Tag: Random

Just a bunch of squirrelly everywhere nonsense.

Bye Bye Bird

As a cat owner, 3 times over, I have taken part in my fair share of small animal rescues. And failed rescues. There have been plenty of dead animals dropped on my doorstep, or even sometimes brought inside. On a few occasions, I have been lucky enough to rescue these small creatures and set them free.

This is not one of those stories.

First of all, we should go back to the end of January. While Justin and I watched tv, I could hear squeaking outside. I got up to look, and there was Nebula, our 8lb mishmash kitten, with a baby mouse. “Oh my gosh, Justin! Nebula caught a mouse!” It was a baby mouse, and after she brought it inside, I chased her around until she dropped the poor baby. It was mostly dead, but anyone who is a fan of The Princess Bride knows that mostly dead is still alive. I brought that little baby out front and put it in my flowerbed. Not even 5 minutes later, I hear the squeaking again. Oh no, not again!

I wasn’t sure if I had just two times rescued the same mouse, or if this was a new mouse. When I brought the mouse out front, its sibling was still alive and still in the garden. Nebula was just raiding a nest. Cheap hunt, Nebula.

The next morning I went outside, and stumbled upon a massacre. Captain SparklePaws had obviously stumbled upon the baby mice, and decided they were most definitely left there for him to snack upon. All that was left were pieces–a tail, a head, a couple feet. Nebula walked outside, took one look, and then looked back at me as thought I had wronged her: “Is this some kind of joke?! I hunted and trapped these mices, and you let someone else eat them!” She didn’t speak to me all day.

I kept waiting for more babies to be brought to the door, but we spent 2 months without any gifts, dead or alive.

Until yesterday.

Justin was walking past the back door and stopped. “Oh my gosh Sammi, Nebula has a bird!” No she doesn’t. Not possible. While he’s trying to stop her from entering through the doggie door, I snuck a peak. Oh my gosh, what do you know!? I immediately ran outside and attempted to save this little bird. Of course, if you’ve ever tried to take a live bird out of a cat’s mouth, it doesn’t matter if she is 8lbs or 800lbs, you will lose an arm. While she grumbled and growled the equivalent of “don’t you frigging touch my bird,” I tried to convince her to put it down so I could save it. Which is when she got up and jumped through the doggie door. “JUSTIN!!!! Stop her!!!” He had given up watching and had moved on with his life, so I was on my own.

I chased Nebula in the house, and up the stairs. I made it to the top just in time to watch her slink into Shea’s room. “Someone get me a paper towel!!!” I once again took my chances with my life. And once again, Nebula threatened to trade her mouse for my entire arm. Once again, she was on the move. For the love of all creatures everywhere, let the bird go.

She ran under Shea’s bed, and there was no way I could reach her. Finally, the bird managed to escape the grips of Nebula’s jaw, and it hippity hopped out and directly at me. Success! The bird was now mine!

The problem now was, where do I let this poor thing go that it won’t end up in the mouth of Nebula again. I took it out front and showed Justin that I was successful. She had lost a few tail feathers, and a few wing feathers, so I wasn’t sure of her ability to fly.

Justin and I stood outside for a few minutes, with the bird safely hidden under Justin’s car. It was starting to look like we were out of the woods.

Until, of course, the neighbor’s cat wandered over. “Oh hey y’all. I heard mention of a bird? Thought I would check out the situation.”
Meow-Meow Kitty, as we call her, is extra super friendly. She often comes over and sits outside our front window, and cries–until Captain SparklePaws decides to go outside and head out on hunting adventures.

She rubbed up against Justin’s leg, hung out next to him for a couple minutes, and then slowly made her way over to his car. “Oh…is that a bird??”

The bird flew out from under his car, flew two sad, low laps around his vehicle, landed, and was immediately scooped up by Meow-Meow Kitty. Are you kidding me?! “Meow-Meow Kitty, no! I just saved that bird!!!” She didn’t give a toot, and slowly pranced home, bird in mouth. I know my neighbors well enough to say hi if I see them outside, but, at this moment, I had to make a decision–chase down her cat on her front lawn and wrestle a bird out of the cat’s mouth, or admit my failure yet again.

I’m beginning to think maybe I’m not so good at this whole rescue and release biz.

Help! I Need Some TP!

I walked into the bathroom, and sat down to pee. My life flashed before my eyes. Instant panic set in. Oh, my glob. This is it. The end of times.

I was about to jump in my car and spend the next 12 hours driving around to every store in the 100 mile radius I am currently detained to (as per Army Regulations). But then, just as I was about to leave, I remembered:

Oh yeah…we have toilet paper. That was a close one.

Instantly, I found myself wondering, is this what has happened across the country–nay, the world?! Did mothers everywhere, spot the empty roll, realize we’re living in Pandemic Province, and instantly Pandemic Panic Purchase Paper-Products?!

How silly did all of them feel when, upon returning home from their Quarantine-Quest, they realized it was just another case of A Task Too Hard For Anyone But A Mother To Complete?

Tore Your What?!

Life with Justin is nothing, if not exciting. And often comical. This is entirely out of love.

You need to know that Justin has a way with words. His own special way. Whether it’s throwing down “scraw” on the scrabble board and then defending it with, “you know—pine scraw.” Or deciding on what movie “gene-ree” we should watch. In case there’s confusion, it is pine straw, and genre. I refer to it as Justinese. His own special language of greatness.

About a week before Easter, as we sat at the dinner table, Justin said to me, “so Jeremy’s wife is Episcopalian—you know where I’m going with this.” No, no I don’t. I wondered if she had some wild Easter tradition that was religiously based. Justin continued: “she only eats fish.”

Cue the uncontrollable laughter. “Justin, it’s pescatarian. Episcopalian is a religion!”

This has been discussed, and giggled about, ever since. Honestly, I think what makes it even more hilarious is the way he matter-of-factly makes these statements.

Yesterday, he outdid himself, and I love it.

He walked into the kitchen after work and said, “so, I tore my labium.”

“Wow,” I said. “Me too—when I was birthing Xander.”

Justin rolled his eyes. “Not my labia. My labium. In my shoulder.” This, of course, is the first time I’ve heard of the dreaded shoulder vagina tear. I google it. And of course, it’s actually his labrum—the cartilage in his shoulder.

Take a moment to giggle at Justin’s torn shoulder vagina. Thank you for being amazingly adamant…and so very wrong, all at once.

Signature Required

I really like Amazon. You can order all kinds of things, and two days later they appear at your door. It’s practically magic.

My most recent purchase has me puzzled. I got back from my run yesterday, and located on my door was a “sorry we missed you” note from the mailman. It stated that I have a package requiring a signature of an adult over 21. Justin must have ordered something…in my name??

In the last 2 weeks, the following items have been left on my doorstep, no signature needed: 2 types of fire ant killer (welcome to the south, folks. These little assholes will eat you alive and leave you itchy for weeks), a 27lb box of bullets (not my purchase, and not from Amazon, but still left out there). Other, random, Easter-related items that are harmless. But again, two boxes of items that could literally kill you (although, honestly, bullets on their own are relatively harmless…I think…I honestly don’t know anything about guns or bullets or any of that), were left on my doorstep.

So, what is is this latest package? Two items that could be considered highly…dangerous is not the right word. Confusing would be the best way to sum it up. I have ordered 3 packages of Liquid IV (a “hydration multiplier,” that magically turns one glass of water into 3? I don’t know–Justin asked for it. The Army uses it. Did I mention that this is the south? It’s hot as heck down here, and dehydration is a frequent occurrence). The second item: a coloring book (for Shea), titled: Unicorns Farting.

I’m not kidding! Again, Amazon never ceases to amaze.

But I’m still left wondering: why do farting unicorns require the signature of an over 21, when ant killer and bullets are safe to leave unattended?

I can’t wait to see this coloring book!

Forget Your Troubles, Come on, Be Productive

I will be the first to admit, being productive is not my strong suit. I’m entirely too distractible. But, before Justin kicks me to the curb for not pulling my weight (or any amount of weight, for that matter), I decided I really better step up my game today.

I was off to a good start! The laundry was folded, I showered and got dressed (don’t judge me). Then on to the big tasks: returning library books before the military police arrest Justin for being related to a book-stealing hooligan–ok, I don’t actually know what happens when books are returned late. I’m just guessing it includes water boarding or some other form of torture. “Tell us where your books are!”

With books in hand, I hop into my van, and…she won’t start. Very well, I can only assume someone left a light on, or a door ajar, or whatever. Anyway, the library visit is now off the table. No big deal, there’s plenty more to be done!

On to the next big task: mowing the lawn. This task normally takes around 2 hours. I threw on workout clothes, put sunblock on my head scar (spf 100, per the dr’s orders. My forehead is going to be super pale this year). And away I go!

Just about 45 minutes in, there’s a loud BANG! And the mower stops. Ok, I probably hit a dog toy hidden in the grass–nope, it’s a chunk of burnt wood the size of my fist (leftover gifts from the previous owners, which Emma carries around the yard like they really are prized possessions).

Now would be a good time to mention I’m mildly terrified of lawnmowers. Irrational fear? Perhaps.

That chunk of wood was so far stuck on the blade, I didn’t even know where to begin. I kicked it a couple times, but out of fear that the blades would kick, I gave up on that rather quickly. Using my hands was absolutely out of the question–have you paid any attention to the month I’ve had?! I was not about to tempt fate.

Next idea: bang it with a log until the chunk of wood dislodges itself. This worked like a charm, and after I threw both pieces over the fence (not to worry, the overgrown wilderness on the other side of our fence is not owned…or, at least not by anyone who lives there). Of course now I realize that the mower is dripping oil from the top bit (the motor? I have no idea how any of this works). I’m assuming it’s because I had the mower flipped upside down while I was beating on it, but for now, it’s in a time out.

And my lawn is only 1/4 mowed.

And my library books are overdue.

I’m just not cut out for this “productive” biz.