Oh the things being stationed from home 24/7 will make you do…like take in a kitten who just had her own litter. Therefore, making me not a grandma but a GLAMma.
Oops I did it again. And again. And again. And again. And again.
I have an outside brood of seven pussies that I’ve been feeding the last two years. I was able to trap and release (TNR) each one last spring. TNR is when you catch a cat in a trap, take it to the vet for a spay or neuter and then release it where you found it. I’m making this sound easy but it takes a goddamn act of the stars being aligned even if Mercury is in Retrograde to accomplish this because feral cats are basically wild animals.
I missed a female last spring and she had kittens. And now, I am a Glamma and have four sweet, teeny, tiny Glammies inside the Mini Manse quarantined in their own Rona hell to my bedroom. They are now known as The Glam Squad and I almost lost an arm and two eyes trying to get them into the Mini Manse but that’s a story for another day.
Girlie Girl feeding Maverick and Ruth.
The Glammies are almost fully weaned off of Mama. I’m on a waiting list at Value Vet and Nashville’s Pet Community Center (that has 600 felines afuckinghead of me) for spaying and neutering. These little nuggets won’t be going back outside, either. They’ve entered the Mini Manse and are now accustomed to a boxed wine luxury lifestyle with Glamma. It’s been a shit ton of work but definitely, a welcomed distraction from whatever this thing is we now call the world. All of the babies will be up for adoption. Don’t you think you need a new friend?
Girlie Girl, Fauci and Nelly enjoying their breakfast buffet.
All of this pussy momming has given me even more reason to dive right into my Crazy Cat Lady status that I have not one ounce of shame over.
Light Friday night reading compliments of M.Star.
So how do Prissy and The Pussy Posse feel about acquiring temporary residents?
WHAT. THE. FUUUUUUUUUUUCK?
Because The Pussy Posse, Prissy, and yours truly all sleep in my Princess and the Pea bed, I’ve had to do some distracting to avoid immediate punishment from the permanent feline residents in the Mini Manse. The weather has been quite fabulous, so I am able to leave the Pussy Patio wing of the Mini, Teddy’s Terrace open for their recreational habits of napping all day every day and night.
Fabio has no complaints.
Thundercunt would like to speak to the manager.
While I’ve been trying to keep my cat hoarding situation under control, Sister CBXB has been entertaining her duo with her fabulous versions of summer camp.
So far they’ve been to France, Japan, and space.
Day camps can be exhausting, so they get a little happy hour every day.
Summering so hard.
Princess B also got a visit from the tooth fairy twice last week.
I could run a summer camp on how to find shit in the garbage can. Remember when I found my dumpster wedding dress (that is still in my possession, I mean, just in case, you never know)? Well, when I was leaving the Mini Manse on Saturday, what to my wondering eyes did appear but a gigantic framed fancy photo of some golfer. And you know who loves her some golf?
One woman’s trash is First Mate’s treasure.
I snapped a pic of it and sent it to her as a joke. Turns out she really wanted it and I unshamefully backed my ass up and it’s now anchored at her beige palace.
You who else needs to back their asses up? Every single motherfucker in this photo from Kid Rock’s bar in downtown Nashville taken this weekend. What do you want to bet every single person in this photo has bitched and moaned about businesses reopening and how masks are an infringement on their personal fucking freedom?
Thanks for helping Nashville inch back to Phase 1.
EVERYONE I know wants to get out and about and have some sense of pre-Rona normalcy. But when a very large handful of peeps take the conveyed Tennessee message “proceed with common sense,” in establishments that completely ignore city set guidelines (6 feet apart, wear a mask), it’s inevitable to not feel like these folks aren’t being wise. Nashville is in a four-phase reopening plan. Currently, we are on Phase 2, with many businesses waiting for Phase 3 to reopen. Selfish folks, like Kid Rock’s establishment, accompanied by many other downtown Nashville bars are completely ruining it for other businesses waiting for their economic means to starting flowing again. Get your shit together you selfish fucks and maybe, just practice compassion for others.
In London over the weekend, great compassion was shown for a counter-protester to the Black Lives Matter march. Patrick Hutchinson saw a white counter-protester on the ground, about to be trampled. Hutchinson picked the man up, and with help from friends, got him out of the large crowd and to safety. Remarkable compassion and integrity.
Selflessness at its finest.
I think some people have become frustrated with what may seem like a lull after two weeks of full-on worldwide protesting (so yeah, the entire universe thinks black lives matter). It’s important to remember that Black Lives Matter is a movement, not a moment. It will take time, education, resources, protests, reform, and….compassion.
Speaking of viruses, my vehicle has been nothing but bad juju and decided to finally piss out on me two weeks ago. It’s just been sitting in the parking lot (silver lining of remote working compliments of Rona) at the Mini Manse until yesterday. And when I started to drive it to CarMax, seeing if I could muster any kind of moola out of them for it, the old rust bucket came up with the soundtrack to 2020.
The brakes completely went out about 15 seconds in the car. I was able to emergency brake it the entire way to the dealer. When the mechanic took it out for a test spin, before giving me my appraisal, I warned him that if he valued his life, he may want to stay in the parking lot.
The rust bucket in better days, when I wished it was a Range Rover.
Turns out, the make and model of my car holds value. WHAT? WHAT? Exsqueeze me?
How awful is it that I’m accustomed to the very worst scenario always panning out? I’m not a pessimist but I am just always prepared for the defeat of a situation these days. Instead, I got so much for my rust bucket, I was able to get a better vehicle in my price range that I love.
Car salesman Harry and I are now best friends.
My new beaut is being transferred from Maryland and is the exact same make, model and color as my old one. Just newer and minus the rust, the duct tape, the myriad of dashboard lights on 24/7, and no power steering fluid leak. HOW LUCKY AM I?!
For those of us who didn’t have my luck yesterday, (which applies to every other area of my non-vehicular life) might I suggest some sage to last us the next six months as we patiently await 2021?
Let me know when you want me to come sage your place. I have a new ride, you know.
Buy Me a Drink