Relationships are stupid.
I know I sound like my coworker Griff, who thinks everything is stupid–but who is, in fact, in a relationship. But really, they are. Stupid.
This weekend, Ned was helping me walk Edsel, and you’re all, What the–WHY WAS NED THERE, and calm down. I will get to it. The point is, I was reminded of a time we’d walked down that street before.
“Remember back when we liked each other, and we walked down this way to the hotel to watch the fireworks on the 4th of July, and we got there and there were no fireworks?” I asked him.
“But we didn’t care, because we liked each other,” he said. “Now I’d be all, ‘What, you didn’t RESEARCH if there were fireworks visible from there?'”
“Yep,” I agreed, which was pretty much just the most redundant sentence on earth.
There was another time that Ned wanted to cook with me, and make homemade salsa as a side dish, and see, nowadays I’d know that Ned and a big, involved plan that includes homemade salsa would be an all-day undertaking, and that I’d end up eating at 2 a.m. for the first time all day. But back then I liked him and went along with it.
If he asked me now to grill out with him and add homemade anything to the mix, I’d bludgeon him with a tiki torch.
And that’s what I mean. Relationships go from fun and frolic and feeling goopy about the person to wanting to stab him with your butter knife. At least that’s how they go with me.
Anyway, here’s why Ned was even over. On Friday, he got Nancy, the mom cat to the kittens I’m fostering.
And do you know what I am weary of? Is how I have too many channels. I’ll tell you one thing about Nancy and her kittens here, and then on Facebook someone will ask me something I already said about them over here.
Or over on the (Face)Book of June page. Or I said it on Instagram. Or I thought it in my head. The point is, you have to be practically stalking me to get all my guff, and it’s my fault for spreading my love all over social media.
Anyway, the wrap-up is–and when you see someone asking any of these things elsewhere, will you answer for me? Be snippy. Thank you.
The wrap-up is, I have Nancy’s four kittens till next Saturday now, because they have to weigh two pounds each to be adoptable. They all weigh somewhere around a pound and a half, with the exception of the black kitty, who appears to be the runt.
Allegedly they will weigh enough by Saturday.
(And can I add something? I noticed this on a much larger scale with Patrick Stewart, when he was fostering a very sweet pit bull. Fostering animals so they’re ready for adoption is a noble task. You don’t undertake such a thing lightly. It costs a fucking fortune,
your house is chaos, and you know these are fosters, not pets.
So if you’re someone enjoying watching the foster, whether in real life or on social media, I think the most supportive thing you can do is NOT pressure the person fostering to adopt. Or say, “If it were ME, I’d keep them ALL.” That sort of thing. It’s not easy, fostering. Pressure to keep them adds to the not-easy part.)
But anyway, Ned, who I never said a WORD to, decided to take Nancy, the mom cat, and they first had to fix her, make her all barren, which turned out to be more grueling than they’d thought.
They had trouble locating her ovaries, and her incision was large, and they wanted to keep her and give her antibiotics and so on. (So that’s why I’m not taking the kittens to see her, as it would hurt her if they tried to suckle.)
But on Friday, she was finally ready to go home. Ned has to keep giving her Clavamox till it’s gone–sometime this week.
But she seems to be reacting to her medication, or something, because she has pooped NOT in the box every time. So he came over to trade litter with me, to see if she likes that better. He also went out and bought like three different kinds of litter boxes. Because he’s Ned. He’s probably fashioning a homemade one. With salsa.
Also, she’s hiding a lot, but she’s slept with him every night. She finally used her box this morning, but Ned said she ran under the bed right after. Poor traumatized Nancy.
In the meanwhile, here are photos of her children, in case you wanted to see kitten pictures or anything.
Tomorrow I will tell you about goat yoga, which I also attended this weekend, when I wasn’t attending Kitten Fest 2018. When I got home, Steely Dan slept on me, a unicorn of an occurrence that I always get charmed by.
And while I didn’t dare move while it was happening, at one point, Lily got on the couch and groomed Steely Dan, and he closed his eyes and purred. I didn’t even know those two were on speaking terms. The things that happen when you’re Mia Farrow and you have too many kids.
Also, Faithful Reader Kris, I can’t tell you how much I love that freaking afghan.
That sums me up. I guess if I were a man, I could have just written, Cats, and been done with this whole post.