I have two foster cats who are bonded and must be adopted as a pair. A couple of days ago somebody was finally interested and after she met them, decided to adopt.

It was a Christmas Miracle. Seriously.

I was just holding them for her until today at 4, because they were going to be Christmas cats. At about 2:30 I noticed that Simba had something on his shoulder. Upon closer inspection it revealed itself to be...

Ringworm? I don't know for certain but their new mom has other pets and a human kid, so I wasn't going to send a possible ringworm cat over there without talking to her first.

She decided not to adopt. :( I was hoping that she'd just have me hang onto the cats for a little bit longer to make sure they are healthy, but instead my Christmas Miracle went POOF.

I also feel like a gigantic asshole for not noticing sooner, because now the lady is scrambling to find another cat.

Martin just walked in singing "Christmas Killer" (to the tune of Psycho Killer of course). Hah!

Anyway, I ruined somebody's Christmas. Go me. I feel guilty and horrible and now I need to figure out how to keep that from ruining my own Christmas.

Somebody pass the vodka.

And then before I could hit "post", I got a call back. Her boyfriend was asking me about ringworm and said they wanted to come look at Simba before they made their official decision.

COMMENCE PANIC CLEANING

Twenty minutes later, she called to say nevermind, that they weren't going to come over and they weren't going to get any cats at all. She sounded like she had been crying.

At this point I just want to kill myself and be done with it.

Somebody pass the vodka AND tranquilizers.

Yay Christmas.

No wait, that was last year. Ahem.

Meet... MISS CHEETAH!


Brought into the fold at the suggestion of misscheetah, Miss Cheetah has joined the family so that Nigel the eversofragile English Rose will stop having fits.

The cats are rather impressed but they don't yet realize that there will be loud VROOM VROOM VACUUM noises. Plus all the bits of dog toy stuffing and wrapping paper and leaves and chewed up soda bottle lids will vanish and what will they play with then?!

My morning plans were interrupted by what has come to be known as Catfail, so now I am behind and starting to fret a little bit.

Kittens seem to be very popular Christmas gifts. Unfortunately, everyone wants tiny ones and we don't have any more tinies who are spayed/neutered so they can't be adopted yet.

I keep hearing "all my daughter wants for Christmas is a kitten!" and I think, well maybe you could have planned ahead? FFS, it's December 22nd. People are always surprised to find that we don't have an infinite number of cute and tinies on hand. That's because those cute and tinies grow super quickly into still-cute-but-not-tinies that nobody wants. I swear there is like, a two week window between spay/neuter and adoption or the kittens grow up in foster care and become adults we are stuck with forever.

Anybody want a mostly grown black cat with a chronic runny nose and snot-crusted face? What, nobody?! I'm shocked. SHOCKED! I would LOVE another litter of tiny kittens but that's not going to happen anytime soon because my house is full of cats.

I also can't stand cheap people. I'm dealing with one right now who was griping about the $25 she had to pay a babysitter so she could drive out here and meet a cat. She is more concerned about making sure she gets a "discount" on the cat than anything else, and now she has decided that she wants two cats - one of which is my Mama. I am really struggling with this because I want to tell her to piss off and I am going to be heartbroken if Mama really ends up there. Let's just hope the lady changes her mind or possibly gets annoyed enough with me to say the hell with it.

And now that I am done with morning Catfail, I must venture forth and finish my Christmas shopping before the next round of Catfail this afternoon.

It's too late now, but remind me next year when people ask what I want for Christmas. I want dog-proof hair accessories. Every clip, barette, and claw that I own has been destroyed by Reese. I could stop leaving them around the house, but I do believe I am compelled by something insurmountable - like genetics or something - to never put anything back in its proper place.

Someday I am going to take a camera outside with me and photograph all the piles of Reese poop, then play a game called Guess What Reese Ate. His poops are like works of modern art.

Martin: Here is your exit.

Me: Ok. *tootle tootle* Those road signs are weird. Why are they all weird?

Martin: I don't know. You want to go left up here.

Me: Ok. Wait, what? WHAT? WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?

Martin: It's a yield sign. Oh wow, a roundabout!

Me: A WHAT? WE ARE NOT IN ENGLAND OH MY GOD HOW DO I DO THIS?

Martin: --

Me: WHICH WAY DO I GO HOLY SHIT AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Martin: --

Me: AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHH (hand flailing) AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Martin: Yield to these cars, then go right.

Me, two feet farther through the cursed roundabout: OH MY GOD NOW WHERE DO I GOOOOOO?

Martin: Around!

Me: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

...inconclusive.

How disappointing. :(

"Occasionally, the standard Wisdom Panel Insights analysis comes back inconclusive, meaning we could not detect any breeds with a high level of confidence. This rare scenario has occurred in our analysis of Reese’s DNA."

The letter goes on to say they re-tested and then they did something with raw DNA and the results are a report that I think is a consolation prize. :P

Apparently his genes are around 25% Smooth Fox Terrier, with tiny traces of French Bulldog and Pembroke Welsh Corgi.

So whatever makes up most of him? That's unknown. Booooo!

Maybe he's part alien?

Fox Terrier explains his love of digging and burrowing under the couch cushions, I guess. :P

Suki's DNA says:


Has a more terrifying creation ever walked this earth?!

Martin told me that I needed to post an apology to the vacuum and reinstate him as Nigel the Dyson because the two times he broke it was because of routine maintenance that I hadn't done.

He broke again last night, and this time it's not because I didn't wash the damn hepa filter. I had just started vacuuming up the mountains of litter and food particles and cat hair in the foster room when Nigel gave up, leaving me stranded in filth.

Look, I suppose I can't blame him. Being a vacuum in my house is rough. No wait, I can blame him because this is the fucking model marketed specifically to pet owners! For people with armies of shedding Newfoundlands and couchfuls of Persians!

Where do you turn when your Dyson, the holy grail of vacuums for pet owners, isn't enough?

Martin won't let me buy a new vacuum because The Fucking Dyson is still under warranty. He wouldn't even let me run out to Target and grab some cheapass piece of crap to tide me over until the Dyson is fixed.

There is far too much vacuum woe in my life.

So many litter boxes, soaking in the sun. Waiting to be hand-scrubbed and bleached.

A couple more, still in the house, waiting their turn once this batch is done.

Actually it's really not a big deal at all, but I worry about Reese trying to eat them while they are sitting out there. That or the hose...

I think bikes are probably the only thing I can't call Suki off of. Oh wait, rabbits in the desert, too. Bikes and rabbits - BEWARE!

One of my foster cats was adopted by a family with a rabbit, and they sent me a photo of the cat and rabbit cuddling. I'd totally get a rabbit if a) I'd still be able to remain married, and b) I could keep Reese from hurting it. I have enough trouble yelling at him for stepping on the cats.

Darla, the semi-feral kitty who loves Warcraft and isn't semi-feral anymore, got spayed at the beginning of the month. I thought she was acting sort of funny a couple days after, like she was in pain or something, but her incision/stitches looked good. I asked Martin for a second (non-paranoid) opinion and he didn't see anything amiss either.

I never bothered to check it again until today, when I discovered a huge, HUGE swelling underneath her incision. I commenced freaking out immediately and made a vet appointment, but I'm really disappointed in myself for not catching it sooner.

This is where Martin would remind me that I have too many cats, and if I had less cats each one would get better care, and he's right. But something as quick as checking a freaking incision? I should have been doing that every day even if I had 50 cats. Poor Darla.

I am undoubtedly, officially Overwhelmed. I need to get my shit together.