Made in Richmond

A little after 12:30 today, I got JR settled with his lunch and headed out the back door to take out the trash.

Imagine my surprise when I saw this:

That’s four (4) kittens. Sitting in a Diet Coke box. On my back porch. I thought I was hallucinating, but then one squeaked at me. I don’t know why a potentially hallucinated kitten squeaking proves it’s real, but I just went with it.

Shortly before that picture was taken, the kittens’ mama darted off the back porch and into the bushes that line our fence. Her name is Lady Cat.

Ok, her name isn’t really Lady Cat (at least to the best of my knowledge), but that’s what I call her.

Lady Cat has been hanging out around our yard for about six months. I didn’t know if she was a stray or an outdoor cat or whatever, but she never caused any trouble, so I didn’t pay her much mind. She just liked to hang out on our side porch, which we never use anyway, so what did I care? We have an understanding, Lady Cat and I.

After finding cover in the bushes, Lady Cat peered over at me. I felt like she was saying one of two things:

1. Meow meow meow hiss meow meow

or

2. Dear Human Lady who kindly gives me use of that porch thingy, here are my young. I have placed them in this box festooned with the logo of your favorite beverage as a way of branding them as yours. Please care for them as you do that large-headed stumbly loud thing that likes to come outside sometimes and throw mulch and sing “Life is a Highway.”

Welp, either way, the kitties had to go.

Look, I like cats. I LOVE kittens even. But I have a husband who hates cats. And I have two big dumb dogs. And I have LIMITS. I’m already responsible for the eating and pooping habits of too many other creatures in this house that I…I JUST CAN’T.

So I called Animal Control, just like the websites for the SPCA and our local human society told me to. A couple hours later, they sent over a nice man who was about two inches shorter than me and kept calling me “Baby Doll.” I guess maybe I was less offended by this because I knew I could pummel him if needed? I dunno.

Anyway, I took him out back and tried to show him where the kittens were; by that point they had scattered into various places in the yard. When he found out their mother was still around, he said there wasn’t much they could do — they don’t like to separate the kittens from the mother because it lowers their chance for survival. Then he told me to sprinkle cayenne pepper all over the yard so they would go away. And THEN he told me never to handle kitty litter because it will make me and my baby sick. When I told him I wasn’t pregnant he said, “You will be.” And THEEEEEEEN he told me that he has a four bedroom house that probably costs way less than my house.

I just blinked a lot and smiled until he left.

So Lady Cat and her four bastard children are now currently squatting in various places in our yard. I’m guessing the dogs will probably scare them off pretty soon, and that will be that.

But it was a really nice surprise, nonetheless.

(Friday morning, approximately 3:45am)

“Were those gun shots?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you call the police?”

“You call.”

“I called them last time.”

A few weeks ago, Ross and I were woken by the sound of a monkey screeching outside of our bedroom window.

Ok, it wasn’t *really* a monkey, but it sure as hell sounded like one.

Neither one of us said anything as it was happening, and we drifted off to sleep. The next morning we were both somewhat convinced that we had each imagined it, but eventually we started talking about it and confirmed that we both heard this monkey-like creature causing quite a raucous the night before.

We expected it to come back that night. It didn’t.

It didn’t come back the next night either.

Or the next, or the next. We were convinced the Monkey Bird was a one-time thing.

Until last night.

At around midnight, when we were both in bed reading, trying to calm down from the drama that is The Real Housewives of New Jersey (Danielle, psht, what a wacko), we heard the Monkey Bird again. But this time, the Monkey Bird had a friend. There were TWO MONKEY BIRDS, jumping back and forth between the trees surrounding our bedroom (which happens to be positioned in the upper, stage right corner of our house).

That’s right. We were surrounded.

So, I did what any normal person does. First I tweeted, “THE MONKEY BIRD IS BACK!” Then I Googled “bird sounds like monkey virginia” on my handy-dandy iPhone.

Mystery solved, thanks to YouTube.

It seems our trees have become the occasional habitat of two boisterous (and I’m guessing amorous from all the noise that was going on last night) barred owls. Have a listen and you’ll understand why we were freaking the eff out:

Interesting fact: The mnemonic device for remembering the call (because I guess that’s important?) is “Who cooks for you, who cooks for you all?” Listen again and you will totally hear it.

Nature! You are terrifying/awesome.

We don’t celebrate Halloween at the Catrow house. It’s not because of religious reasons; it’s because of the jerks that live in our neighborhood.

We spent our first Halloween as a married couple in our little apartment on Ellwood Avenue. No Trick-or-Treaters came because, hello, it was a creepy apartment building where none of the hall lights worked.

So, our first year in this house, I was all about Halloween. We carved the pumpkin, bought the candy, and waited for the knocks on the door. The first few (and I mean very few) visitors were exactly what you would want to see: little ones decked out and accompanied by their parents. Cuteness was everywhere, treats were given, and thank yous were even said.

And then the sun went down.

Out came the punks.

The tentative knocks transitioned into impatient, obnoxious poundings (which were SO FUN in my house with the Commisioner of the Fun Police). Upon opening the door, I was greeted by people approaching the legal voting age, wearing normal clothes, holding plastic bags, saying absolutely nothing: no hellos, no trick-or-treats, and definitely no thank yous.

Unfortunately, the jerks outweighed the cute. Until the cute prevails, my porch light stays off.

Those were the words Ross uttered upon realizing that…

A SQUIRREL WAS IN OUR OFFICE.

YES.

A SQUIRREL WAS IN OUR OFFICE.

And we have no idea how it got there.

We are aware that something was potentially still trapped in our ceiling when we patched up the exterior hole on Sunday. And we know that there was, in fact, a squirrel in OUR HOUSE. But we can’t find the means of entrance from the ceiling and into our living space.

I WANT TO DIE.

***UPDATE***

Ross managed to get the squirrel out by opening the office window from the outside. The furry friend bolted out. Upon closer inspection tonight, we think either the squirrel somehow made it down the chimney OR came through the large gap between the ceiling and the ceiling fan.

I’m just hoping that I wake up to no squirrely noises tomorrow…or squirrely bodies on my face.

So we fixed the hole that the squirrel(s) used to enter and exit our ceiling.

And yesterday afternoon a squirrel returned to the scene and sat on the power line screeching at the now-sealed hole.

And this morning Ross heard more scurrying up in the ceiling.

And the first squirrel was still sitting there screeching.

And we think we’ve possibly broken up a happy squirrel marriage.

Ross and I were awakened this morning by the unmistakable sound of squirrels scurrying around in the vicinity of our roof. I kept trying to tell myself that they were just *on* the roof, but after listening a little longer my stomach sank at the realization that the disgusting vermin were a little closer to us than that. See, we don’t exactly have an attic, but there is some negative space between our ceiling and the roof that I’m sure is a lovely hiding place for these rats with bushy tails. I knew it was time to investigate.

I took the dogs out a few minutes later and as they were doing their business, I looked up at the corner of the roof where some bitch-ass birds had done some damage last spring. Sure enough, within just a few seconds a squirrel stuck its creepy little face out of a significantly larger hole just in time for me to see him.

Now if this had happened three years ago when we moved into the house, I would have reacted with a combination of vomiting and tears at the thought of what fixing this would involve. But, today I just sighed and trudged back into the house to start the in-law consultation as to what we could do about this problem. Because after the leaking toilets, cracked pipes, $900 water and gas bills, windows that don’t shut, and wonky foundation, I’m really just not surprised by anything anymore.

We went to MattWhite’s house last night (formerly known as James and Jennifer’s house) to continue our celebration of Mariah’s birthday party. Their backyard has been the host of several festivities, mostly because they have a fire pit. Yeah, that’s right.

Anyway, as most of the gatherings are boy-dominant, crazy antics usually happen. Last night involved Jake trying to hurdle over the trashcan in the alley. Of course there was lots of peer pressure, yelling of inappropriate things, and falling on the ground. Fun times, but not as funny as last New Year’s.

See, there’s a giant tree back there. And there was a rope in the tree. And an empty trashcan nearby. And Jake had had some beers. The video is dark, but the talking is the best part. The maniacal giggling in the background is my darling husband.

Enjoy:

Kindly remove the possum carcass from your front yard. The smell is stinking up the block.

Thank you.

Ross, my mother-in-law, and I went to go look at hardwood flooring today (after lunch at Can-Can and seriously, there’s nothing better than a Saturday lunch there). We drove all the way out to the end’s of the earth to Lumber Liquidators near Southpark Mall. After telling the very nice salesperson what we needed (A. Cheap, B. Hard enough to handle two stupid dogs, C. Still cheap) we narrowed down our choices to a nicely priced Beech (or maybe Birch? I obviously was paying a lot of attention to that part). We would loved to have gotten a wide-planked dark wood, but the fact that we are poor and our dogs have talons AND we’ll only be in this house a little longer means that we shouldn’t go all out at the moment.

Anyway, I made the decision in about 3 seconds, which I seem to do with every major decision – this house and my car are the two biggest purchases we’ve ever made and that took all of 10 minutes each for me to decide on. I mean, it looked nice. It’s on sale. They deliver. It needs to be in our house for a week before we can lay it down the weekend after Labor Day. All signs pointed to handing the nice man our credit card and calling it a day. At least I thought they did. I had fully accepted the fact that this project would be costing us a couple thousand dollars, as do most things that add value to your home. Well, the hubs just couldn’t bring himself to make the purchase today. He needs to sit on it, even if just out of principle. Honestly, I can’t really argue with it because, after all, out of the two of us he will be the one doing most of the work on this. If I’m spared from hours of back-breaking work, he can take all the time he needs.