postings of a professional redhead

It’s been a busy past few weeks. This weekend will be the first I will be home in five – first two away I was in Las Vegas, then I was in Vermont, then New Hampshire, then DC, and finally this weekend – East Hartford. Home, sweet E-Ha!

Ploman and I will be attending the Podunk Bluegrass festival on Saturday (look for a tall blonde guy with a short redheaded me if you’re there) and I’m totally psyched. I grew up listening to the folk and bluegrass that my grandfather grew up listening to, and was one of a few in my house in college who actually knew the words to traditional Irish folk songs. I once dated someone who used to hate when I would take advantage of their fabulous XM radio to put on the bluegrass channel; of course, since then, last.fm has made my need for bluegrass easy to sate, but there is nothing quite like seeing someone live, on stage, sweating buckets while wailing on a fiddle.

In home news, the kittens are sick. Mischief refuses to take his pills. I have tried every trick known to man to get a pill in his stomach; first, crushing it and hiding it in wet food. No, he’d rather go hungry than eat that food. Then, putting it in with tuna (which usually can get that cat tap dancing on the ceiling), but again, he refuses to eat such tainted treats. I bought pill pockets – no go. Crushing it up, mixing it with water, and trying to give it to him in a syringe? I anticipate the deep cuts on my arms scarring. Shoving it down his throat? Not without breaking his jaw and losing one of my fingers in the process. There is no doubt in my mind anymore – that cat is a black Siamese, and like most Siamese, he’s loud, obnoxious, needy, and part rabid tiger. The baby kitten will be seven weeks old in a few days, but no one really wants to play with him due to the massive ringworm outbreak he is currently suffering from. I finally got an oral anti-fungal to go with the liquid I’ve been putting on his skin, but I really feel bad for the little guy – he’s super friendly, very affectionate (if you pet him, he purrs…but if you pick him up, he sounds like an outboard motor) and totally playful, but I feel like I have to wash my hands ten times every time I play with him or give him any love. Of course since I cannot get a pill down Mischief’s throat, he doesn’t really play much the past few days, so I’ve been on “keep the kitten occupied” duty, and well…my legs have the scratches to prove it – he seems to think climbing up my bare legs is just SUPER fun!

Between taking care of sick kitties, multiple camping trips, and taking care of a sick me, my house chores have reached critical mass. I may have to invoke Operation: Red Wagon this weekend if I have time. Operation: Red Wagon is when I borrow my next door neighbor’s red flyer in order to haul tons of crap from my house down to the dumpster. It’s just too damn hot outside to make multiple trips down there, and this way I can wash the kitty litter boxes with the car wash hose instead of in my shower for once. There is nothing worse than finding out first thing in the morning that not all the litter grit was washed down the drain when you cleaned the pans the day before…