Lisa Gerardy's Blog, page 24

Amazon: Where Hermit Shopping is a Pleasure (Publix)

Shopping makes me feel like this.

Sundays tend to be my domestic goddess days. I’m usually busy for hours with vacuuming, laundry, and even ironing. While I was ironing my son’s work pants, khaki Chinos, I thought that he could probably use a couple more pairs. Then, I thought about going to Kohl’s, where we got the pair he presently owns. I shuttered to think about how they are going to insist I use my Kohl’s card so I can save whatever percent, and ask me if I have my Kohl’s cash or Kohl’s coupon from the circular that is mailed to my house every 25 seconds. As your friendly neighborhood work from home ENGLISH professor, shopping that requires all of these numbers and extra accessories makes my head hurt. Then, I remembered that I don’t have to go to Kohl’s, or anywhere, to get my son’s Chinos. There is that glowing safe haven for all of my shopping needs – Amazon.

You don’t get pestered to join a rewards program every time you check out. If one more cashier asks me to add a plastic card to my key ring I may end up on the evening news for flying over the counter and stomping on the cash register while screaming, “I JUST WANT TO PAY AND LEAVE!!” On Amazon, you get asked to join the Prime program once a year, and it actually has real benefits like free shipping and cheap movie rentals.
You can choose not to apply for the store credit card without some human in your face trying to reiterate how much money you will save because obviously your are not understanding this. I don’t want the damn store card and I’m not stupid.
Two words—other people. You don’t have to walk through a maze of people who either enjoy shopping or don’t know what the hell they want to get to your item of choice. You just click and pay. It’s a slice of hermit heaven.
Most things are actually in stock. I hate to name names here, but Best Buy, I’m talking to you. Most of the time that I go into actual stores, other than the grocery store, I am unable to locate the item I need. This happens ALL THE TIME in Best Buy. It almost NEVER happens on Amazon. They stock EVERYTHING.
No parking lot.   Parking lots always seem full whenever I want to shop. Also, they’re usually not covered, so you need to walk in the snow, rain, wind or whatever unpleasant weather to get to the nice climate-controlled store. And, there’s usually that one idiot who leaves their dog in the car, which causes me to have to dig out the phone number to report them to the sheriff’s office. In addition to everything else, there are creepy people who stalk you so they can take your parking spot, and sometimes, according to a recent 20/20 episode, they get violent.

I’m not taking any chances. I will just stay right here at my cozy dining room table with a cat on my lap, and log in to Amazon. See you never, people-filled stores.

Note: “Where Shopping is a Pleasure” is Publix’s slogan.  Publix is the world’s best grocery store, and I miss it dearly now that I live in Yankee land.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Amazon, Best Buy, Hermits, introverts, Kohls, Publix, Shopping

Kitty Shitty Monday

I kind of thought it was going to be a craptastic day because it was dreary and rainy before the sun even rose. I hate rain, especially cold rain that lasts ALL GRAY DAY LONG. Rain really seems to aggravate my allergies and gives me a wicked sinus headache, not that there are good sinus headaches. So, I added an Allegra to my morning vitamin routine.

Sinus Headache Weather

Then, the catfights started. If you have read this blog, you know that Andre has two moods: loving and homicidal. Today, he has tried to kill Morris at least five times. When the fighting started, I sprayed Feliway, which every vet we have ever seen recommends. It usually works if we “hot box” Andre in the bathroom by spraying a bunch of it in there, tossing Andre in, and closing the door for at least five minutes. No such luck today. He was in full on murder mode. (Note: Full On Murder Mode would make a great Heavy Metal band name.)

Andre feels like this today.

Once I got the cats in different rooms, I decided to order my mom’s Mother’s Day gift online. That’s when Fifth-Third decided to shut down my debit card even though I have ordered from this particular site a few times in the past with my Fifth-Third card. It’s PUBLIX, not a porno site; I’m pretty sure it’s safe. After my card was declined twice, I ended up calling Publix and ordering the gift card over the phone, like cavemen used to do. I had to actually TALK to someone. WTF?

A couple of hours after I placed my order, Fifth-Third called my cell phone. I didn’t answer because it was a random Ohio number and I hate talking on the phone. See this blog for my phone answering protocol. The bank left a message telling me that my debit card was frozen. After rolling my eyes about 827 times while listening to the message, I had to call them back and wait on hold for 9,000 years, listening to bad muzak (is there good muzak) and a robot telling me how important my call was every 13 seconds.

Then, while waiting on the phone, I saw that Boo Boo had left a smooshy, bloody turd on the doormat leading to the garage. Welcome to my world. So, I balanced the phone on my shoulder and started to clean that up. Of course the customer service person picked up the phone right when I was dropping Boo’s “sample” into a sandwich baggie. I figured since she has done this a couple of times now, I should probably bring it to the vet.

Boo Boo doesn’t feel good.

So, I quickly washed my hands while talking to the customer service person, who explained to me as slowly as possible that my card had been locked. No shit; that’s why I’m calling. I asked why all of the sudden my card was frozen for ordering from Publix, a site that I have ordered from before with no problem. At least that is what I was trying to ask. The Fifth-Third representative kept interrupting me mid-frigging sentence. I was starting to wish I had answered the phone when the first person called.

Once I was off the phone with a functioning debit card, I left to drop Boo’s smelly (even sealed in a bag) sample off. As soon as I got in the car with it, I hoped the drive over would be quick. This is probably why there was HALF a HOUSE blocking the street to the vet’s office. I could not get a photo, but you know what I’m talking about. Half of one of those pre-fabricated houses was falling off of its truck in the middle of the street. I had to make an almost accident causing turn to head back up the street to take THE LONG way to the vet.

It smells like it looks.

I finally got there and gave the nice woman at the desk Boo’s gift. I’m sure she was thrilled. Sophie, our Black Lab/Dane, who was in day care at the vet’s office, as she is a couple of days a week so I can WORK from home, spotted me and got happy. This is after I witnessed her humping another dog. At home, Lola the Maltese is the humper. I guess it only makes sense that Sophie tries to be dominant elsewhere. No, I didn’t get a video for you. I will try again next time. So, I ended up taking Sophie home early since she saw that I was there.

And now she is here barking at the rain and wind along with Lola. I hope no one decides to walk by our house because that is usually cause for MORE barking. I understand that the children in Iraq are not exactly crying for me, but it was still a crappy (literally) Manic Monday. I totally hope the Bangles get back together and make a song called Kitty Shitty Monday.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Allergies, cats, Fifth-Third, Monday, poop, Publix

Poop and the Work at Home Office

My friend Michelle over at Rubber Shoes in Hell wrote a blog about her co-workers.   Unlike me, Michelle actually puts on acceptable clothes (this probably includes a real bra, not a cami) and shoes that are not made of fluff and foam, and gets in her car to go to a building that is not her home all before the coffee fully begins to work. I’m shaking my head at the horror of this scenario. My guess is she probably doesn’t watch the Today Show while she goes through her email. The horror!!

So, since I LOVED Michelle’s co-worker blog, I decided to share my own wonderful co-workers with you. Most of the beings who share my office are not human, but it is easy to imagine how they would be as “real” co-workers. Feel free to leave a comment about your co-workers, human or otherwise.

Lola – Maltese and Security Guard — Lola is short, pasty, and weighs in at 8 pounds. In her mind, she could beat Mike Tyson. She is the first to go nuts when anyone is at the door. She barks at people who walk down the street and trees that sway in the wind. When she is not protecting this house and everyone in it, she humps Andre. Even though she has her own restroom (a potty pad), Lola frequently poops on the floor. Lola would be that person who is always yelling over her cubicle at her co-workers rather than just emailing them as nature intended.

 Andre – Super Model and Wannabe Murderer — Andre is one of those guys who is more beautiful than some ladies, and he HATES that. Andre is fond of tuna water and most people. He hates the vet and Sophie with a white-hot passion. He tolerates Lola’s humping, snuggles with Boo Boo, and frequently starts fights with Morris. If Andre were a human, he would be in prison for attempting to murder an annoying co-worker

 

 Boo Boo — Prefers Picabo and Boar’s Head – Boo is a lady, unless she wants cheese. She will only eat Boar’s Head white American cheese. Boo does not like strangers or being chased by Sophie. She has also been known to pee, poop, or puke on herself in a carrier. Boo is an easy puker and frequently pukes into the shared dry food bowl. Her brothers are horrified. If Boo were a human co-worker, she would be that sort of snotty thin girl who barfs after lunch.

 

 Morris – Professional Drooler – Morris begs for food and attention (mostly for food). For real. He gets on his hind feet and rubs his front paws together while meowing. He also drools on people when they hold him. He gets along with everyone, but beats the crap out of Andre when he starts a fight. If he were a real office worker, he would be that guy who is at his desk all day but no one knows what he does exactly.

 

 Sophie – Friendly Poop Eater – Sophie is 81 pounds of poop-scented love. She enjoys tearing the stuffing out of toys, digging in the yard, and barking at her own little imaginary world of demons. If Sophie were a person, she would be someone who just quit smoking, as she has to have something in her mouth 96% of the day. She tried to bring a frozen turd in from the back yard once. If she were a real office worker, she would be the person that steals your lunch from the fridge. She would also be the person with the really bad breath.

 Husband – PT Office Manager – My husband leaves the home to work. So, he is only PT in this office. However, he is industrious enough to be in a management position as a PTer. He is the executive in charge of all things icky, sticky, heavy, and disgusting. He cleans up poop and other fun stuff  when he is at the office. He hired Sophie.

 

 Son – Rock Star and PT Associate – My son is 17 and he is PT during the school year. He plays with the furry employees and vacuums up their fur. When he is not engaged with the co-workers, he provides musical entertainment for the office when he writes new music or practices with his band. He does not poop on the floor.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: cats, dogs, humor, pets, poop, WAHM, Work from home, work online

I’m not CRAZY; I’m just prepared!

I emailed my doctor last week to ask for an Ativan refill. Yes, I hate the phone so much that I email my doctor. If you have ever thought about calling me, read this.

Anyway, so I emailed the doctor to ask for Ativan, which I take for travel related anxiety. As a card-carrying hermit, I LOATHE airplanes, boats, and all other forms of transportation, mostly because I fear a burning or drowning related death from the failure of said forms of transportation.

My doctor sent a short note back stating that she would refill it THIS time (the 4th time in 2 years), but if my anxiety was getting worse then I should consider another medication. Please note, I only ask for Ativan twice a year, before holiday travel and summer travel. This gives me not quite enough .5-milligram tablets to take one per week, if I wanted to. So, if I were an addict, I wouldn’t be asking my doctor for refills; I would be walking down the street to the local high school where I’m sure there would be a larger supply.

The problem is my doctor is not the only person who assumes that I sit in corners and pop plastic shipping bubbles and worry about Doom’s Day. Apparently, I give off that vibe.

The next day, I was talking to my husband about the fact that I recently found out that there are indeed poisonous snakes in central Ohio. Most people who live here say there aren’t any, so I decided to Google it because I like to actually research things and not just “talk out my ass” as my step-daddy used to say. So, after I told my husband that we do indeed have poisonous snakes, he said, “You can’t live your life worrying about things like snakes.”

To which I replied, “Being aware of things is not being worried about them. There would not be safety regulations or air traffic controllers if there were not others who choose to be aware.” Or something like that.

OK. I’m going to admit it. It pisses me off something fierce when people tell me to “chill out” or “relax.” Friends, it’s called acute awareness not anxiety. I’m not always worried (unless I’m on a plane); I’m just aware of possible ways to die or be uncomfortable and actively trying to avoid them. This is why I carry a huge purse full of medications, including GAS medicine. You’re welcome.

See, I’m totally aware of all emergencies.
https://www.facebook.com/KelleysBreakRoom

People who are not aware or never think about what can go wrong think those of us who are aware of risks as crazy.  I think they are wrong.  They assume everything is okee dokee and then they are surprised when it’s not. Here are some facts:

Planes can crash. They don’t crash every day, but sometimes, they go down, and sometimes this happens over an ocean. My thanks to all of the news agencies for CONSTANTLY mentioning the Malaysian Air flight that crashed so deep in the ocean that they still can’t find it. I hope everyone on board had Ativan.


There are snakes, and you should be aware of this if you are an outdoorsy person so you don’t step on one. They hate to be stepped on.


People do hurt each other. If you haven’t read my Bobby Kent blog, please do. His childhood best friend and a group of new acquaintances murdered Bobby. We need to teach our kids to BE AWARE of toxic friendships, rather than teaching them to assume all will be fine.

My overall point is that bad things happen every day. Being aware of this does not make someone in need of constant sedation. As Tony Montana says, “you need people like me.” People like me make people like you AWARE of danger so that it can be avoided or maybe even fixed.

So, thanks for listening to my rant. Are you acutely aware?  How do you deal with well-meaning advice?

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Anxiety, Ativan, Hermits, Travel, travel anxiety

Picabo the Cat Speaks the Truth

Dear Readers,

I wrote this myself.

I have taken over the light square with letters to tell you the truth about this house and everyone in it. I am tired of reading the lies from the crazy people, felines and canines that live here. I’m going to set the record straight right now, and tell you the truth.

First of all, the most glaring lie is my name. My original name in that prison they called an animal shelter was Peek-A-Boo. It’s obviously a ridiculous name given to me by a child. Loud, scary children surrounded me in my previous home. The parents there decided to have all of my claws ripped out on all four feet so that I could not protect myself. MONSTERS! I was so happy to be adopted into a good home with mother and father, and I was glad when father suggested that we change my name to Picabo, after Picabo Street, a strong and fearless athlete. I was all for this change, but mother had other ideas. While my official name at the doctor is Picabo, mother insists on calling me Boo Boo, like I’m some kind of clown or Yogi Bear’s sidekick. That woman gets on my last nerve some times.

That monster family named me Peek-A-Boo because they claimed I was shy. I’m not SHY; I just know that I am too good to be touched by just anyone, especially loud children with sticky paws. It took me a while to get used to the boy in this home—like two years—but once he got taller and quieter, I grew to love him.

It took me FOREVER to dry off after that bath.

My parents love to tell people that I mess myself in my carrier. I do NOT pee myself whenever I have to go to the vet or take a car trip! That is a lie. Andre framed me. He urinated in my carrier when no one was looking. So, when I was forced into the thing (I never go quietly), I got the urine on my fur. So, father had to give me a bath. I cooperated, as I no doubt needed one. It’s a miserable experience. I don’t see why mother so enjoys it, especially with those stinky bubbles.

I have never wished my youngest sister dead. While it’s true that I don’t like the big, black dog, I’m not supportive of my brother Andre’s plans to murder her. Sophie is the creature’s name, but I think that is too lovely a name for such a loud and scary creature. So, I call her “Thing.” (Please note I have no photos of the beast.)  I would never cause harm to her myself, but if she did disappear I certainly wouldn’t shed a tear and I would not cooperate in any investigation of my brother.

Mother deprives me of the proper nourishment. She insists that I can live on wet and dry cat food, without any cheese. She knows full well that I prefer Boar’s Head White American, and no other kind, but she NEVER buys it because she claims it has caused her to become heavier in the haunches. The stupid woman has offered me Swiss, cheddar, and mozzarella. She even attempted to give me Kroger cheese. I refuse all of them. Why can’t she just buy my damn cheese?

And I am not a pothead!! What is wrong with rolling around with a catnip filled bunny from time to time? I see mother and father drinking the stinky drinks in the tiny water bowls and I don’t say a thing. But I take a whiff or two of herb, and suddenly I want cheese because I have the munchies. No! I want cheese because it’s good, but only Boar’s Head White American. For the love of sunny spots and tuna fish, can we not keep it in stock?

Excuse me. Perhaps, I have gotten a bit rude. I must calm myself down and act like the lady that I am. Readers, if you care about the welfare of the animals in this house at all, or just me, please send a block of Boar’s Head American cheese and a Sophie-sized shock collar. Also, if you can spare a bag of catnip, I would be forever in your debt.

Respectfully,

Picabo

P.S. Please review these photos and send me a block of cheese.

I grew to be quite fond of the boy.

I get along with Andre, even if he is homicidal. That’s father and Morris behind us.

I love father, but not all of his “fashion” choices.

I modeled for Playcat magazine in my youth.

I enjoy a cozy bed like anyone else.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Boar's Head, cat nip, cats, Cheese, dogs, humor, Kroger, talking cats, writing cats

Bobby Kent and my Anxious Parenting

My son went to prom last night. I finally attempted to go to bed at 11:45, but I didn’t sleep. I got in bed and read for about fifteen minutes until I heard the front door. Then, I ran downstairs to make sure my son was OK. He was there with his girlfriend. He was just going to change and then take her home. I was disappointed because this meant he had to go back out again after he was already home safe. I ended up falling asleep, but waking constantly through the night. When I woke at seven this morning, I went to my office window to make sure my son’s car was in the driveway. And the car was there, but that didn’t give me 100% relief. Why? Because Bobby Kent’s mom saw his car in the driveway one morning back in 1993, but she didn’t know that he was already laying in a rock quarry lake after being beaten with a baseball bat and stabbed with a scuba knife.

You can Google Bobby Kent and find out what happened, but you will only get one side of the story, the side of the person who murdered him. Bobby is dead and can’t tell his side of the story. Marty, the person who planned his murder, is alive and telling everyone that he just had to get together a group of people to murder Bobby because he was a bully. Oh, and it’s all OK because Marty found God in prison and he is now a preacher. That makes it all better, right?

I first met Bobby, along with his best friend who ultimately would gut him like a fish with a scuba knife, in eighth grade. Bobby and Marty were in sixth grade at the time. Bobby was always bigger than Marty, and always protective of him. Since I was good friends with Bobby’s older sister, I saw a lot of Bobby and Marty throughout middle and high school. In fact, when I got my first car, I drove over to the Kent house to see Bobby’s sister. I ended up driving Bobby and Marty to the movies. They were truly Frick and Frack. I never thought that Marty would end up murdering Bobby. When that did happen, it warped my already fragile trust of the world.

Because Bobby was murdered by his best friend, I have always been anxious about anyone who has befriended my son. If Marty could be Bobby’s best friend for twelve years and then murder him, who is to say that my son’s best friend would not murder him? Truthfully, I have threatened two teenagers who have threatened my son.

The first time was when I watched my then eight year-old son get put in a chokehold by an older boy. My son got free and ran in the house, saying, “I couldn’t breathe!!” I ran out the door and walked over to the boy who put my son in a chokehold. I’m only five feet tall, so he and his friends were larger than me. I looked him in the eye, and told him I would have him harmed if he ever touched my son again.   He very quietly nodded and I went back to my house.

The second time, my son was at a neighbor’s house. The boy was pointing a knife at my son and asked him if he was scared. My son came home and told me. My husband was home and said he would go talk to the boy’s mom. I agreed to say nothing. That would have worked except the boy kept calling my son to torment him. So, I threatened him. Apparently this scared him so much that he told his mom on himself.

In both cases, my heart was racing and I was in a mama-lion panic mode. I was 22 when Bobby was killed. I didn’t have my son yet, but I will never forget seeing Bobby’s parents and his sister after his body was found. It stayed with me. My son has grown up seeing the newspaper clippings and hearing that your best friend can become your worst enemy. I heard him whisper to a friend once, “She’s like this because of Bobby Kent.” The friend knew what he was talking about because he had also seen the newspaper clippings.

I know I can’t control the world or keep my son safe with my fear and anxiety. He met a couple of friends at the park today, and I was worried until he got home. I will worry about him as long as I am alive. It’s not healthy, or helpful, it just is.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Bobby Kent, Marty Puccio, parenting, True Crime

Maltese Hair Emergency

Dear Human Readers,

Help me. I saw my Uncle Andre and Aunt Sophie use their toes to type to you on this light box, and I hope you will read my story, too. The human they call mother is actually my grandmother. The boy is my father; he adopted me when he was still short and playful, and I was a puppy.

Here I am with daddy a long time ago.

I’ve been a member of this family for ten years, and I’ve always loved it until now. There’s no nice way to say it. Look at what grandmother told the beauty shop lady to do to my hair.

I’m so angry that I refuse to look at grandmonster’s little light box.

 

I let grandmother know I was angry. I hope you are eating while reading this.

This is ridiculous. I do like my hair short so it doesn’t get tangled when I hump Uncle Andre AKA the Kitty, or play with Aunt Sophie, but I don’t want to look like a boy, or worse yet a Chihuahua. Not that there is anything wrong with Chihuahuas, aside from them looking like rats. There. I said it.

I’m so cold that I have to wear my Christmas sweater at Easter time. Uncle Andre has to help keep me warm.

Here I am with daddy at Christmas, when my sweater is in fashion.

I don’t deserve this treatment. I do a lot for this family. I bark whenever the wind blows to alert my family to danger.  I also lick everyone because they don’t clean themselves good enough.  I help with litter box cleaning by eating tasty nuggets.

I dress up for parties. See. This is how my hair should be.

I helped to train Aunt Sophie when she first came to live with us.

Humans out there, if you are reading this, please come and help me. If you can do weave and have some Maltese fur, even better. My father will pay you to fix my hair. He keeps looking at me, and shaking his head, and saying, “Lola, honey, no!” I feel the same way.

Love and Sloppy Kisses,

Lola

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: cats, dogs, Great Dane, grooming, humor, Maltese, poop

Costco – For When You Really CAN’T Poop

My husband and I went to Costco for lunch today.   No, we didn’t buy a huge hot dog or pizza there; we just walked up and down every aisle and accepted any and all samples. We love going to Costco because you can get a lot of unique products in huge quantities. However, today we learned that there are some products we hope we NEVER have to buy in bulk.

I can’t even imagine what kind of impacted poop emergency a person, or rhinoceros, would have to be experiencing to need not only the huge double pack of Miralax, but also six Fleet enemas. If I am ever SO backed up that I need anything like this, I hope my head just explodes from the pressure and I die instantly.

Please kill me if I ever need this HUGE combo.

To prevent such an emergency, you could simply buy 190 servings of Benefiber. Oh, cool! No gluten. Plus, it’s “great for cooking.”  Look out, kids.  Don’t eat my spaghetti sauce. I’m going to pick up some right now.

Gluten free!! I wonder if it mixes well with vodka.

Of course, if nothing else works, you could just buy a pack of 400 rubber gloves and go digging. I didn’t see a huge jar of Vaseline anywhere. Costco may want to rethink their product placement. Gosh, I hope my boss isn’t reading this.

Neato! You can use them on the car, too.

After all of the Miralax, Fleet enemas, Benefiber, and rubber glove treatment, you may very well need a LOT of Preparation H.

Obviously, some marketing genius named this product. I wonder who tested A through G.

Be careful: If you use too much Miralax, Fleet, and Benefiber, you may end up needing about a gallon of Pepto. Good news! Costco has that.

It even comes with some shot glasses.

While you’re waiting for the Pepto to work, you may need some protection, just in case.

They must be fancy if they’re French.

After all of this, you may need these.

Sometimes, even Charmin is just not gentle enough.

 

Once you stop running to the bathroom, you may be hungry. You’ll want to stick to a bland diet. So, why not buy five pounds of matzo? If you don’t eat it all, you could always build a house out of it.

FIVE pounds!

 

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Benefiber, constipation, Costco, Depend, Fleet, humor, Miralax

Sophie the Dog Replies

Dear Kitty,

I’m pretty sure that’s your name cuz Mom always yells, “Leave my kitty alone” when I try to play with you. Anyway, Lola told me about that blog you wrote about me. I can’t read, but here it is: Mean Kitty Blog . You confuse me, Kitty. I have a lot of questions about you.

Lola told me that you said I was crazy and you were trying to kill me. If I’m the crazy one, why are you the psychotic murderer? I don’t want to kill anyone except my toys, but even I know they aren’t real.

You should go to jail if you want to kill anyone.

I know why you are so mean and it’s not cuz of anything I do. Mom says it’s cuz you have trouble pooping. I’d be mad too if a bunch of poop were stuck in me. That would mean I couldn’t eat it. Poop is yummy. So, why don’t you just poop?

I think you also get mad cuz everyone thinks you’re a girl. You want to be all manly and stuff, but you’re just too pretty. Being a girl is the best though, so you shouldn’t be mad. Why aren’t you just happy to be pretty?

I’m telling mom that you eat her bras.

You confuse me, Kitty. You wag your tail at me, and then you hit me. If you don’t want to play, don’t wag your tail. Are you trying to trick me with your tail?

I also don’t understand why you sometimes sound like air is leaking out of you. Are you a balloon? Mom says you sound like a snake when you do that, but we live in Ohio, so I don’t know what a real snake is. I’m going with balloon.

Mom won’t even let me kiss her.

Why do you always try to steal my daddy when he’s paying attention to me? Mom always says you are her favorite. She thinks I don’t hear her, but I do. So, just sit with mom and let me have daddy.

Kitty, you make my head hurt. I need to go lay down. Just be nice or just don’t hit me, OK? I just want to play with you, and maybe sniff under your tail a little.

You make me want to crate myself.

Love and Poopy Kisses,

Sophie

Not “Big Stupid Black Thing” like you call me

See, I’m really kind of mellow.

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: Black Lab, cats, dogs, Great Dane, humor

What’s That Wet Spot?

Lola is probably the source for today’s laundry room poop or puke.

There are games you play when you have five pets. They’re probably similar to the games you play when you have small children, or live on a farm, or roam the streets of third world countries. They involve identifying and avoiding stepping in excrement. Here’s a small sample of the fun and exciting ways we pass the time at Chez Petty:

Poop or Puke?

Well, the name says it all, doesn’t it? I can’t tell you how many times a week, or sometimes a day, I nearly step in something that is both runny like puke and brownish like poop.   It’s generally tough to identify. Sometimes, if I’m brave, I bend down and take a quick sniff. Then, I remember that I’m not Detective Columbo and I don’t really need to know what the stuff is. I just need to get some paper towels, supersonic cleaning fluid, and possibly some rubber gloves.

What’s that wet spot?

This game is best when you have carpet, like we do on 85.7% of our floors (yep, I made the number up). This is because if it’s not a colorful liquid, it catches you by surprise, especially if you are wearing socks. This way, you are not only disgusted by the mystery fluid, but you take it with you for a couple of steps until you rip your socks off. I’m not going to lie; I sniffed my socks once. It was dog pee.

Poop or Toy Debris

One of our dogs is a huge Lab/Great Dane mix. She LOVES to destroy toys. A morning is not complete without the cotton-filled guts of a destroyed sock monkey spread all over the living room. So, every once in a while, like daily, there are mysterious tiny pieces of something on the rug. I usually grab a paper towel before picking anything up, but usually it’s only a piece of felt or rope.

Poop or Mud

Since it is FINALLY becoming spring, sort of, the backyard is wet and warm. The Lab/Dane loves to dig. So, she ends up coming back inside with half of my husband’s garden under her nails (yes, it’s just HIS garden, just like she’s just HIS dog). I’m going to be overly honest again and tell you all that I LOST at “Poop or Mud” this morning. I reached down and picked up a tiny ball of poop with my bare hands. I know it was poop because I smelled it. Thank the universe for Bath and Body Works Kitchen Lemon hand soap. I scrubbed.

Not all animal games are excrement related. Since we have three cats and two dogs, we also get a variety of noise related games. Here are two:

Fighting or playing

This game usually starts when our two male cats run across the house chasing each other. There are usually a couple of ninja summersault moves that make the two resemble some sort of multi-colored furry ball. Once I see the fur tumbleweeds coming out of the ball, I know the correct answer is fighting.

Is someone puking, choking, or is the neighbor hammering something?

It never fails. My husband and I will be on the couch, watching Bates Motel, or some other super cool show, when that noise will start. You know the one. So we both get up, and look around for the upchucking cat or dog. Usually, it’s a cat with a wicked hairball. Sometimes, though, it’s our neighbor hammering or shoveling something. I’m not sure why the sounds are identical.

So, what about you? What kind of shenanigans go on in your house? What kind of cleaning fluid do you use?

It’s fighting!

Filed under: Uncategorized Tagged: cats, dogs, excrement, messes, pets