Happy Labor Day. I was trying very hard not to labor, but apparently I NEED to get up. They sent Olivia Wigglebothum first. This is not effective.
Olivia uses a lot of adorable squeaking and wiggling. She rubs herself against me and eventually snuggles in. I consider this an invitation to go back to sleep with a cat. All the better.
This is why they have Miles as back up to employ a more direct assault. He vocalizes loudly, stomps on my pillow and head, applies his wet nose directly to any exposed skin and takes huffing breathes directly in my face. Eventually he makes his way to the bedside lamp where he repeatedly rubs his face against the lampshade, making a noisy vibration that will only stop when I forcibly evict him.
As evidenced in many previous posts, my children have an abundance of beds, boxes, window views, and toys to entertain themselves. However the hot toy that there was actually some fighting over before these pictures, is a leftover handle from a brown paper Trader Joe’s bag.
Birdie is the only lady who has spurned Miles’s advances. She doesn’t want groomed or spooned. So when I watched him make a tiny step by step, slow motion advance, and then settle down near her, my melty heart was all “That sweet boy.” He clearly just wants her love.
However Birdie then sat up and made eye contact, turning this into a high noon showdown. Her middle child personality wasn’t buying into any friendly approach bullshit. Their twitching tails reminded me of movie gunslinger standoffs where the camera cuts back and forth to the slightly flexing fingers or squinting eyes. Everyone is frozen and on the verge of action.
I think she should just give in to some cuddles. At least a little grooming.
Olivia Wigglebothum hates thunderstorms, fireworks, and sometimes the sound of the UPS truck. My neighborhood started early per usual, so Olivia has been low bellying it around the house for most of the week.
Saturday, I kept her in the bathroom with me while I took a shower. Friday night though I wanted nothing more than to read in the bathtub. I brought Olivia in the bathroom with me because the bathroom is one of her approved “safe spots” and the noise of the exhaust fan helps mask the boom boom pows that were jackin’ our style.
Presumably two legged children present the same feeding time issues as four legged children. Based on the social media posts of my breeder friends, I know their kids are at times….. difficult. Stay at home orders are not making this better.
At any given meal time but especially at “lunch”: One child is screaming that he is starving. He actually does this any time I am in the kitchen.
One child is interested in eating, but often needs reminded that we are on a schedule and she needs to put aside whatever she’s doing to come eat.
One child thinks eating is…meh, literally has to be carried to most meals. There she eats two bites then runs off.
As always, kid number four shows up appropriately, eats, and leaves.
In other childish behavior, Ohio was hot in April, but is currently freezing. I’m tired of tucking in my tomatoes for yet another freeze warning. I’m also tired of people protesting wearing masks. As predicted in my head, Americans see a terrible situation and then choose to act like spoiled children entitled to do whatever whenever. Damn the “rules” even if there is a world wide pandemic on.
Yesterday I got to break up a 4-way cat fight that ranged all over the house– under the table, between the chairs, behind the tv-my god they are going to unplug something!- in to the front window behind the loveseat, down the hall— and dislodged a heating vent cover!
Miles absolutely started it by being an aggressive dick to Sookie. She was rolled over on her back between him and a footstool shrieking, which them brought Birdie and Olivia on scene. And suddenly they’re all in it.
I’m not sure whether to blame this behavior on me being in the house for what probably seems like 24/7 to the cats, our messed up schedule- the litter box is getting scooped in the morning versus the evening now which is messing with my head as well, but it seems like they must spend all night pooping!–or my own anxiety. I was on edge yesterday, making my stomach hurt trying to wrap my mind around how certain things at school could possibly work. I didn’t feel great, it was raining, I didn’t want to make some poor Door Dash person come out in the rain plus I didn’t know what I wanted to eat, and I basically went to bed feeling like I was shaking and proceeded to have anxiety dreams about everything from my night guard snapping in half to Olivia shimmying down in to the heating system and being trapped. I am certain that there is more than enough space for this to actually happen, and the fact that she and Sookie basically tossed the vent cover up out of its spot in the floor, throwing it almost a foot away, confirms my fears.
Olivia also got tossed about a foot away which was when I scooped her and her giant poofed tail up before she could jump back in to the tussle. Little Miss 8 Pounds of Nothin’ wanted to show 13-14 pound Sookie who was boss. Free of that opponent, Sookie took off down the hall which inspired Miles and Birdie to take up the chase. It was like one of those movie fight scenes where one person faces off against ten attackers, but the ten attackers all patiently wait their turns to be bested instead of just taking the one person down together.
Meanwhile, I was still firmly cradling Olivia while running after them yelling, “NONNONNONNONOOOOOONNNNOOOOO!” Birdie diverted to the spare bedroom, and Miles did an about face and froze in my bedroom which I shooed him out of immediately. I found Sookie in one of her usual “safe spots” wedged between the headboard of my bed and the wall, snorting at me.
Confession: I love their poofed tails. I don’t love the reason for the poof, but the over-sized tail cuteness kills me.
I’ve been failing at this for a couple of years now. I do not find the seeds I need and get them started early enough to have big enough tomato plants to produce tomatoes in the summer.
Specifically these are Granny Smith Tomatoes. The mature tomatoes are bright green like a Granny Smith apple and very firm making them perfect for fried green tomatoes! I learned about them after finding the plants at a greenhouse one spring. After that I have only come across the seeds.
On this very sunny morning, I set my greenhouse out for more direct sunlight. Hopefully Miles willing the plants to grow will help production and I won’t have to rely on immature green tomatoes for my fried fix!