Where my logic failed me was that I should zip up the empty cases. I woke up to this one morning:

That’s the smallest part of iDJ’s shoe collection, all filled with Lokii-balls (K-9 is mine). This was the scene of the crime, but he didn’t restrict himself to the spare room.

That’s about halfway down the stairs. The little weenie dragged the leaking pillow downstairs to play with it.

There were tiny tiny styrofoam balls everywhere. They were charged with static electricity and they clung to everything, including the outside of my Dyson vac when I was trying to clean the tremendous mess up. I’ve never had to vacuum my vacuum before.

I shit you not, this was two years later after he disemboweled a toy filled with black plastic beads. Do you see that there are STILL little white Lokii-balls in the vacuum?

We quickly hid the remaining neck pillow in a wardrobe with my giant alligator. And we are very, very careful that the door is closed at all times.

He eats cotton buds, stick and all. He eats the plastic ring from a jug of milk or cream. I think that’s sad, because Spot loved to play with them. Nope, they go straight into the bin these days.

The worst things that he eats, though, are our blankets. Evidence:

I cut off the ragged edges, it seems to make them less attractive to him. Sometimes.

I’m really sickened about the crocheted one: Socks made it for me as a ready-available hug from her when I was terribly sad, and it helped so much. But I have it hidden away until I find someone who can fix it for me.

Poor Lokii. With all that man-made fibre and plastic and whatnot in his gut, his poop is a bit colourful and dry, and he gets constipated.

Unfortunately, he’s constipated even if he hasn’t swallowed anything but cat food.

He poops little rocks.

Sometimes, he just tries to poop little rocks.

Sometimes, they don’t come out fast enough and he panics. He comes blasting out of the litter box full speed, the door flap banging back and forth like a batwing saloon door in an old western during a firefight, and proceeds to scrape his arse all along the floor until the offending poop-nugget breaks free.

Sometimes, the turd really doesn’t want to leave him (his?) behind. He has to drag himself for several feet – sometimes several rooms – to be free of the offending dingleberry.

(Yet another reason I am grateful that we don’t have carpeting anywhere in the house.)

However, this means he gets to express his creative side! In the morning after one of his bad nights, I am greeted with artistically rendered swirls and skirls of light brown on my kitchen floor. Lokii has his own built-in palette, in sepia shades.

‘Ah!’ I say, when I find the brown gold at the end of the brown rainbow, ‘A kitty-crayon!’

Its become the thing that is said upon seeing the crayon itself or evidence of artwork. There’s the term, and its associated rule: whosoever finds the kitty-crayon, cleans up the kitty-crayon.* The art, like some modern art is meant to be, is temporary: we clean up all traces of creativity backward from turd to litterbox, and eliminate all traces of elimination. We go through a good amount of anti-bacterial spray and paper towels, as you can imagine. *This holds true for any accident that our kids have. You find it/step in it, you clean it.

About the only good part of all this is that his desiccated poo has hardly any smell.

Yes, I know I should take him to the vet. I’m broke as all nine circles of hell, and I thought I’d do some research myself first and see if there was anything I could do at home. But I’m a bad cat-mom and kept forgetting to do it. I asked Dianda at Cats & Co to look up kitty constipation for me, and she did – thank you! Her good work only confirmed that I should take him to the vet, though. Ugh. I was motivated to try a few things, though, while I wait for anything resembling money or credit to accumulate.

Dairy was suggested, as it makes most cats get the squitters. No, he will only take a couple laps of milk. Ditto, cream. He wanted nothing to do with yoghurt. I had one last home remedy left – olive oil. Two cc’s per day, I was told. I even had an unused, needle-less syringe I could use to measure with! No problem, I thought, I’ll try that.

We-l-l-l-l… it seems Lokii is immune to that most basic of cat-restraining measures: the scruff-of-the-neck hold. It didn’t stop him from struggling at all. There was no way we were getting that syringe in his mouth short of wrapping him up in several towels and getting a third person in to help hold him. This clearly would not do. I don’t want to upset the little guy, and I don’t have a third person handy.

My next idea was to put the oil onto something he would eat. That would have to be either raw minced beef or wet cat food. I opted for cat food as it costs less, even though I’d rather not feed them cheap smelly crud. Oh yes, ‘them’ – because there is no way I can give a treat to just one cat. The ruckus is unbearable, and I’m sure they would find a clever way of getting revenge. Sigh. So, I started them on one-half of a small tin of food a day, split again between the boys, with oil on Lokii’s portion. Easy-peasy, says I, Spot will only have a little taste in any case.

Oh no, of course not! The cat that will eat fabric doesn’t want the food with the oil on it, he wants the plain version. Spottie, the pickiest eater ever, wants the oily bowl …aaaaaa… Rethink. Give them one bowl, with the oil, and let ’em fight it out. Fine, okay; Spot still only has a nibble and wanders away, and I don’t have Lokii screaming his head off because he wants what he has not got. Whew.

Now the big question. Does it work? After fourteen days, we have had only two crayon incidents. Yay! And judging from the red, yellow and blue coloration inside of the first crayon, it was entirely due to him eating a blanket. His box still has very dry poop in it, and Spot’s has some of the nastiest smelling little brown gifties ever, but I think I can keep this up until our financial deficit will allow me some wiggle room to take Lokii-mon to the doctor.

Aren’t you glad I didn’t take you a picture of his ‘art?’

Jan28

I’ve been missing you

Posted on January 28, 2012 by heretherebespiders

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I don’t know why you’ve not been sleeping in our bed. Did I say or do something that upset you? Did I accidentally hit you in my sleep? Maybe you just prefer the couch lately. I can understand that: I also go through phases when I’d rather sleep downstairs, all warm and snug under the heavy blanket Socks crocheted for me. Too much effort to make the move up the stairs, and yes, the couch is really comfortable.

Whatever your reasons were, I didn’t ask. We value each others’ privacy in this house. But I missed you a lot. I even tried to drop hints, but I wasn’t heard. Too nice, I suppose, too oblique.

Imagine my happiness and surprise this morning to find you snuggled under my blankets with me, your head on my shoulder! I know I am a heavy sleeper, but I thought after so much time apart I would have noticed you sneaking into our bed.

I’m sort of glad I didn’t wake, because I was so pleased to find you there! A fantastic surprise, especially as I got to sleep in and I was fully rested for the first time since last Sunday.

You opened your eyes and looked at me when I removed the covers from your head. I always worry when you do that! How can you breathe? You didn’t say a word, but gave me a happy sigh when I smoothed your hair back and gently touched your cheek. I started to speak, but you put your hand on my lips and held it there as if to preserve the moment, and the silence. When you took your hand away, I smiled and turned to put my arm around your shoulders and hugged you close.

You didn’t mind a bit; in fact you returned the embrace and even snuggled tighter into my side. I was so content, warm and cozy, holding on to the one I love so very much. We stayed that way, hugging, occasionally touching each other’s face, smiling into each other’s eyes.

Until your rotten little brother jumped up on the bed and pounced on your tail, which was peeking out of the blankets and presented too tempting of a target. The moment was lost.

Love you to bits, Spottie-cat! Thank you for a perfect morning.

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