Birthday, 7:20 a.m.

Me: Justin, go get Katie up.
Justin: Okay.
(Boom boom boom - up stairs - boom boom boom - down stairs)
Justin: She's in a great mood.
Me: Cool.
Justin: That's called sarcasm.
Me: Uh oh, what did she do?
Justin: She threatened to throw pieces of a broken drawer at me.
Me: Wow. She let you live? That means she loves you.
Justin: Love hurts.

So far, so good. I made RJ run out and get me a cake, a 24-case of Diet Coke (yeah, I'm one of THOSE people), and some laundry soap as soon as the clock hit midnight. I also have tons and tons of wire coming for my viking weave schtuff.

Me: (Discussing Katie's morning madness again) I sometimes take Smeagol up with me and toss him at her.
Justin: (Unintelligible).

He exited, stage backward. A few minutes later:

Justin: That made her a lot happier.
Me: That's wonderful!
Justin: That's sarcasm again, Mom.

Apparently, this was Katie's schpiel:
Katie: You were just up here 4 minutes ago what do you want now I don't want to see you.
Justin: I brought up the kitty. See?
(Tosses Smeagol on her bed).

(Katie gets up, stomps over, he runs, and she slams the door).

I expect to see her soon. Too soon.

This is why the old woman swallowed the fly.

I think I know why that old woman swallowed the fly.

She had too many critters. They made her crazy, and she'd had it.

Once she started with the fly, it got easier...

It all started with five gerbils, whom I stole from my husband.

Let me tell you about Ashlee. She's my most prolific gerbil. She also makes the most beautiful gerbils, too. She makes silver, blond, peach, gray, and nearly white.

Imagine my joy...when she had nine.

Nine.

All healthy, perfect and booful, just like their mother and their father, Chester. He's all silver and quite a looker. Months went by and no gerbils. I thought maybe Ashlee was past her prime, enjoying growing old with our lovely Mr. Chester. Greg Graziani has a theory on barometric pressure, which I now totally endorse, and African-originating animals. If it rains, it pours...

animals of African origin.

I have six gerbil enclosures. I have lots and lots of silver ones. In fact, when Ashlee got tired of her first set of offspring vying for her mate, I pulled her out (she can kick some serious gerbil butt) and put her in a cage of her own. Gerbils, however, do not like being alone. They get depressed, and a lone gerbil is a mean gerbil. I've heard many times that someone bought a gerbil and took it home, only to have it bite the heck out of them. There's a reason for that. They need another gerbil or two.

So, I introduced Ashlee to Chester. They took an instant liking to one another. And there was peace amongst the gerbils and Ashlee's former cagemates did this:



In unison, aaaaaaaaaaw. Cuteness to make us hurl.

Where was I? Oh. Nine. Nine precious little ones. When their fur grew, we went crazy. We had another snowball looking thing. More silvers. More blondes. And one little Chester Jr.

Who's been nothing but a thorn in my side.

I've had baby gerbils in this cage before, no problems. Heck, Ashlee's first litter resided in this cage. These little guys, though, are Houdini people. Several got out the other day, but were tame enough for me to put my hand on the floor and they crawled on it.

Not with Chester Jr. Wood floors + knees + fanny in air + mild profanity + begging a 5-cm gerbil = very funny, glad no one was here to witness it.

I got him back.

I have nowhere else to put them, but young gerbils grow quickly. Feed and distract has been my attack with extra food and constant supply of what KitKat calls "gerbil crack," i.e., paper products, which they will shred endlessly.

Except Chester Jr.

This runt won't grow. I have the gooseneck lamp on my desk trained on the cage, which is on a medium-sized bookcase. Why? I see movement out of the corner of my eye, and I catch little Mr. Chester Jr in the act, hold out my hand, he crawls on it, and I put him back.

For two days, no Junior looking down upon me as I worked.

I heard something rattle around under my desk behind my under-desk plastic stackable drawers. A paper not quite shut in the bottom drawer bounced.

I counted the gerbils in the cage.

Yep, Junior, out to terrorize again.

I waited. I felt him cross my foot, but he darted behind another bookcase. Patiently, I waited. He never goes far.

Fur against my foot again. I look down.

It's not Chester Jr. It's the CAT.

This is trouble.

Okay, maybe not. Mr. Purr likes to play with his food and then leave it after he loves it to death...

He won't kill it...

He's smaller than me...

He fits in those little nooks...

So I let Purr do the stalking.

Mr. Sapphire woke up, and I'm thinking I'm finally getting him back for the Moonlight escapade. I've got the gooseneck lamp following the path of the gerbil and the cat. My workstation is comprised of two desks sitting perpendicular and a narrow bookcase sitting at the junction.

The gerbil ran from one side of a desk leg to the other, and the cat, stuck by the bookcase, leapt back and forth to each side...

Then shut off my computer.

My work was saved, though. Lucked out there.

For 15 minutes, Purr and Junior went back and forth by the desk leg. Then, Junior decided to take a narrow path behind the other desk and make a run for under the bed.

Mr. Purr is 18 pounds or better. Mr. Purr does not do well running under the bed, but he tried his best.

His head bumping on the box springs, to the head, to the side, to the head, to the base, and then he shot out, hot on the trail of a little gray gerbil, who went right back to the spot where it all began.

Good thing I hadn't turned my computer back on, yet.

I put a crick in the gooseneck lamp's neck.

Finally, Purr tired the poor gerbil out. The gerbil came close, I scooped him up, and put him back in the cage, with more food.

I keep checking for Houdini to reappear. Purr's still trying to figure out what happened to his playmate.

In the shadows of the dark, I see the little gerbils climb. I want to take time and figure out HOW they're getting out, but I already spent a good half hour watching Purr corner Junior until I got him. Safe and sound (for now), Purr's left to patrol Mr. Sapphire's feeder mice, trying to get a piece of that action, too.

And I really entertained thoughts about breeding lion-head rabbits. What was I thinking?

Poor White Trash Seismographs, or...

How I coped with my first earthquake.

Welcome to tornado alley, have an earthquake on our Mother Nature special! What a way to try to keep working on a backlogged deadline!

"Mrs. Smith is a 42-year-old lady..."

We live on a fairly busy street. The first week we lived here, a truck came by, its smokestack flapper just the right height to tear down the power line from our house to the pole, taking our meter assembly along with it.

With the first shake, I thought, "Wow. That's a really big truck," but then realized there wasn't any sound with it. By the time I convinced myself it wasn't a truck...

"...who comes in for impaired glucose tolerance, hyperlipidemia, and anxiety disorder..."

The second tremor hit.

I watched my monitor scootch across the stand. I sat, just a millisecond, and let it register. Crash at Scott Field? No, stupid. That would be over already.

It's hard to walk on a shaking floor. I know it didn't last that long, and by the time I made it to Mr. Sapphire's office, asked him if this is an earthquake, it stopped.

I ran to the stairs and yelled for the kids. Tiger's Eye and ManCub have a truce and are sharing a room. I heard Tiger's Eye yelling for his brother to wake up, soon joined by KitKat.

The quake woke 2/3 up, and got ManCub's attention enough to where it took a mere 2 seconds before all three of them came downstairs.

4:36 a.m., 120 miles from the epicenter, we just kind of looked at each other. I told them to make themselves comfy on the couch, my bed, and the recliner, but no way. We just lived through an earthquake. Time to play Supersmash Brothers on the Gamecube.

They were up.

I got little work done.

It didn't scare me as much as I didn't know how to respond to such a thing. I wanted them in the front room, by the front door so we could get out. When my neighbor lady called a short while later, just to make sure us non-native Californians didn't exhaust our Ativan supplies, I told her I moved all the kids into the living room, by the exit.

"Don't do that, baby girl! You goes out the door, there could be the ground openin' up. Swallow you whole, doncha just knowit!"

Give me my tornadoes back, please! I have developed a sudden preference, nay, fondness, for family time in the basement!

We also chatted about how our cats knew something was up. She has a nice fat baby and he lit across the house just before, and my Mr. Purr walked around for a few hours prior to the event like something was stuck in his whiskers. The dog? Nothing, I told her.

"Only cats hear quakes. They hear stuff dogs cain't."

I trust the Californian. The cat is under constant surveillance.

KitKat had a stressful week, which meant her stomach pains became a mitigating factor against all she needed to accomplish. With both parts of her Constitution test out of the way, having a hard time sleeping before the earthquake, and the excitement after, she stayed home.

Nice, but I hadn't been to bed yet.

I'm not always of the opinion that I'm a *good* mom. I love my kids, I provide for them, and they always have clean clothes, but sometimes I think I'm shorting them because I work so much. I mean, I'm always here, but I'm not here for them, in my thoughts. Five minutes at a time doesn't substitute in any way for quality time, but it's sometimes all I have to give.

My motherly instinct, though, trumped. I absolutely could not sleep until Mr. Sapphire came home at 2:30. I didn't know what to do in an earthquake. Leaving KitKat alone didn't seem right.

We like Fruit2O around here. I bought some last weekend and haven't gone around picking up all the bottles yet (ManCub blamed). In this case, it worked out pretty handy. When the next tremor came about noon, KitKat and I hung out, hugging, watching a partially filled bottle until the water stopped sloshing, and then found the two other bottles and placed them in strategic parts of the house.

When her dad got home, I told her, in case of an earthquake, just put a pillow over my head. I didn't think I'd have the ability to feel another one. I'd just imagine Mother Nature rocking me to sleep. I incorporate things into my dreams like that.

And I slept for 15 hours. My bladder hated me. Hey, I stayed up 23 hours, on top of five hours of sleep, on top of three hours of sleep, on top of six...

I fully intend to get the house clean, but I think I'll keep my PWT seismographs on display. Aldi has them on sale again this week, too :)

Does this take up 1000 words?

In the absence of anything to blog (other than my KitKat will be 14 Monday and is going to her first cosplay with a little sailor suit and silver hair), I assume that if I find a picture that's worth 1000 words, since I have none (well, Mr. Purr caught a mouse, loved it to death, and left it in the kitchen for ManCub to step on), I'll post it because I really have nothing to say (except Tiger's Eye thinks making Mom hurt her neck in the busy Aldi parking lot to ensure that no cars are coming while HE'S driving is amusing).


see more crazy cat pics

Never mind the snake in the kitchen - beware of the cat!

Mr. Purr is at it again, and I found someone we thought we lost. At 2:00 a.m.

My life is never boring.

Mr. Purr

This is Tiger, whom we affectionately call "Mr. Purr." Tiger's Eye took this pic and I think it's faboo. Tiger doesn't really look that mean, although this morning I am convinced that he is demon spawn. It's 6:30 a.m. I went to bed at 3:00 a.m., and I've been up for a good 45 minutes. You see, Mr. Purr is hungry. That means a good deal of head butting, walking around on my chest and this neat little trick he does with his paw. He taps you oh-so-gently on the face, but if that fails to get you out of dreamland, he extends his claws ever so slightly. This morning, he chose my throat. It felt like someone rubbing a Brillo pad on my neck. Mr. Purr got his way, obviously, because here I am.

I made a couple of changes to Red Watzana early this morning, you know, the ones I thought of just after I sent the manuscript to DAW. I have to finish Ice Queen. Have to, have to, have to.

Oh, oh, oh. This is the funniest quote I've seen in a long time. This comes from a letter actually dictated this way. He's a general surgeon and he's just a wonderful breath of fresh air. He's never been a stuffy dictator, but this is an example of his fine work:

"He and I used to be neighbors on the side of Watch Hill. We were the first to spot any Indian attacks or buffalo herds coming off the American plains."

He's the one who called the ASTC tank and left a message about the surgical center being on fire and to send 20 "fire fighterettes," preferably minimally clothed, to the surgical center to
extinguish the flames. I wish I had transcribed that instead of listening with tears rolling down my face. Next time, I'll type it up and cc him a copy.

KitKat and Man Cub start school Friday. Tiger's Eye, who is entering the 9th grade, is spared that tragedy until Monday. I don't want them to go back. I asked Mr. Sapphire if we could hire a governess, and he suggested winning the lottery. Oh, well. It's just so nice having them around. Tiger's eye, however, is starting Spanish. This should be fun. I intend on using my limited Spanish vocab and nothing else in his presence. I already have them recognizing "donde esta el telefono?"

I need therapy. Wait, I'm IN therapy. That's kind of like that little voice in my head that says, "Can we go home, now?" and then my cubs remind me that I *am* home, and that would be a problem, wouldn't it?