Truth or Lies - June

Here's how the game is played:

I provide three facts. Two are true and one is not.

Pick out the lie. =P

1) I drove a Ferrari to my high school graduation
2) I went to Russia on spring break
3) I have been scuba diving in Costa Rica.

(Those who know me best know the answers to all of these. To my other two readers (=D), have fun guessing !

Thoughts ?

McDonalds on Notice

HEY !

Even though you CALL it a "Southern-Style Chicken Sandwich" with a "buttery-tasting bun", putting exactly two pickle slices on that particular sandwich makes it a total ripoff of Chik-Fil-A. Don't think no one has noticed. (Wiki - The sandwich also comes with two pickles simply because that was the only condiment he had on hand when the sandwich was created. Italics mine.)

I will not buy one. I will simply live here and dream of a day when I can get back down South for the real thing - the one that is juicy and delicious and *drool*. Oh, and if you think your counter help will EVER be as friendly and helpful as the ones that work for the restaurant chain that S. Truett Cathy founded, you have lost your MINDS.

Sandwich plagiarists !

Thoughts ?

Scooter's Sparkly Collar Was SO Last Month !

So, we couldn't have him being less than fashion forward, could we ?

He now has this season's scalloped black set off with a lovely, yet quite masculine, silver bell.

The ladies are going to be quite disappointed, however, I must tell you. I can hear the wailing and gnashing of teeth already. Frankie, the seal-point Siamese equivalent of a young Liberace , who lives next door will think it is FAB-u-lous !

Thoughts ?

Giffords Wildlife Sanctuary - pt 2

Second verse, same as the first.

Well, not quite.

I was woken up this morning by an ungodly whistling sound. Sound familiar ? Yep.

Scooter AND Kismet up in our bedroom. WITH ANOTHER BIRD. DagNABBIT.
Zero to WIDE AWAKE in under three seconds, thenk kyew very much.

10 seconds - I holler downstairs -- Babe ? Need HELP !
25 seconds - Yank Scooter off the bird. Again. And go throw him outside the bedroom door.
45 seconds - Realize the damn door did not close and I still have two cats and a bird loose.
1 minute - Throw Scooter out AGAIN and shut the door, making sure it LATCHES this time.
2 minutes - Still no Robert. The litany in my head is "don't poo on the bed, don't poo on the bed, don't poo on the bed. . . "
2.5 minutes - No bird visible.
3.5 minutes - Bird is DEFINITELY visible. He is clutching our curtains on the bedroom window. Good for him. Oh, nooooo -- dim bird flies at the skylight in our bedroom, then ends up over in the corner on the other side of the room. Have I mentioned that Kismet is super fast ? She looks like a deadly black otter. Kismet joins Scooter outside the door because I am super fast as well. Such a lie. I am a quasi-worrysome creamy eggshell panda. SLAM !
4 minutes - I take a moment to catch my breath and think. "Don't poo on the carpet, don't poo on the carpet. . ."

7 minutes - I shut the bathroom door and start looking for the bird. Same type as yesterday, by the way. The dumb type.
7.25 minutes - Robert has apparently fallen into a wormhole.
8 minutes - I spy the bird -- because he flies DIRECTLY at the skylight again. POINCK !
9 minutes - Bird takes refuge in the curtains. No, I mean IN the curtains. He is hanging in the tabs of the curtains underneath the curtain rod.
10 minutes - Robert who ?
11 minutes - my brain is already exhausted with the possibilities of how I am going to get this bird downstairs under the watchful eyes (and NOSES and CLAWS) of two cats who are still scratching and whining at the door.
12 minutes - bird solves my problem.

Note: Robert has STILL not managed to come up and "help", so. . . the dear readers will have to take my word for what happened next. I still am mystified. The bird flies from the curtain to the skylight and around the room. Once. Twice. Third time, he heads for the door and I. Catch. Him. In. My. Hands.

I have NO IDEA how this has happened. I credit Mr. Miagi and the lesson about catching a fly with chopsticks because I have no other explanation. Either that or the viewing of Kung Fu Panda last night has opened up my chi.

Bird nestles in my hands like he has good sense and I take this as a sign. Downstairs we go, with both cats now searching the bedroom like CSI:Gig Harbor. I nonchalantly go downstairs and have a small chat with Robert regarding his helpfulness and instant recognition of my need for IMMEDIATE assistance. He laughs. Ha. Ha. There was also something he mumbled about him replying and not hearing anything else from me, but I honestly heard a lot of Charlie Brown teacher-talk at that point. whaa-whaa-whaa

Cats are now downstairs, realizing that we have something that they are not privy to. I hand over the bird to Robert as. . . close your mental eyes, please. . . I have my sleeping clothes on and they are not fit for public viewing. I ask him to take the bird out to the very back of our yard and release him. Robert hears "release" and so, opens his hands immediately out the door.

Cheepster 2, cats 0.
Updates as events warrant.

Thoughts ?

You'd Never Know It From the Updates. . .

but there is truly never a dull moment at the Giffords household.

Picture if you will. . . I work from home and am on a conference call this morning when I hear the pet door flap open behind me. I hear an ungodly whistling sound and, out of the corner of my eye, spy a flash of white with something small and black in his mouth.

I did not know that moles whistle while being toyed with.

Further surprise -- it's not a mole.

2 seconds after this revelation, I have to tell the folks on call that my cat has caught. . . wait for it. . . a BIRD ! gah. He is very small, has black wings & head, and is in a very precarious position in the universe.

I see Scooter fly through the kitchen, sneaking peeks at me to see if I am following him. He gets to the landing on the staircase, giving me about five seconds to try and catch him. I snag him on the landing but only because the little bird is now putting up a fight. Scooter drops him and I snatch him up. Scooter, not the bird. Ohhh, but I didn't even know he KNEW those cat words. . .they were scorchers.

I run up the remaining stairs and fling (carefully) Scooter into our bedroom so that I have a closed door between him & Cheepster. Did I mention that I am still on the call ? Oh, yeah. Thank God I'm female and have quadraphonic ears. (Yes, I can hear my husband laughing right now.)

I run back down the stairs to find Cheepster. No bird. No bird ANYWHERE.

Lord Almighty -- where is the dang bird now ?

I still hear thumping, scratching, and angry MEows from upstairs so I know that I do not dare allow Scooter out until that bird shows up.

I am running around downstairs looking for the bird because I know that as I was pounding down the stairs I did not meet a small bird coming up.

I circle rapidly around my living room and come back to my desk, but I know that I still have a) a very angry cat upstairs and b) a uranium-level unstable bird somewhere in my house.

I finish up my call and realize that I have spotted the bird ! He is squashed down near the opening to our downstairs bathroom. He is hiding. I do not blame him. =P

Now, I have to figure out how I, a lithe minx after all, am going to manage to capture a very small, very FAST little bird. Without injury. To me. Yeah, yeah -- OR the bird. Such an animal lover am I.

I grab a couple of paper towels because THAT is the preferred bird-catcher equipment for professionals -- or something -- and I advance on Cheepster. I swoop down and I. Catch. Him.

I wrap him up in the paper towels very carefully and he snuggles down like it's a nest. Whut ?

Now, I have some more options -- I have to find a place to contain him because I still have some work to do. I plan to let him out at noon and that's about an hour & a half from now. I can't let him out right now because his left wing is cattywhompus and I don't know if he can fly. If he cannot fly, I might as well advertise him as a scooby snack when I set him free. Being me, I find a large empty cereal box and gently slide the paper towel nest inside. Also being me, I realize that -- duh -- no way to keep the bird INSIDE this lovely little box. Grr. Back to the drawing board.

Or. . .the garage ! We have a bunch of pet carriers ! Aha ! Yep, the bird got to spend some time behind bars. In the scariest prison known to ma. . . err. . . cat. And he seemed to love it. He was very quiet and very still for almost an hour. Of course, Scooter was in and out of the house, so maybe Cheepster was just exercising his God-given right of self-preservation.

About ten minutes before noon, which I like to call "breakout time", Scooter finally figured out that SOMETHING was in that scary box. The bird made a near-fatal error of moving around and making a weird scratchy noise on the cereal box. Scooter immediately went on point and jumped up on the counter to reclaim his "toy". After 5 minutes of playing the "get off my counter" game with Scooter, he gave up and huffed outside because his Momma was being sooo mean to him by not letting him dig around in that secret box with the interesting noises.

Noon ! I suit up and take everything outside. I have decided to place Cheepster in his paper towel nest up high in our holly bush. I figure that's relatively safe and, if he does have a wing problem, he'll be far enough up that that I can go check on him later without having to worry about his snack status. I place the carrier on the ground and wiggle the cereal box out. As I am bringing the box up to the holly bush, pRRRRRRRRRRT ! Cheepster is OUTTA THERE !





I'm happy that he's okay and ecstatic that he was not a Scooter snack, but jeez. . . did he have to get so close to my eyes on the way out ? I was a'-HAYLPin' him ! =P

Thoughts ?





P.S. Happy birthday, Daddy.

UPDATE: Scooter brought me another present this afternoon. Unfortunately, this one was a great deal more fragile. Let's just say. . . Cheepster = toy. Hummingbird = attempted snack. Very sad day in the Giffords household. I am sad that I was unable to release the hummingbird with the same success as Cheepster. Scooter is very sad that Momma is so mean that she took his prize away from him without even so much as a "sorry".